The sun wasn’t much past rising. All the snowflakes in the air reflected the light in a way that made it seem later than it was. I walked into the dark kitchen and looked out the window and paused. The whole scene was filled with snow. Soft snowflakes that seemed to be hanging thick in the air, still.
“That’s kind of what Leukemia feels like.” I thought.
And somewhere deep inside, a voice in me responded, “What does that mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know, really. I just look out at those snowflakes- do you see them? They are just hanging in the air. They aren’t falling. You, you see them, don’t you?”
“Ya, I see the snowflakes.”
“I don’t understand what they are doing. How are they not falling? Like, what’s holding them there, suspended in the fog? There is snow everywhere, but the flakes this morning aren’t falling and I think they are waiting to be noticed.”
“What’s this have to do with Leukemia?”
“It’s just there. Accumulating. Suspended in the fog. Causing things and changing things…and, I don’t know, I just feel like sometimes it just wants to be noticed.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean now,” she whispers.
But I continue as though I didn’t hear her understand me, “Ya know, sometimes it feels like it’s hanging there in front of me, waiting to be noticed.”
“The Leukemia, it’s waiting?’
“I don’t know. The Leukemia. The treatment. The whole process. It’s February and its freezing and there is snow everywhere… I am just wondering how this became my life.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how it became our life either.”
“Ya know, snow in February… most days it feels so normal. But then I look out one morning and the snowflakes are just hanging there and they aren’t falling, and I just have this moment…I don’t know…”
“…where you wonder if the Leukemia was inevitable?”
“Yeah, exactly…was all of this inevitable?”