One year ago today was the worst day of my life, but I survived. I survived that day and the last 365 days. In these days of learning to live with a terminal illness, I also learned how to be a mom. I got married and learned how to become a wife. I learned how to be a cancer patient but also a cancer advocate. I went back to work almost immediately and continue to learn how to balance all of these things together.

At first, I prayed for a long life, that I’d beat this, that I could see my kids grow. Now, I pray for acceptance of God’s plans for me and the ability to live the best life possible. I still hope I can live a long life, that I’ll make it to 50. That’s my new goal age. I’ll definitely take more life, but 50 and seeing the boys be bar mitzvah feels like I’m pushing today’s life expectancy, but also feels within reason. I hope that my friends and I can still grow old and live next to each other in our retirement community, and that Chris and I will celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary (he’s less excited about having to live to 90 for this). My biggest hope is that science can always be one step ahead of me. Mostly, I pray to find acceptance and good health for as long as possible.

After the diagnosis, the invading thought of living like this, or that I have lived more life than I had ahead of me, was constant. It felt debilitating some days. Physically (BH) I’ve felt pretty good, but mentally, it was a struggle. I asked my Facebook support group how we ever learn to live like this. I got some great responses. I talked to older people in my life to see what it feels like to have lived more life than they have left to live. I asked them about their regrets and their happiness.

I have watched people die of this illness this year. Some months were particularly difficult because it felt like a lot of people died. Some stories were extra heartbreaking. I have watched people accept that they have reached the end of treatment options and watched them walk the path of dying that we will all eventually walk.

Death is a part of life, but we fight it off. I’ve noticed in myself and in my Facebook group that even when someone announces hospice, we are uncomfortable acknowledging they are dying. We are uncomfortable accepting that there is no more fight to have. I think as a society, we are trained to fight death to the very end. I’ve seen people in my own life fight it to the end, and I’ve seen people accept it and walk into their final chapter inspiring others, living authentically, and getting a chance to say goodbye to those they love.

I think of my birth father, Gerardo, and how much he fought death. Sadly, because of that, he didn’t leave his wife or children with his words or advice to remember him by. I’m lucky to have a handwritten note from him. It lives behind the picture of him in my hallway. Every time I change the frame, I’m surprised and happy to find it again.

This year has both moved like a snail and like the speed of light. It was a lifetime ago and the blink of an eye. It makes me sad to think that there is one less year of life left, something I don’t think a lot of people consider with the passage of time.

Today marks one year of knowing I am living with cancer. It was the worst day of my life, followed by the hardest but also the most fulfilling year of my life. I enter year 2 with the hope of my first-line treatment continuing to work and the hope that life, in general, gets just a little easier. I am looking forward to continuing to be an advocate, going on little adventures when I have to get my PET scans, having a stronger emunah in Hashem, and being a more present mom and wife.

I’ve made it a year. L’Chaim 🥂