Another Day, Another Brunch....and a Dinner

The people who have been on this journey with me so far have reached out in so many ways. Offering to help. With anything. Its overwhelming. I’m not one who asks for help. Ever. (If you know me, you know how much of an understatement this actually is). And I also cannot accept help. I am not sure why, its probably some sort of defense mechanism I have developed over my forty years to deal with something I haven’t dealt with. Some friends didn’t only offer help, they made me go to brunch.

That I could do.

So one Thursday I had brunch with someone I met when my daughter was just six months old. We have been good friends since. Though they are not in the same school (or town), our kids have grown up together. She is an easy person to be around. There are never any judgement and we are two very matter-of-fact kind of people. She listened to me outline all the next steps and possibilities. She asked questions. She shared her friend’s experiences with a different and very aggressive form of breast cancer. Most importantly, she treated it as a bump in the road. We talked about how she is moving and the progress her family is making cleaning out their home, plans for renting it, new housing in their destination. We talked about other things because we knew there was a future to look toward. This was just a bump in the road.

The next Thursday I had brunch with two friends who I met through my work with a local historical society. Let’s just say it wasn’t the easiest work or the easiest historical society. Either way, I feel these two ladies came into my life at just the right time, providing me perspective, guidance and a new way to look at life. We talked about our work and work one friend was doing with the local parks commission. We talked about the other friends continued work with a historic inventory. Both talked about their grandkids. I talked about my kids. Then we talked about my diagnosis and options. One friend had already survived an invasive form of breast cancer. She shared her experiences and asked pointed questions. Most importantly, they treated it as a bump in the road. Something that once done, we move on from and look at in the rear-view mirror.

Then there was dinner. A friend I had met when my son was one and we did a parenting class together, along with our kids. Then we ended up at the same preschool. We talked about my diagnosis, made fun of boobs and all the trouble they cause. We talked about our families, where we come from (we are both only children it turns out) and how we met our spouses. We talked about other things, because this is just a bump in the road.

These are my people. This is my village.