In Reflection
A blog post is called for on this big day. I know that a lot of you who interact with this account found me this summer, and are aware that one of my dearest friends in this lifetime was diagnosed with Breast Cancer this past June.
Today, four months later, this absolutely extraordinary human is taking on her eighth and final round of chemo. As I write this, I am overwhelmed with love, pride, joy and awe for this person who I’ve known since elementary school - someone who continues to transcend every version of herself as she grows to be more bold, loving, and inspiring each day. I don’t aim to tell Miranda’s story for her, ever. She does that perfectly and eloquently herself. Rather, I write about her and her story for myself and for our friends, for our family. I write about it to make the 2,000 miles between us feel more manageable.
Today, I’m doing more than simply writing about it. I’m reflecting. And as I sit in my favorite coffee shop, my eyes welling with tears as I recall beautiful memories from the past four months and scribe them into my notes app, I think of my friend. I think of her parents who will spend today in the hospital the way they have many times before, supporting her. I think of our shared friends — people that I know love her as much as I do, and how we’re all distantly together as we support her today. I think of my gratitude for the medicine that is healing my friend.
Today, I reflect. I scroll through my camera roll looking at photos from the summer we spent together — a summer unlike any other — and feel the greatest sense of reverence for how far she’s come and a faith in the amazing places this world will take her.
I remember so vividly the days after the initial diagnosis. Waiting for news, stifling tears, unsure of the right thing to say — or if there was anything ‘right’ to say at all. At one point I had become so familiar with the feeling of pressure behind my eyes that I’d forgotten what it felt like to not be on the verge of tears at all times. My plight was nothing in comparison to Miranda's. I knew the beauty of my heartache, for what I was feeling was not sadness or pain, it was just love taking an unfamiliar form. No fear, just love we’d say half-ironically. It slowly became our truth.
We leaned on one another, all of us. We transformed from unstable pillars into unmovable supports as we learned resilience by way of your example. Days faded into weeks, and although our 19-year-old reality had been hugely altered, there was so much love in the sweet memories we found in between moments of heartache. Trips to the lake — all of us filling up on chips and hummus before dinner while we watched the sunset from the dock. Conversations that flowed from confronting existential matters to talking about our respective crushes. Shared pizzas at the beach; the “who took my slice from the fridge?” debacle that was so perfectly trivial. Long drives, great conversations. Sitting at your kitchen counter, two amateur bloggers pouring our souls into our MacBooks (thank goodness Squarespace is user friendly.)
This summer we found writing, we found healing, and because of your journey, so many of us in your community have found each other, in so many ways. It’s true that we never really knew what was coming next, or what kind of day it would be — what news it would bring; so we grounded ourselves in the love that we all knew well. And as Miranda embarks on her final round of chemo, I am simply overwhelmed with pride and awe and truthfully, a little bit of shock still. There were times that I turned to Miranda this summer and asked “can you believe you have cancer?” It’s still crazy to me.
But that’s Miranda — extraordinary to her core. One in a million. Shock has turned into pure amazement.
So to my little spicy partner in crime, today is the greatest gift. I am so proud of you. I am proud of the grace and resilience with which you’ve endured the past four months. I am proud that you have, for lack of a better description, made this diagnosis your b*tch. I’m proud to be your friend but even just proud to exist on this planet at the same time as you. I am proud of the way you’re changing the world and inspiring millions of people. I feel that pressure behind my eyes as I write this, only now the tears are not coming from sadness or fear. They are inspired by pride and by awe. You are writing the most epic story. Here is to spending many more years healing hearts together and changing the world for the better. Your existence has proved to be the greatest blessing in my life, and I thank the last eight rounds of chemo for supporting that existence. There are more months to come, more challenges to endure, but today, we celebrate you in all of your beauty and strength.
I love you dearly, spicy! And I cannot wait to wrap you up in a hug so soon.
With all of my love,
Cailin