Forgiveness is funny. Some require a certain level of remorse or sacrifice in order to pencil in an appointment in order to come to the table to discuss the possible terms and conditions of a future forgiveness venture.

Others aren’t so tricky and just require the lens of current circumstances to realize that relationships need to be tended to in order of what’s on fire, not in a chronological order no one will ever agree on.

Some see a matter of life and death and put a pin in the fight, into “the thing” no one fully understands; only to know that no mending can take place until “the thing” is handled.

I know certain truths to be unwavering. When most hear “cancer,” or “chemo,” or “radiation,” they are not inclined to sit on the side lines watching someone struggle.

I guess it depends what love is to you, but I couldn’t say “I love you,” then watch you drown.

To me, love runs into a cancer center if it gets a phone call or a confusing text saying “If this is it, I love you.” Love is a relentless pursuer of “How can I help?” Love reprioritizes what is worth holding a grudge over. Love has conversation before it throws out threats.

I wanted to be accepted for fitting in the same way everyone else did. I eventually just wanted to fit in for how I fit into the universe on my own. Now, I barely take up a corner of a sofa cushion and I’d like to fit in however I damn well fit.

I will never be talented enough or particularly beautiful enough to make Miss Congeniality. I am currently not even doing cancer correctly.

I’ve seen Hallmark movies and I see how that one person gets sick and it brings people together because they decide nothing matters more than love matters. The scene ultimately pans out to some snow covered window and everyone is standing around some arm chair while the sick person feels the heat of a fire and a fuzzy blanket.

My club accepted me secretly in my emails and publicly on forums where they shout messages that feel amazing, but aren’t as warm as a familiar casserole on a night when you just simply can’t rise to the occasion.

My club calls me family. Family, apparently cannot be shaken upside down like a snow globe, creating a new scene just as beautiful as before where things have simply settled differently. Some snow globes do not have a club house in them at all.

It’s difficult being grateful for those I may never thank or hold, when words fail me and all I really ache for is the safety of collapsing into the familiar. Nothing is familiar and my most treasured comforts are not weathered and worn, but are new and surprising me daily as they arrive.

I do not resent the new. I relish the new. Getting sick has been a bittersweet realization that as the new blessings arrive, the bitter feeling left is the loss of a comfort that will never come now that I am not a kid with missing bangs and a Tom boy haircut. My adult cancer isn’t huggable.