Hey pal,

It’s the first snow of November, and you happened to cross my mind. It’s nice to know you’re still kicking. I’m proud of you. You did it! You overcame the hurdles and made sure you used those boots! I know you must still be hurting from wearing them every day. I know I am. I want you to know it’s okay. Those mistakes you made helped you get to where you are right now. You shouldn’t beat yourself up so much. I’m still your best friend. There’s no need to isolate yourself. I’m glad you put the beer down and bought the house. I feel a sense of fulfillment knowing you exist. I see you in my mind every day and aspire to be you. You’re who I’ve always wanted to be when I grew up.
I’m almost 30 now, but I’m still making some of the same mistakes. You’d be proud to know I’m on my way to you and what I’ve always wanted. Thanks for being patient. I feel like I can hold your hand. I can feel your existence and the sweet aroma of what is you. You can stop trying to be perfect now. I hope you never forget this moment. It’s okay to feel that hunger to grow continuously. You strive; that’s our thing. There will always be more, but that doesn’t mean that what you have right now is less. Smell the air, bask in it. We did it. If I haven’t said it today, I love you.

Hey Heru,
I write this for you as a tribute. When I am aware that my vision is acute and I can see the tapestry of this life outstretched like so many unpacked fibers lied upon the loom of my future, you are with me. When I stride forward without consideration for the would’ves and could’ves… when I see the traumas as skinned knees and the deaths as milestones, I am with you.
This is a letter to my future self that is now, this is prayer to the falconer of my soul. I am moving steadily from that small space where we were a hurt thing that hurt things, reciting the satanic verses of self-limitation under muffled breath. I am the kid that settled for a GED, and atoned with a JD, for the sake of what could be.
This is a letter for the one who saw far. When we were a meek scrappy thing in Mosul, and then in Fallujah, you gazed above the event horizon of all the violence to the place where we are now. You tilled the fields and turned them over with no promise of what the new season would yield. I was the stone that builder refused, and you were the level and the mortar by which each of our hurts could be affixed, brick by brick to a zenith befitting your vision.
This is a letter for one that now sits astride his wisdom, surrounded by beautiful progeny that he can send back to his daughters as grandfathers do, whenever he sees fit. This is for the etched lines around those eyes, and the deep marks around the mouth, emblematic of the smiling done long after the work had been done. This is written to you in tribute…
I used to see you in the mirror when I was scrawny enough to see my own heartbeat through my ribcage, muscular and tall. I only hoped I would be able to be you, and that hope did turn round (as hope does) and beckon to me through the pain and struggle until I realized in stalwart fashion that I had no choice…I am you. I look back from where you are even now and I see what must be done to be where you are, and I am grateful.
I thank you for being the one that looks at my scars and smiles at the memory of how they got there. I thank you for lording over me when I though about quitting, screaming frothy mouthed obscenities at me when I laid down to die. I thank you for letting me feel the sun on my face whenever I survived something that brought me close to death…my future self.
This letter really wasn’t as epiphanel as I had supposed it would be, and I am glad that you are there in the arc where the light hits the land. I am glad that I see further each day and disregard the things in my direct footfall, it assures me that I will be you some day…Heru.

Eternally you,
B

Dear Carolyn-Jean,

It’s getting very difficult to feel proud of myself. Former classmates ask me what I’ve been up to since graduating, and it takes me about three and a half seconds to answer that question with a “Not much”, that I push out as blithe as my conscience allows me too. Then I sit there, listening to them talk about new friends they’ve made, new places they’ve visited, these absolutely beautiful narratives they are creating for themselves with the newfound freedom of adulthood. I smile and congratulate them on their success, but I worry the envy is starting to unveil itself from underneath my expressions of admiration.
People who know me well, know that this isn’t where I wanted to be in this point in time. I talked big talk, filled with optimism and ambition. I wanted to be in Italy or Denmark, fulfilling my dreams of studying abroad through a program that I was more than ready to apply for. But now I gaze through the screen of my phone and view the photos and videos my peers post from their travels. It was my dream, and they’re living it. And that is a really difficult thing to sit with.
I was an incredibly grateful and content person, but I now feel myself overflowing with anger and jealousy, and it makes me feel even sicker than I already am. Did the universe think I was underserving of the future I desired so badly? Is this what I deserve? A body that’s cemented to tired familiarity and routine. A body that’s rejecting everything. Food, medicine, sleep. Have I been deemed undeserving of those things as well?
How is it that you no longer find yourself lying awake, during the nights of insufferable pain and nausea, circling that question in your head? You can look at someone who is abled bodied and achieving things you once dreamed of achieving and feel nothing but joy for that person.
It’s because you’ve shut down the comparison game. All the anger you felt towards your illness has been tranquilized by the act of accepting your illness and appreciating the aspects of your life that have been improved since getting diagnosed with an auto immune disease.
You no longer let your fear of sickness get in the way of anything you want to do. You take chances. You started going to festivals and concerts again, because you trust your body and the signs that it gives you. You make plans with people that you didn’t get to see much the year you were really sick. But you’ve also learned how important it is to find people who make an effort to understand your illness. You no longer feel guilty for having to drop out of plans at the last minute because of a flare up. Or for having to leave commitments early due to medication side effects making your body feel foreign. The people in your life have more understanding and grace for you than you ever thought was possible.
You have also developed more grace and understanding for yourself and your body. Understanding that there are things about the physical appearance of your body that you cannot change due to your illness and having to relearn how to be okay with the new appearance of a body you worked so hard to keep healthy. I tell myself that there are things out of my control, and I need to accept that. But I find that somedays I am still far from fully believing that.
When explaining all my emotions towards my illness to people, I have found myself coming back to the emotion of grief. This has confused some people, but not those who are also managing a chronic illness. They understand how painful it is to grieve things as little as favorite foods that we can no longer eat, to grieving the immense loss of the reality where my body would be able to sustain a pregnancy. It all feels like I am grieving the loss of a life that I haven’t even lived yet. But the fact that it is isn’t attainable anymore, causes enough frustration to begin grieving.
One day I won’t have to long for the life that I dream of having, because I’ll be able to be content in the one I am living inside of this body that’s been given to me. Our body that is teaching me so much about perseverance, optimism, resilience, and how to be grateful for every little moment of peace that shows me that I am still more than deserving of an incredible future.

To the future that awaits,

Carolyn-Jean Cox

My best self is truly joyful
Not letting the little things bother
Live with ease
Proceed with caution
Not everyone has pure intentions
Stop giving to those whom don’t give back
Don’t Stress on situations you can’t control
Be you
No matter what
Don’t let anyone change the woman you have become
You’ve come such a long way
Through pain in the past
To get you where you are now
You are Poet
You are a Singer
You are a true writer
Here’s to sharing your story with the world
Using your words and melody
Smiling even though you’re hurting
This growth i see
This Vision
Our Journey is here
It’s Ours
Patience is key
Persistence is needed
Be Consistent
You are no longer distant
You are me
We are one
Us as one will become
Everything we dreamed of
In time we will see
What it takes to
Express me

You are a man who:
wears his beard fully,
not because he’s handsome but because uncle sam, doesn’t have a say anymore

A man who embraces that hint of wild man that he is

A man in the woods, only answering to the birds call

A man who knows not the name of every tree but all of their essence

A man who isn’t afraid of alarms anymore

A man whose son’s friends all want to meet

A man no longer confined by garmets who tried to garnish Vietnamese farmers

A man who travels the word sharing his love for poetry, enticing others to write their own story

He doesn’t care how sad or boring,
this man wants to illuminate a safe space for your allegory,

Because on any given day, your words may save someone’s life

A man grounded in the Earth
A man who doesnt fidget and twitch because his back doesn’t hurt

A man who doesn’t get anxiety between 5 and 6 PM anymore

A man that doesn’t lash out when he’s challenged by a loved one

A man who takes a deep belly breath each time

A man who’s presence alone makes people feel better about themselves

A man who’s wife always feel safe in his arms

A man that takes those wanting to fly, under his wing

A man….
that I think I’m
Pretty close to actualizing

Beloved Ideal Self,

As I write this, I find myself in the midst of my chemotherapy treatments. It’s the fifth one out of a total of eighteen. Sitting here in seat eleven, with its lucky view of the beautiful Burbank mountains, I can’t help but think of you. I envision you as someone who is healed, happy, and radiantly beautiful. You possess a deep wisdom that I have yet to discover. The kind of wisdom earned by a warrior.

There are still thirteen more infusion treatments to undergo, along with two major surgeries and radiation treatments, before I can reach the point where I become a cancer-free survivor like you. As a Stage 3 Triple Negative Breast Cancer patient, the distance between us feels vast. However, these past ten weeks of living with cancer have taught me a profound lesson in forgiveness. A lesson I wouldn’t trade for anything.

None of us are guaranteed a long and healthy life, and yet we often take it for granted. For so long, I held onto anger towards the people I love. Now, I understand that our purpose on this earth is simply to love and forgive one another. And so, I have forgiven them all – those who have caused us pain. I have even forgiven myself for the actions I took to survive. I now realize that it was these burdens that gave rise to this cancer. I have released them all, not just for my own healing, but also so that one day, I can become you. So that you never have to go through this again.

From this vantage point on the fourth floor infusion center, I can see a greater perspective. I see the struggles and pain that each person, even those who have hurt me, go through. It fills me with compassion and empathy. I send them love from here and believe that our world needs more care and understanding for each other’s pain. We place unrealistic standards upon ourselves and others, which can never truly be met.

I can see you now. You are wise, strong and beautiful. You help other people find their way toward forgiveness. You help them find the way to put their burdens down. You show them how beautiful forgiveness is so they can feel the peace it brings wash over them without having to pay in suffering.

In my journey towards becoming you, I have learned the importance of forgiveness and the power of love. I hold nothing but gratitude for the lessons cancer brought me. They were lessons I desperately needed to learn. I stand with my arms open wide, welcoming the lessons that have yet to come. I hope to continue growing closer to you, my Ideal Self, with each passing day.

With all the love in the world,

Katie C’etta