Sissy,

I know what you’re thinking. You might have no idea what I’m talking about. But, here, I’ll help you out—10 years ago today, you completed your last radiation treatment. You became cancer-free.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. I just took that course in oncology, so maybe that’s why. A lot of things have to go right in order to be cancer free. Billions and billions of things. They told us that after five years, it would be official, official. But honestly, even then I wasn’t sure what had happened or could have happened. I’m not sure if ten years is a medical milestone. But this is the first Big Anniversary that I actually have processed, and I would like to celebrate.

Part of me wants to reminisce the last ten years, and say something about how wonderful they have been, and how we’ve eaten so many chocolate chips out of the bag and danced around the house and over FaceTime more times than we could ever count. And, don’t get me wrong, they have been great. But that’s not what I want to do. I don’t want to talk about our future children playing together as we sit back with a glass of wine, either, though I'm pretty sure that'll happen one day, too.

Because today is pretty important. Sure, I’m not in the same geographical location as you, and I called you earlier and the day hasn’t been anything spectacular. [Note that if I was in the same location, your day would have been spectacular, as would mine.]

I love you forever and always.

Keep carpe-ing the diem.

Love, Sissy