sunday night.

mayo,

i'm glad i had yesterday here at your place, because today i had to scurry around and get all my weekend chores done. tomorrow will be spent going up to seattle for my regular check-up with my oncologist. that takes a while with public transportation.

it's not such a big deal to see him, though. i catch up with his staff, he checks out my lymph nodes, i give them a bit more blood. this march i'll be six years out from my diagnosis, and i've been considered officially cured since last year.

but i'm always going to have to see him. there will always be a chance that it will come back, or i'll develop a different cancer.

most of the time, i don't think about it. i actually even forget about it altogether, in light of my dad and my grandma dying of cancers of their own.

until the check-up comes around.

that's when i feel a little shadow at the edge of my thoughts. "you can pretend," it whispers. "you can downplay that year, but i was there with you. i remember even if you don't want to."

every year, the whisper is more faint, but it's still enough to make me clench the back of my jaw. this is how i learned how to do the things i didn't want to do. this is how i learned to walk forward even with my eyes closed tightly.

by tomorrow night, it will be over for another six months, and i'll be persephone aboveground again.

but tonight i taste pomegranate.

that's just how it is. we don't always get to choose what needs to be done. maybe that's why it's so crucial to do those things that we do get to choose, those things that we want to do, those things that fill us with delight, not fear.

balance.
balance, and breath.

good night, mayo. thank you for this place. thank you for joining us here. it balances out so much else, so much more than you might realize.

best of dreams to you, and the best of days.