Those words weren’t just in me. They were the start of a celebration that followed me beyond those hospital walls–one that met me back home. In the driveway, the living room, and in the hearts of the people who carried me through every round.

Air Hugs and Bagpipes

When we pulled into the driveway that last day, my stage husband and his wife were waiting—him in a kilt playing bagpipes.

I don’t remember what he played, only the love in the air.

Inside, my family had transformed the house with streamers, decorations, and joy boards marking every round of chemo.

I danced at each station, rang cowbells to Mamma Mia, Dancing Queen, and Waterloo, and did my chemo version of the bows–until I dropped. Then I slept for a month.

Only later did I realize: those weren’t decorations. They were golden bricks. Proof that even in the hardest rehearsal of my life, I kept showing up.

The Golden Brick Road Keeps Expanding

Now I write every week. Unlike the novel I hid behind for 35 years, these stories let me be seen.

My most loyal reader, Nuria, comments every single time. That love is a brick, too.

Here We Go Again (And Again)

Two weeks ago, we headed to Broadway again. The girls groaned, ”How many times do we have to see this?”

Alex said, “This means a lot to your mom.”

And he’s right. Every curtain rise is another golden brick.

This time, waiting in line around the Winter Garden Theater, I met a grandmother with her daughter and granddaughters. We bonded over the same ache: kids leaving.

“That’s why we’re at Mamma Mia,” I said. “There’s never a sad song.”

She laughed. She’d been down this road before. Here we go again.

The Work in Progress Revelation

Here’s what I know now.

There’s no final curtain call. No moment when you’re done mattering.

The golden brick road isn’t about being fearless. That’s for Taylor Swift. For me, it’s about laying one more brick while I’m afraid.

From community theater to cancer treatments, to weekly writing to Broadway curtain calls-every act has been another brick on this golden brick road.

We’re All Still in Dress Rehearsals

So here I am, still in dress rehearsals. Still ringing imaginary bells. Still trusting the voice that whispers: you matter, keep going.

The woman who wanted to bolt from the stage, the one who told Alex to run, the one in chemo boots—she’s still here.

And here’s the revelation it took me this whole series to see: Mamma Mia didn’t just get me on stage—it carried me through cancer. When I couldn’t lay another golden brick, the music carried me until I could.

That’s the power of one silly family tradition, one musical, one song sung again and again. It became my golden brick road when I couldn’t build it myself.

And what I know now is this: there is no final bow. Only bricks, music, and the courage to keep showing up to rehearsals.

And when you don’t have that humor and courage? Life gives it to you, Mamma Mia style!