I wanted to soar through time and slip back into this moment. To this place where the last bit of sunlight made me feel beautiful. I would rub my hand over bald head, and feel the bump of my port in my chest, and lose myself in jealousy.
Tonight, as I was preparing to write this post, Alex came in and looked at the picture too. He got quite and then said, ” I like you in that picture with your hair long. Will it be that long again?” “It will,” I said.
I know I can grow my hair out again, and eventually I won’t need my port. But I also know I will never look exactly like that again. That was before I had Andy, before I had cancer, before my double mastectomy. That was before.
I guess there is always a before and after. And rarely are we just now, just right here. Just right in the moment.
What a waste it would be for me to stay envious of my past self. I guess it just seams easier. I had worries then too, I am sure. What a waste, to worry.
I am not really used to my short hair. When I catch glances of myself in windows, or mirrors, I still do a double take. Is that me? Is this who I am now? I remember feeling the same way after I became a mother. Is that me pushing a stroller? Am I really a mother? In some ways I still feel like the teenaged lifeguard twirling my whistle, and wearing watermelon lip gloss.
All of this change is still settling itself inside of me. Still not quite done breaking free from this cocoon. Still more worm, than butterfly.
Soon though, very soon. Soon I will find my wings again. And I will fly. Until life calls me back to fall, and I will lose my leaves, and start again.