Four Years Ago, Today.

Four years ago today. Valentine's Day is a day of infamy in our family history book. Not your traditional celebration of red roses, chocolates and stuffed teddy bears. Rather, I'll be spending today doing all the things that matter, but with a little bit more 'umph.

Eating breakfast with Blake. Sipping my morning coffee. Having a second and even a third cup. Doing a round of homework with the bug before taking him to school. All the while, working: on stuff that matters. Attending a Board Meeting tonight right dab smack in the middle of the evening and wrapping things up for the day with my family. Sharing. Smiling. Giggling. And undoubtedly, a bit of impromptu dancing which isn't so impromptu since it's a nightly ritual.

In my wildest dreams, I would have never, ever been able to tell you five years ago that "this" is what my life would look like. A life so closely intertwined with cancer. I am back to work helping people with cancer-related legal issues (seriously, right.) and spend a tremendous amount of time volunteering with Komen among a host of other cancer-advocacy and outreach groups. Stuff that matters. But the last four years have brought more blessings than one could ever hope for in a lifetime. I am beyond lucky in the purest sense of the word.

The stats are ugly. The surgeries are long-listed and are to-be-continued in my book. The triple-negative front is anything but hopeful. And 2011 has been a short, but tough year. My "sisters" are bearing the brunt of the disease and Hallmark is getting the best of me. Not being the patient can make one feel so helpless so in my pursuit to do something, I retreat to Hallmark. The realist in me lives on.

But four years is nothing to minimize. Four years brings me one step closer to the mark. The mark that "they" gave me. The mark that I gave myself. The mark that means the world to our family. While the targeted treatments for triple negative breast cancer are pretty much non-existent, the 5-year mark for triple negative patients is monumental in our recovery. I can feel it and it's oh, so close.

The realist in me knows that those closest to me who are spending their day preparing for chemo, changing bandages or lining up caretakers for their babies as they head into surgery were all well beyond the 5-year mark. My mentors in the cancer-world, but more importantly, my mentors in the "this-is-who-you-can-strive-to-mirror-to-be-a-loving-mother,-strong-and-beautiful-woman,-full-of-compassion,-and-with-the-kickin-sense-of-humor" type of women. All 5-years and beyond. And, as I think about them every single morning, my small victory of four-years isn't without loss. I miss you, Shawna and Kel. Realist.

Blake is 3 1/2. Blake is amazing. Blake is playing baseball (tee-ball) in April. Blake is growing. Growing tall and won't slow down. Nothing in his vocabulary or mental awareness has any clue about 5-years, 4-years or 50-years. I'm his Mama. And in his world, I'm his Mama forever. So. That's the way it'll be. There is no reason to try to rationalize and lay out the stats to my 3-year old. Afterall, he is my carrot. I am on a constant chase to keep up with him. Forever. And ever. And ever.

Four years ago, I was 27, pregnant and deathly afraid (but tried not to act it). I wasn't sure if I were going to still be alive to see my son take his first steps.

Four years ago, my life changed forever.

Today. Blake is the greatest joy ever. Rigo is amazing. I am healthy. We are happy.

Today. Life is good.

Thank you dearest family and dearest friends for the last for years. Cheers to the next forty!