It’s a simple enough question. Sometimes it’s asked when you may not see your lover for a day or two, sometimes a bit longer and sometimes forever. It’s meant to be lighthearted in nature – unless it’s forever. But what if the answer to that question is no? I have realized that so many that we love move on and many move on without missing us.

Lovers are not mothers or children, and the relationship dynamic is complex. Unconditional love doesn’t come from lovers. So, when I ask a lover “Will you miss me?”, and the question is not only ill-received but followed with the questions of “Why do you ask this?” and “What do I hope you gain by the answer?” and then further followed by a pretty harsh “no”, I’m left in a puddle of emotions. I wasn’t expecting my question to be received or answered this way.

It’s hard to to be told by your lover that they do not pine (long) for you, and that as long as they are busy, they don’t miss you. I don’t know what I hoped to gain, but I do know that what I received was some pretty harsh truth. I deserve someone who notices the emptiness when I’m not around. I deserve to be missed.

Being diagnosed and treated for breast cancer is certainly a pothole in the road of life. The treatment plan was supposed to be a lumpectomy followed by radiation and then DONE. Well, that’s how it was supposed to be anyway. A few months after I finished treatment, I noticed swelling in my breast and arm. I saw my PCP with what I suspected as lymphedema. She ordered a scan to rule out blood clots and subsequently diagnosed me with this disease.

Lymphedema can happen after the removal of any lymph node(s) during cancer surgery, and subsequent radiation treatment can raise the risk. With lymphedema, the lymphatic system is basically non-functioning in the specific area where the node(s) were removed. This causes lymph fluids to build up. If not properly treated and maintained, infection cellulitis and other complications can set in — some of which can be life- threatening.

Lymphedema is cancer’s dirty little secret. I was sent to therapy for manual lymph massage and was shown exercises that help with fluid drainage. I’m now told that from now on I will have to wear compression tanks, a sleeve and gauntlet (for the gym) and am only allowed to wear loose-fitting bras for only a few hours at a time (even loose-fitting bras restrict lymph flow).

I also utilize a lymph pump daily for one hour to help my body properly drain excess fluids. I can’t get my blood pressure taken or have blood taken from that arm ever again. All of these extras are totally doable. But, the bra situation is beyond ridiculous! No more underwires ever and no more sexy, lacy underwire bras. Were they kidding? Newly single with lymphedema – this felt absolutely insane! How would I tell the someone I would want to be intimate with about this mess? When do you bring this up and how? What would their feelings be about this? Would it scare them away? Would they dare feel sorry for me? How does one feel sexy and attractive in a compression tank? So many questions that the doctors and therapists don’t talk about.

So, I have decided that if I have to have lymphedema, I’m going to rock it as best I can. I wear tattoo sleeves to the gym, sometimes even for shopping and errands. People often stop and compliment me on them having no idea it’s a medical compression sleeve. I have no hesitation in telling anyone what they are for — and it’s interesting how natural and easy it is for me to talk about.

Sometimes feeling sexy can still be a challenge, and I really, really do miss my lacy, sexy underwires; I truly did feel sexy in them. But, since I can’t go forward with that, I don’t focus on it. I try to remind myself that I’m alive, relatively healthy, very happy, and I am loved!

We were never close – you and I. I was older and less liked, while you were the younger and seemingly sweet and innocent one. But, let’s face it – you were a snot. You would say mean things to me to get under my skin when nobody was around. You were Grandma and Aunt M’s favorite. I was jealous of you. Jealous of your daily breakfasts with our grandma and the way you were adored by so many in the family.

The summers we spent at Aunt M’s together were tense. I remember I made you smoke a cigarette so you wouldn’t tell on me for smoking. I can still see your face and the smoke from your mouth (you didn’t inhale). I don’t think you told on me, and if you did, I don’t remember now. You did tell on me for being mean to you, and looking back, we never spent another summer together after that.

I had seen you once or twice total after that. I never once met your husband of 31 years or your son (who’s grown now) or your little grandson, and you never met mine. You popped back into my life suddenly and out of nowhere in what seemed like a desperate attempt to connect via Facebook Messenger. You messaged me your phone number and asked me to call you probably four times in a row. I didn’t call you. I didn’t want to deal with whatever “drama“ I thought you had imagined. You said you were happy and that you had a wonderful husband, son and grandson. I had no idea how troubled you truly were and how much pain you were actually in. You told me you had no family, and your sister would not return your calls for what had been months now. For me, this was further reason to keep my distance because even your own sister was avoiding you.

You sent messages asking many questions — questions that I found abrasive and sometimes judgmental. You asked me over and over to call you and I refused. I could not understand why you were so desperate. Where were your friends? What about your husband? Who is this desperate? So I blocked you with no explanation. I felt justified in my decision at the time. Then a few months later, I got a text from another cousin. It was your obituary. You died on Mother’s Day. It’s suspected you took your own life – an overdose of antidepressants. I was crushed with shame for how I had treated you. I don’t know if talking to you might have made a difference, and it’s something I’ll never know. I wasn’t kind to you. You desperately needed help, and I wasn’t there. If I could go back, I might reach out and at least listen before I made the decision I had made.

I’m sorry doesn’t begin to express how I feel. I sincerely hope that you have found the peace that seemed to elude you here on earth.

“I’m Sorry” – it’s a song by John Denver that played over and over in my head for weeks, possibly months.

“I’m sorry for all the lies I told you; I’m sorry for the things I didn’t say” — this was in my head as I went through cancer treatment. I didn’t see it as a premonition at the time, but I should have. There were other premonitions. I had dreams of betrayal. Moments on the cusp of sleep and waking when I would tell him he was going to miss me. I couldn’t understand it all at the time, and I would not until months later. I told him about my dreams, but he was dismissive. He denied it all. “I’m sorry for all the lies I told you.” I wanted him to be sorry! “I’m sorry for myself for living without you.” My friends said he’d be sorry and that he would realize what a huge mistake he had made; some even went as far as to say he’d want to come back to me. None of this has happened, and I am so relieved that it hasn’t.

Sometimes the weight we need to lose is not on our bodies. I’ve lost a lot of weight. The weight of expectations placed on me by him, the weight of the mass of things he kept in my home, the weight of not feeling loved or even considered and the weight of all of the unkindness I experienced by him that last year. All of this is lifted almost like a rain cloud that had released all of its rain. I don’t know that he’s sorry, and I truly hope that he’s not — because I know I’m not.

I believe it’s in the painful lessons that we learn how fragile love and life truly are. Oddly enough, it is these lessons that teach us gratitude — for those precious small moments. And in these experiences and losses, I have forever been changed.

I learned that the people around me can make things heavier with their negativity, or they can lift with kindness and love. The people in my life now are those that show up despite their brokenness, because like me, they have been taught hard lessons through life. They, like me, have experienced unspeakable pain and grief yet their hearts remain open, kind and loving. I have been held up by these people time and again, and I wouldn’t be who I am without them. We truly are the company that we keep.

I am starting over AGAIN this thanksgiving. And this holiday will look much different, and I am again reminded that I have so much to be grateful for. I savor every precious moment – just as life has taught me. 

Why an online diary? I have actually asked myself this. It is an unusual way of journaling for sure. One answer I suppose is because I have had diaries in the past that had been taken from me and even used against me. Another reason is that in journaling, I find healing. It’s a way to process and obtain clarity to things heavy to my heart. I received my first diary at eight or nine years old for Christmas. It was pink and had a lock on the outside cover. I wrote all of the thoughts, feelings and struggles I was experiencing at the time. I guarded it with my life. Unfortunately, my secrets were not to remain mine alone. My stepfather went looking for and found my diary. He didn’t need the key; he simply tore it open. He then read it out loud in front of me, in front of my mother and in front of my siblings — mocking me the entire time. I was humiliated and violated in yet another way by him. He enjoyed knocking me down peg after peg, and he relished every moment of this latest conquest. 

You would be right to think I’d never keep another diary or journal again but you’d be wrong. 

I braved another diary in my teen years. Again working through my feelings and struggles — only now I’m 17 and living with my aunt and uncle. I had so many feelings, thoughts and struggles as do many teens. I accidentally left my diary out on the bathroom sink and instead of respecting my privacy, they invaded it. They confronted me and actually took it to our pastor for him to read. My aunt and uncle were concerned that my soul was bound for hell after reading my diary. Fortunately, my pastor was kind. He did not read my diary and instead warned them that this could cause me to leave the church and God entirely. That pastor is the reason I kept faith at the time. 

I guess what I’m saying is that I will not be silenced, despite the past, and if I’m going to keep any diary, it will be on my terms — and by God, I will tell my truth.

A year ago my mother died. Her death was sudden and came as a bit of a shock as she had lived with AND had survived many serious health issues over the years. It’s actually difficult for me to think of a time when she was healthy.

I was estranged from my mother when she passed. We had not spoken in several years and hadn’t seen each other in even more. Estrangement from one’s mother is a serious thing and for me it didn’t happen overnight. It took most of my adult life to get healthy enough and brave enough to let her go.

Friends and loved ones worried that I would regret my decision when she died. The thoughts were along the line of, “Are you sure?” They thought maybe we could have that fairy tale where estranged loved ones re-unite and see the error of their way type of thing. Trust me that shit is for the Hallmark Channel & was never going to happen for me.

I spent years trying to hold on to her and to let go of her. I realized what I was holding on to was the hope that one day she would see the light. The letting go was the knowledge deep inside that it was not to be, and the tricky part was trying not to blame myself.

You see I thought there was something integrally wrong with me. I held a lot of blame and shame as a result. But as I became to see the relationship I had with my daughter unfold over the years, it taught me a lot. I know if my daughter wanted to put distance between us, or if I felt I had somehow hurt her, I would move heaven and earth to make it right. Whatever that type of love or instinct that is, my mother lacked it for me.

I loved my mother & I still do. I did say goodbye to her while- not in death but while she was living. She didn’t fight for me or for our relationship she simply slipped away. I had lost my mother many years ago and she took pieces of myself with her. I do not regret our estrangement-but what I do regret is never having felt my mother’s love.

It’s been of dream of mine for some time now to tell my truth in a journal type of atmosphere. While what I am doing is selfish I do I hope that I am able to touch others as well. Life has always shown some pretty tough challenges and the past few years are no different. I won’t deep dive my life just yet. I will tell you that I am grateful for the well disguised gifts I was given. I want to share so much & the reason is two fold: It’s some crazy need on my part & the other is perhaps I will find my tribe.