My children were the happiest of all to have me back home. I have never been loved on so much. The constant kisses and hugs are amazing. Even my eighteen year old has been forthcoming with them...and he has told me how much he loves me about a million times. My cup runneth over.
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I never thought for a second that I would feel happiness in its truest unadulterated form ever again. I was certain that every second in which I felt even a modicum of happiness at seeing Tristan grasp concepts like algebra or pride in watching Kaitlyn figure out how to skip or emotional over the fact that my eighteen year old still calls me mama would forever be tarnished by cancer and that cancer's ominous presence would invariably invade every moment of life going forward. In many ways, what I had suspected would happen, happened. I have cried for all the things that I might never see. The other day, Tristan told me he had a loose tooth. I wondered if I would be around to continue to be able to be the tooth fairy, and if I weren't, I worried about how my sweet sensitive Tristan would cope with my absence.
Even without the cloud of cancer hanging overhead, happiness can be an elusive feeling that flits across the consciousness like a fast moving fly trying to sneak a morsel of sweetness before it's chased away. Anyone who raises children understands the often soul-crushing monotony of life's routines, of battling through fatigue every morning, of rushing the kids off to school (in my case getting them ready to start their school day at home which can be very hard to do), of cooking healthy dinners that will likely go uneaten by irrationally picky children, of relentlessly negotiating over important things like when to brush teeth and what clothes to wear the next day and what treats they can have if they eat all their dinner. Before cancer, occasionally, I would find flickers of the pure joy that everyone says children would bring. Happiness came when Damion would say something hilarious, or Tristan would come sleep in my room when thunderstorms came, or when Kaitlyn would write me notes to ask me questions because she was too afraid to ask in person. Joy came when I was able to spend a long weekend with Kevin or a rare evening away without the children. But for the most part, life before cancer, which consisted primarily of working and parenting, was plain old hard and thankless. Don't get me wrong, I always appreciated what I had, my children's health and our comfort and well-being. I didn't need cancer to give me a wake-up call about being grateful for everything I had in my life. Growing up with a single mother who worked hard to raise my brother and I, taught me everything I needed to know about gratitude and appreciating life, truly. Rather, my life before cancer had settled into a routinized contentment and acceptance of the status quo, as opposed to an existence dominated by moments of happiness, defined as elevated moments of pleasure, delight, and euphoria. After the cancer diagnosis, I simply assumed that whatever few moments of pure joy would be tainted and that unadulterated happiness going forward was a total and complete impossibility.
But my assumption was wrong.
As shocking as it may seem, cancer has brought me many moments of happiness. While cancer has the ability to tarnish my happy moments with my children, to taint them with doubts about the future, cancer also has an incredible ability to strip away the ugliness and the things that don't matter and to put everything into perspective. Cancer gives me the ability to focus on the present, to really listen to everything that someone is saying to me, to enjoy and marvel at another person's stories and see that person as a person living right now, to feel gratitude that I have so many different people in my corner. And because cancer forces me and others to refocus on what matters, what I have found, are people coming forward to strengthen, reestablish old or establish new relationships- high school classmates, my parents, my husband, my children, distant friends, relatives, people I've never even met. It's these relationships in my life, a life that for better or worse, is so defined by cancer now, that matter to me most these days, that make me truly happy. It is in these relationships that I am finding the breathtaking beauty, peace, and divinity that I once ascribed only to my solitary wanderings.
Love you all and truly mean it...and God loves you too,
Shanna xoxoxo
LUNGevity National Hope Summit: I'm participating in an event to raise money to fight lung cancer—and I need your help!
I'm planning to attend LUNGevity Foundation's National HOPE Summit in Washington, DC, in May - it's a special conference just for lung cancer survivors like me. If I can raise $1000 or more in donations, LUNGevity will cover my travel expenses, including US round-trip transportation and hotel accommodations.
Proceeds from this fundraiser will benefit LUNGevity Foundation, the leading private provider of research funding for lung cancer. LUNGevity Foundation is firmly committed to making an immediate impact on increasing quality of life and survivorship of people with lung cancer by accelerating research into early detection and more effective treatments, as well as providing community, support, and education for all those affected by the disease.
Please join me in my efforts to stop lung cancer—the leading cancer killer—now!
Official prayer warrior page for my fight against lung cancer: facebook.com/hope4shanna
Official blog Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/shannabananahealthandfitness
My Go Fund Me Page (any and all donations will help with my medical funds) gofundme.com/hope4shanna2016
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