Almost heaven

I’m driving down a worn, familiar road. A road lined with trees whose roots date back further than even the path cut for this thoroughfare, whose limbs reach up toward a sky so blue and free from clouds it looks more like a body of water. The warmth of a bright spring sun gives the feeling of a day on the shore.

The road below me rises and falls like the waves of the ocean, down rural paths that boast the name highway in a generous application of the label.

Where the sky meets landscape there are the brightest — almost neon — green polka dots delicately placed and decorating the ends of each tree branch.

The same run-down restaurants — known locally as the best steak or pie or other southern favorite — pop up right alongside the highway (careful backing out of those spots!) before disappearing beyond another cresting hill.

Country roads. Taking me to my new home — after ten years I guess I can’t really call it new? — from my childhood one.

This time of year has always been my favorite one in Virginia.

It’s why I always try to visit around Easter.

The blooming trees and flowers, the thrill of seeing a colorful butterfly, of a ladybug landing on your shoulder, the quality of the air, still and fresh — the perfect temperature and not a trace of humidity — against a soundtrack of spring birds, excited for the season, dancing across a gentle breeze.

Lifecycles starting anew.

There is a buzz just under the surface, anticipation, excitement for all that is about to spring forth, shaking off the cold, dull days that stretch out toward the end of winter.

When you can’t take even one more frost, there is the spring, kissing you on the cheek with the promise of longer, brighter, warmer days.

Days filled with picnics and floating in the pool, hiking greenways and exploring new places. Eating dinner outdoors and meeting up with friends on sunny patios. Kids running carefree and barefoot in the yard. Disconnecting devices and playing outside with the family.

I started a new medicine and it is kicking my butt. I thought I was fatigued before. Oofh.

I’m thankful to be starting this now, with the change of the seasons. Metaphorically there is a lot to dig into there, but in short: I need the boost of the sunshine. And the quiet a sunny sky can bring to your mind.

The drive home from Virginia is quiet. A quick visit home to see Mom and grab the dogs who were at Camp Mimi while we enjoyed (endured?) spring break in Orlando.

After a week of overstimulation and busiest-of-the-year park days, I need the quiet. I think the dogs are even tracking as they lie quietly in the backseat — no one trying to nudge an arm up for pets or crawl into my lap.

There is a lot to think about over these three hours. I’m really giving my Notes app and speech-to-text functionality a workout!

In addition to starting the new med — an oral chemo — it’s the tenth anniversary of losing Uncle John. Ten. Years.

My whole body doesn’t hurt anymore like it did when we first lost him. But I can’t reflect on the loss without crying. And that’s OK. He’s worth the tears.

While we were at Disney we took a break in front of a performance stage — just in time for a group of high schoolers from the Midwest to perform a medley of show tunes. As you can imagine, I was PSYCHED.

These kids had TALENT! I was fully captivated! It was probably a good two or three songs in when I saw her. Mixed into the group, about mid-way back (although they shifted choreography continuously), singing and dancing like a star to “Ripple” from Spirited (one of the best Christmas movies EVER. I will take no questions.).

A teen with down syndrome.

I was so proud of her I just started crying. Just blending in, doing her thing. Noone shining a spotlight on her for being different, nor relegated to the back row where she could be hidden.

I thought of how far our society has come (but good god, do we have lightyears to go) that she could be up there on that stage. Part of this incredible team selected to perform on a Disney platform.

No big deal.

Normal.

That was the day after the tenth anniversary of losing Uncle John.

I also thought of how unfair this world is. How faceless executives sit in lofty offices making decisions that impact us all. Keeping costs high and manipulating markets, keeping the middle class working our asses off to get by, while they scoop up fifth and sixth vacation homes and enjoy $0 tax bills. Influencing legislation that benefits them but keep us at risk, unsafe.

How Uncle John only ever gave love — big hugs, homemade, heartfelt gifts, core memories — and fought so hard, yet couldn’t overcome cancer.

How my children will never get to experience his joy first-hand.

I don’t get to have another big hug, but I must worry about the rising cost of gas and the impacts of a war no one wants. About the safety of my friends who look different or who love too loud or the wrong people. About continuing to harm the planet with our insatiable desire for energy and lack of regard for the consequences.

What I do get is to continue to choose joy. To live joyfully and to spread joy. To take the lessons Uncle John imparted on me and share them with the world.

With each hit or setback, I will continue to stand up, to push forward. To shout for and demand equality, fairness, love.

To demonstrate these values for my children and to share them with strangers.

There is a lot to be lost, a lot of damage that comes from greed, selfishness, anger.

But what harm has ever come from true, honest, selfless love?