November 15th, 2024 was a Friday. L and I drove to Omaha for an appointment with the surgeon who would help unblock her parotid gland that had been swollen for months. When he came into the room to meet with us, he let us know immediately that there would not be a surgery because it was not her parotid gland that was the problem. He looked at the CT scan–the one from over two months ago, which the tech had stated did not contain a cyst, stone, or tumor–and showed us exactly where her tumor was.

He did a needle biopsy in the office immediately and within an hour we had the initial pathology. Cancer.

It all happened so fast. One moment we were joking around in the room waiting for the doctor. The next she was squeezing my hand and fighting back tears while multiple needles were being stabbed into her face. And then the nurse was hugging us and telling us we could stay in the office for as long as we needed to. To process.

I don’t think I have the words to explain how those moments felt. That was a year ago today. I still don’t have the words.

I will tell you that part of it felt exactly like I would have guessed. But part of it felt nothing like I would have guessed.

For example: after the appointment we made some impossibly hard phone calls, letting her dad and grandma and grandpa know what was going on.

And then we went to the Cheesecake Factory and ate lunch. Like we normally would.

We drove home and fielded more hard phone calls. We cried. We talked about how we couldn’t tell if it was sinking in or not.

And we also joked. And laughed. And sang at the top of our lungs to her playlist. Like we normally would.

I remember there was an incredible sunset. I normally would have taken a picture of it, but I didn’t. I can’t remember why I didn’t.

(I did, however, take a picture of my stupid Garmin that congratulated me for having such an easy, low stress day when we got home. That was about the time I switched back to my Apple Watch.)

Today it has been one year since her diagnosis. One year since that day in the office and that drive home and that sunset. She is having a great weekend hanging out with her dad. We are in limbo waiting for her platelet count to recover so we can start maintenance chemo, but she is feeling great and enjoying the sweet spot of easing back into school while still having some good down time to rest and read and enjoy her own bed and walk around not hooked up to an IV pole.

I woke up this morning with more energy than I’ve had in months and started cleaning out cupboards. Cleaning out desk drawers. Cleaning up piles that accumulate around the house. It was like subconsciously I needed a reset. I cleaned. I made bread. I played Candyland and read bedtime stories. We set up our Christmas tree. And then I sat down and wrote as many long-overdue thank you notes as I could manage.

This last year was messy. Nothing will ever be the same. And no amount of cleaning my house will change that.

But it is not lost on me that we are ending the year better than we started it. And that is no longer something I take for granted.