Cancer Came Through Customs

 It is 3:03am, in six hours we will venture to the airport. The  clearing of customs, waiting in line—passport in hand. The only thing I have to declare are memories and a broader perspective.

You can’t leave cancer behind. You can’t have a cancer-less excursion. It’s unrealistic to say we’re going away, and we’re going to try not to mention the “c” word. 

We had a beautiful time, and made even more happy memories for the little ladies, and ourselves. The ocean didn’t magically heal Matt of his terminal illness, but it was healing for the soul.

He didn’t find it any easier to get up and get going in the mornings here then he does at home. He didn’t feel any less pained or sick. Nor did I expect him to. 

But, he always seems to be harder on himself then necessary. Worrying about missing even a moment of time with his family. Then you have me constantly reminding him that mornings are hard for some with no ailments, and he’s merely missing me charging down the sidewalk along the beach to the tiny Dunkin’ Donuts. The daily argument with Couraira over wearing a swim shirt with long sleeves. And every mom’s favorite event— the ever-amusing wrestling of the sunscreen application to children who don’t what it means to “stay still”.

He hates how hard it is to get up and he hates how cancer made it with us through customs. No matter how hard we try it comes up more frequently then we’d like, even with strangers and passerby on the beach. 

On our second day, a man on the beach in pure jest, after complimenting our girls; said that we’d probably be back after baby number three. Without hesitation, I told him we can’t have anymore children, my husband is battling cancer. And boom there’s the “c” word. But, his wife’s response was the reminder that all cancers travel. They clear borders and customs. She shared she is on year seven, of a battle with terminal brain cancer. She said she knows not everyone is as lucky, and everyone has a different fight with cancer, but if you have something to live for then that’s all you can do. Just live until you can’t.

I met a new friend in line getting towels and renting a cabana to give Matt some reprieve from the sun. Come to find out that she lives surprisingly close to us at home. She shared that lung cancer took her mom. 

Some shops along the beach donate a percentage of sales from tourists to local charities in Aruba. One of the charities at a shop I purchased a magnet, was a breast cancer fund. A woman in front of me shared with the cashier that she had a double mastectomy before going outside to pose for a family photo.

It’s proof that for how big of  a world, sometimes it feels so small. There are so many people affected by the disease that we longed to leave at home. Out of sight out of mind. But, now I see that’s not possible. And honestly, that’s quite alright. 

These memories I’m taking home are more than that of our smiling faces on white sandy beaches. They are memories that will remind me of how courageous my husband is to get up in the morning at all. Doesn’t matter what time. His dedication to giving the girls the smiles we’ve captured during this past year has been nothing short of beautiful.  

I don’t have to declare the memories as I clear back into the United States, they’re priceless.