We were frustrated with our conversation with our oncologist yesterday. I expressed as much when I was sharing the latest update with my dad. My dad is the first person I call for advice, support, encouragement or to vent because he, unfortunately, has traveled this same road with my mom. I always feel bad because I know our conversations make him relive, remember, and as is the human condition – regret- things from the twelve years my mom battled a recurring brain tumor. But there is no one else I know and trust like Dad, and I know his advice is true, honest and spoken from experience.

As is always the case, he explained it well. And what he said didn’t just help me understand the oncologist’s position better, but it helped us process our feelings about seeking a second opinion. “It’s a 180 degree turn,” he explained. “You are in fight mode. You are thinking about symptoms and solutions and treatment and progress,” he went on to say. “But at some point that shifts. You make a complete U-turn to where you are now thinking about just living, about being in the moment and about making the most of the time you have.” Our oncologist had already made that turn in her mind for our situation; we were just lagging behind. We were still focused on getting as many years together as we could, while she had made the turn to preserving the quality of that time, instead of zeroing in on length of time.

Which is why, when James texted me to say he was thinking about stopping to hang out with his old boss for a little bit, but then hesitated because his boss had recently come out of COVID quarantine, I responded by saying, “Go. Have a wonderful time. You have to live for today.” And so he did.

And which is why I found myself in the garden, in the pouring rain, balancing an oversized umbrella and a quart container so I could pick the ripened berries before the chipmunk got to them. I found myself delighting in the thought of homemade jam with our own berries – a first in a number of years – and for a few brief moments, I didn’t think about cancer, I didn’t cry or worry or stress, I just focused one by one on those beautiful red berries.

We haven’t made that complete one-eighty yet, but with Dad’s explanation ruminating in our hearts and minds, I think we are feeling a pull in that direction. We know there is no cure. We know the options are limited. A second opinion might buy us some time, maybe, but the same amount of time might be lost sitting in doctor’s offices or waiting on scans, or traveling to God knows where.

James and I both have been struggling with the unfairness of it all. The injustice feels particularly harsh when we look at all the time, energy, money and effort we have put in to building our dream here on Someday Farm. We want more time. But, if I look at this through the advice Dad gave me, maybe that’s exactly the blessing. Our dream is all around us here, right now. There is so much to savor, so much to appreciate, so much to enjoy. Maybe we have spent all that time and effort so that right now, for this next while, we can find peace and comfort from all of it. This, right now, this is our Someday.

This is the new direction we face.