Shiloh was determined. With Curious George at his side, his plump toes barely brushed the carpet in our living room, but his hands jerked the plastic wheel left and right. He knew how to steer, just not how to go forward. He will have to wait until his legs grow a bit longer. The rest of the room didn’t exist.
Seated on gray plastic chairs, dog hair covered couch cushions, and leaning on pretty papered pillars, our friends and family ooed and awed and laughed and snapped pictures with phones. I had frosting and food dried on my clothes, and though I was exhausted, as evidenced from the dark circles I concealed with heavy makeup under my eyes, I took a minute to sit and look around at the guests in our home for Shiloh’s first birthday.
In the last year, children have grown, couples were married, people moved jobs, and friends were made. Regardless of what we went through with cancer, life continued to move. The moment was surreal. People say it takes a village to raise a child. I would also argue that it takes a village to recover from cancer and move back into normal life.
This is our village.