I am sitting here on Sunday evening and quietly reflecting on the past few days. Friday began with an amazing appointment with my oncologist, where Brandi and I learned that I am holding my own. There are no signs of new cancer in my kidney, uterus, or liver. The worst news I heard from the oncologist is that I need more physical therapy to break up scar tissue from the mastectomy. Ouch! Hallelujah! We go down the hallway to visit Robin and Tammy, my chemo nurses, share the good news, give hugs, and celebrate in the moment. Feelings of relief mingle with feelings of gratitude. But there is something more… Underneath it all, runs a very thin layer of sadness.

“Sadness?” you say? Why sadness? The sadness originates from a number of sources. I am remembering the last two appointments when the scan results were not as hopeful; when I left the doctor with a lump in my throat and fighting back tears; when I did not know where this journey with cancer was taking me. I also feel sadness for the people that day who did not receive good test results. I see them in the chemo clinic and the look on the faces mirrors my own whirling emotions on those more difficult days. A deep wave of compassion wells up in me. And finally, I suppose some of the sadness is a sense of foreboding joy, of recognizing that more dark days are likely. After four cancer diagnosis in six years, I recognize my own body’s ability to mutate cells. I accept that the breast cancer I have been diagnosed with has no remission. This is probably the most painful for my loved ones, for is is an acknowledgement of where my journey with cancer could go.

So, what do I go with this river of sadness that flows underneath my celebration? First, I will send a prayer of healing and comfort for those whose journey with cancer is dark right now. Then, I honor the sadness by recognizing that it is a part of this path I am traveling. I do not want to get all tangled up in it. I just want to say, “I know you are there”. I will also attend to my faith and my strong belief that I do not carry this sadness alone. Finally, I will gently bring myself back to today. My sadness lives in my past and possibly lives in my future, but my today holds joy and thankfulness. I will kindly bring myself back to mindfulness, back to the moment.

I feel like I have had to do this dance of mindfulness a number of times this weekend and I sense the music will be here in the days to come. But as I sit in quiet reflection, I keep thinking how lucky I am to hear the melody and feel the rhythm of mindfulness. May you feel that too.