When this whole cancer thing started, I joked about the old lady who swallowed a fly, and then I took on a cow. Meanwhile, I was quivering in my cowboy boots. Okay, I would have been if I had any.

Not sure how long I could play charades and tell nursery rhymes, I wrote to make myself feel better.

I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself or be scared, even though I was both. So I documented what was going on with me and found humor because I wasn’t what I used to be.

But in this process of losing myself, I found you.

So when things got out of control scary–I had to have my first surgery EVER, and I would have to lose my boobs for bionic ones, I wasn’t playing games anymore. But come that last Sunday, I found the words, even if they were dangling in the thin air, to make us laugh about it instead.

I wrote through the worst thing that ever happened to me, and there you were, keeping me company.

Think of it this way, with every muse; I’m having a party. But when I host a party, they’ve got to be eclectic, with a twist. I love bringing completely random people together with nothing in common–and watch them all have the time of their lives.

Now that’s a party! And to quote my Grandma, she always said, “You know who you’re true friends are if they come when you’re having a party.”

It didn’t sound like the most sage advice when I was of the age when beer and food could entice just about anybody except famous people to your doorstep, but her point was, when people come from out of town, or break their plans, or put their lives aside to go to your party, you know that they’re your true friends.

And she’s right. She was there for every life event, from kid to adult. She never missed a party for those she loved until the day she died.

When people read me week in and week out and comment, write me emails, texts, instant messages, and post on Facebook, I haven’t figured out Instagram yet, though I’ve feebly tried; I’m not just a cancer-free, lucky girl who’s over the moon.

I’m not alone anymore. You’re reminding me that constantly.

My friend made a card out of one of my cow photos from my early blog and sent me a bell that says, “Celebringing Life 2021,” that arrived just in time for me to celebrate that I was cancer-free. Talk about not being alone.

Like a good host, I’m here to get the conversation started–crack a few jokes and be the icebreaker. It’s your party, too.

You write the best stuff.

A friend initially coined what I was doing with my blogs when she said, “you’re laughing your way through cancer,” and another friend just said when I sounded the bells again because I was cancer-free, “You must be over the moon.”

(I wonder where this title idea came from?)

For the first time since I started this blog, I’m speechless. Reading the beautiful words you wrote brought tears to my eyes over and over.

Don’t think now that the moving part of my journey is over that I don’t need you anymore. I need you now more than ever.

Besides needing you, I’ve learned I can milk anything; plus, I still have a way to go; apparently, cancer-free doesn’t mean treatment-free. Not to mention, I’ve grown to love your company. I never realized how lonely life was before cancer. We were all in lockdown, doing our thing, hoping for life to return to normal–waiting for someone to lighten the mood.

We don’t have to be lonely anymore. After that cow jumps over the moon, and the dish runs away with the spoon; yeah, where’s the twist? No better reason to hang out and figure out what happens next.