Same Song, Second Verse

For the record, I was married on July 15, 1989. Not that I remembered the date when it rolled around this year.  But my forgetfulness had nothing to do with disinterest.  I'm nuts about Mark.  And Eric and Allison, as well. They are three major components in this awesome life of mine.

But, when I look at this photo--one taken just a year ago when we visited Rocky Mountain National Park--my emotions are complicated.  About three weeks after this photo was taken, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. And about a month after that, my mom died.

So you can forgive me if this photo is difficult for me.  I look at it now, and I find myself saying "I had cancer then!  Did some part of me know that I was sick,  that I'd be radiated and motherless in two months?"

So, yeah, anniversaries have become. . . complicated for me. This year, they represent bookmarks that signify "Before" and "After," in really big ways.

But this year also marks my first anniversary with the Tribe.  Yeah, I'm in a tribe. And it is an extensive, powerful group that should not be trifled with.

So. Don't. Even.

When I was pregnant with Eric, I remember local journalist and mentor Betty Stevens telling me that, after giving birth, I would be forever changed.  That I would become part of some secret tribe.  And, sure enough, it happened, just as she said it would.  I am not the same person that I was before Eric was born.

Lo and behold, I joined another tribe after my diagnosis.

Same song, second verse.  A little bit louder and a little bit worse.

Just in the last three weeks, I've met with three awesome members of The Tribe.  One, an artist, painted a piece I'd hung in our house just a week before meeting her.  And she had bought my own mother's artwork a few months before that.

Isn't that strange?  And marvelous?  All these weird connections, seemingly made without either of us knowing. . . and I found myself wondering if some molecular part of us knew that we'd be meeting each other and had prepared for that meeting via artwork.

It boggles my mind, and makes me love this life even more.

That same day, I met with another friend, another member of the Tribe.  Over beers, we moved through shared stories of surgery and chemicals, light and pills until it was just . . . us.   Changed but the same.

And, yet again this morning, under a heavy sky, I met with MB, one more member of the Tribe. Over breakfast, we shared our stories and, at times, sat gape jawed, admiring the way so many circles had become concentric just when we needed them to touch us most.

That's the thing about the Tribe.  We speak the same language, even if we took different roads in learning it.  And I am so very grateful that I have found others who know these words, who recognize this thing that we share.

True, a year ago,  I may have known nothing about my future, sitting there at the lake's edge.

But it is equally true that I also know nothing about my future right now, here with my dog, sitting in my kitchen, waiting for Mark to come home.

That is the nature of this life, us sitting next to the unknown, smiling into a camera held by some stranger who, one day, might end up in our Tribe.

If only we can be so lucky.