This time of year

Elena, two years ago, on St. Patrick's Day - the day before diagnosis.

Elena, this year, celebrating St. Patrick's Day.

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Sunday is Elena's two year diagnosis anniversary. Tomorrow we will be celebrating two years of her brave fight by helping to give life to others. Right now, I'm feeling more melancholy than celebratory.

This time of year is interesting for me. It must be because Elena was diagnosed right around a holiday and right at the beginning of Spring. Seeing the St. Patrick's day green come out and feeling the warm sun again and seeing spring flowers has an unfortunate way of taking me right back every now and then. I really do think we've all dealt with it pretty well, it's not like I fall to pieces every time I see a crocus. Quite the opposite, in fact. Usually I'm just super excited for spring. But they are reminders that serve to jog my memory occasionally with unpleasant recollections and feelings. Like the other day, we had a little St. Patrick's Day party with Elena's friend, Daphne. We had the girls all gussied up in green for the occasion. Elena came walking into the room at some point during the day and I saw the bow in her hair- the same one she was wearing the day before she was diagnosed (the day that I finally realized something was wrong). I had picked out the bow for her hair without a second thought, but in that unguarded moment when I caught sight of it, it totally took me right back. It was like deja-vu. All the worry and fear and uncertainty came rushing back involuntarily. It only lasted for a minute, but it was crazy how it felt so real and took me right back to that day. Maybe I need to get rid of that bow.

This year, I think it's been especially hard, because Lily is almost the exact age that Elena was at diagnosis. I'll dress Lily in something and I remember when Elena wore that same thing when she was that age. Before she was diagnosed. In that other life we had. It sounds so silly, but it's amazing how a piece of clothing can bring so many memories and feelings to the surface. It's just disconcerting to have Lily at this age- the last age I remember Elena at before everything changed. The old Elena with her bleach blonde baby hair and chubby arms and no cancer. I look at a random bruise on Lily and wonder if she's next, if we somehow have some gene that makes it so our kids can't get past two and a half without getting cancer. This age that Lily's at, this month of March, they really get to me sometimes. Elena asks me every so often when Lily will get cancer. Or when her cousin, Jo, will get cancer. Or her friends from church. Sadly, and as much as we try to make it not be, it is her reality.

On Sunday, we learned that a little cancer friend passed away unexpectedly that morning. He was scheduled to have a bone marrow transplant the next day to cure his relapsed AML. Critter was just shy of his own two year diagnosis anniversary. Eric and I read his mom's blog post from that day and then sat on the couch and held each other and cried. One of only a handful of times I have ever seen Eric cry. We cried for Critter and his sweet family. We cried for everyone hurting from cancer. And we cried for our Elena - our fear of what might happen and our gratitude that she's still with us. The part where his mom talked about his "pack pack" that he had to bring with him to the hospital hit too close to home. I could picture a dozen similar situations as we've been headed out the door for the hospital with Elena and some toy or stuffed animal or purse that she had to take with us. They were just packing for a hospital stay with no thought at all that he'd never come home. Just like we have a dozens of times. After I got my cry out, I sat there and thought. I thought about how Critter didn't quite make it to his two year anniversary and how Elena was approaching hers. I was filled with gratitude (and a little guilt) that she's made it to two years and that she's doing so well - especially lately.

I hope that the feelings and memories will dull with time - that each year will get easier. For now, I'll let today be a day for a little of the sadness connected with two years ago. I'll try to remember to hold my girls a little tighter and speak a little softer to them. And I'll save tomorrow for a day of celebrating and giving and hope. Stay strong, my little Elena.