One Year Ago

Exactly one year ago today, my life changed forever.  When my doctor called on that Thursday, earlier than the projected 72 hours needed for results from my biopsy, we knew something wasn't right.  Still, in that instant when she announced, "It's cancer," I knew I would never be the same again.

In my short history, I can recall only a handful of other dates in which I can pinpoint the exact moment my life as I knew it would be forever changed.  Among my favorites:  May 31, 2000: 11:00a.m.  I became Mrs. Stephen Cooper and forever a partner, no longer a single;  July 18, 2007: 9:25a.m.  I became a mother, forever giving my all to support a life which I helped create.;  April 9, 2010: 5:23 p.m.  My family grew by one, and my heart expanded to contain the extra love.;  November 11, 2011: 12:42 p.m.  I began to understand the Lord's timing, the miracle of trusting in His plan for me, and knowing beyond any doubt that our family needed this other precious soul to be complete.  Most of the life-changing moments that will be sealed in my memory forever have had an incredibly positive reason for their importance.  Initially, January 17, 2013 was quite the opposite, but it's amazing how tragedy can turn to triumph.

After the initial devastation and shock, after my life ended for a moment in time and I quickly woke back up and realized that I had too many reasons to keep going rather than give up, I knew I had a choice.  I could either let cancer define and destroy me, or I could transform and thrive.  Through the process, I have tried to look for the tender mercies of the Lord, to seek the positive, and to learn what He has planned for me, all while leaning on faith.  It's been a process, but I've learned to shift my perspective.  Being required to overcome has made me realize strengths I didn't know I had and has forced me to use them.     

This year has changed me, but that's what life is all about.  We are here to progress, constantly on the path, practicing perfection.  Physically, my body has undergone destruction and reconstruction, and I feel far from perfect in that aspect.  However, the physical fades; it is the soul that remains. 

"You have cancer," is something I never wanted {or expected} to hear last year, but that moment has now become just another turning point in my life.  Something shocking and scary has become surprisingly instructive and uplifting.  I did not choose this path, but as long as I'm on it, I might as well keep moving forward, getting stronger and continuing on to the next big thing.