Happy sixth birthday to the scar on my neck. Which you can barely see in this picture, especially if you don’t know where to look. (It’s parallel to my collarbone, about an inch above.)
Today was the first time my mom marked the occasion by thanking modern medicine instead of God for keeping me here. That’s pretty weird to think about.
It’s weird that I was diagnosed on the last day of summer, which I’ve thought about before, but it’s more salient this year because Claire and I were just talking about the metaphors of solstices and equinoxes.
This summer was weird. Life is weird.
I just (impulsively) messaged Kaitlyn:
"Remember how you were on vacation with your family when I texted you that they finally figured out what was wrong with me and it was pretty serious?
I didn’t think about it at the time but I probably should have given you some warning before I dropped that on you.”
I think about that every year. Apparently she was in a cathedral in Spain when she got my text, which is a pretty fitting place, I think.
God, it’s been two years since those two messages we exchanged. And four years since we stopped being friends. I think about her every fall.
I think about a lot of things every fall.
Fall always feels like a new beginning. More than New Year’s and even more than spring. And that doesn’t make a lot of sense considering my relationship with Winter. But it does.