Nothing happens for a reason and none of this is God’s plan.
If you’ve said either of these phrases in an attempt to make someone feel better, it didn’t work. In fact, they’ll smile and nod their head but behind those eyes they’re sending tiny daggers straight for you.
You see, there’s this little thing called free will. It’s what allows us to choose how we deal with the destruction that can become our lives. You choose. You choose to get out of bed. You choose to make a difference. You choose to try.
Before cancer, I was like any other American woman. I eat in front of the TV, I stress about the cellulite on my thighs, my blood pumps over the perfect leather handbag. Now that I’ve been shown this other viewpoint of the world, there’s a big part of me that longs to go back in time and have these kinds of fluffy dreams. I’d love to just talk about the weather and it feel like enough. Someday I’ll be able to answer a stranger with an honest heart when she asks how I am today.
Joe lived to love.
We missed countless weddings and events because of cancer and chemo schedules. Joe was always making sure we sent a gift. He loved the feeling of seeing someone else happy.
Even without him on Earth, we still can feel the love he left behind. I felt it as I packed up my closet and came across a dress stuffed in the back. Four years ago, I was planning my friend’s bachelorette party in Miami. I was pretty sure the trip was going to be a disaster because I was fat and had nothing to wear and was fully embracing my self absorbed depression.
Joe must have had enough of my whining because he took matters into his own hands. He went to the mall and straight into a designer dress store to try and find his fiancee something to wear.
I had totally forgot about this story until I stumbled across that dress again. Joe had it waiting for me when I got home from work. I’m pretty sure he was putty in the sales girl’s hands as he told them he needed a Miami style dress for his fiancee who had a Kim Kardashian butt. I can’t hardly write that without laughing but I remember him telling me about going through all the racks and spending way too much on a dress that guess what— I couldn’t return!
I felt so loved, and you better believe I squeezed my toosh into that little number.
That’s the kind of love that stays behind long after you are gone. People will remember the way you made them feel. No one will talk about my thighs at my funeral. I hope the mark I leave will go much deeper.
Joe may be gone but the way he lived— lives on.