It's a Good Thing

John and I headed north to Seattle over the weekend. We had a great dinner with the kids and a leisurely trip back home.

Nice.

We stayed at a hotel that evoked an abundance of good memories. Last year, we stayed there for my son's wedding festivities, and as we walked into the foyer I felt a twinge of nostalgia. I tried to figure out why I suddenly felt this strange mix of emotions: warm fuzzies as I recalled the wedding and celebration that surrounded it, but also wistfulness as I realized that the state of my health was quite different back then. I was riding my first rituximab energy high and thoroughly enjoying the ability to participate in the wedding fun without a major crash and burn.  I remembered bustling in and out of this same grand marble foyer with things to do and people to see, my heels clicking briskly on the polished floor.

Ah, but my entrance into the hotel was much different this time. A year and a half later as I pushed open the huge glass and brass doors, I was exhausted by simply walking the few blocks from the train station. I was glad that John was at my elbow as we made our way up to our room and that a very comfortable bed was waiting so that I could catch a couple hours sleep before meeting son and DIL, and D#2 and SIL for dinner later that evening.

The next day as we said our good-byes and headed back to the train and home, I had a chance to reflect on my feelings about the stark contrast between my two visits to this hotel. I was seriously tempted to allow myself to start down that all too familiar path of dang I wish I could still be on rituximab and even the more familiar and well worn path of I hate this disease and I wish I could just magically be cured. Why me?

As we settled into the generous leather seats and the train began to slowly roll southward, a thought occurred to me: What if ten years from now, my future self will be wishing that I could have THIS day back again? And that things would have changed, and somehow this day-- that I was wasting by pining away for times past -- was the one that I would want to do all over again?

It seems that I need to continually be reminded to live and appreciate in each and every moment. I wouldn't want to look back on this lovely weekend spent with John and the kids and their spouses and only remember that I was feeling sorry for myself. No, I would want to remember that we laughed and hugged and ate and drank together.

And that life was and continues to be very, very good.