I lay out some twigs, a clump of dryer lint and a drugstore receipt for eyedrops that’s inexplicably as long as my arm. The firepit fills with flames, rapidly consuming my offerings while fading away as quickly as they began. I reload with more sticks, torn paper bags, newspaper shreds and fallen wood. I am patient with my fire-tending.

As I navigate innumerable decisions along this terminal cancer journey, having the strength and desire to return to beloved interests like viola feels like a precious gift.

How about some real reflection during this new spin around the sun? Here are three prompts that I find helpful.

When you and I spend time together, I tend to move slower than you do, but I do not always require assistance. In your rush to carry my totebags out of politeness, you don’t realize how disoriented I get about where my phone and pillbox are, and a moving target just makes things harder for me. Carrying my own gear is also one small way to work my weakened muscles and practice coordination. 

Jeans or jeggings? Short-sleeved tee-shirt or long-sleeved tunic? Miniskirt or maxidress? Until I entered the swirl of seemingly nonstop cancer appointments, I used to dress according to occasion and weather; but now, I base my choices on that day’s medical events.