The Ice Cube

There was a point in time when I thought life was a solid. An object that I could pick up and throw out when I wanted. There was a point in time when I thought life was a gumball. Something sweet to chew on and spit out when it wasn't. There was a time when I thought life was a pizza. Comforting and warm, and even when it was bad, it was still pretty good.

There was a distinct time when I thought life was an ice cube. A time when the ice cube was in the form of fear that cause five checkups, two ultrasounds, and countless sleepless nights. I remember the night I slept upon the ice cube. The night I rested upon its harsh chill. Tossed and turned left and right, through and around sheets that could never satisfy me. The night the ice cube that melted into a flood of watered down emotions that drowned me in a sea of worry. The night I found it.

It was summer, when the humidity of the air perfectly described the way I felt inside. "Warm, fuzzy" and just a little sweaty. I rustled restlessly underneath my blankets to find the perfect exposure to a picture perfect sleep. Then I felt it.

Discomfort, a little bit of pain, and...a lump? A lump. A solid mass lodged in my body as stone hard as an ice cube.

Here's a bit of a side story: in the fifth grade, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, stage two. A lump in her right breast, the place I found mine. Now: confused, nervous, worried. Was that there before? State of panic, overthinking, then sleep.

The next morning was quickly disrupted by fear of the ice cube. Was it a dream? I examined the spot where I found it. There it was. A feeling of opening a present on Christmas day and finding a pair of socks. Or a bomb. A bomb that exploded in my stomach that made me lose my appetite.

Why? Why do I feel tears in my eyes? When did it get there? Who said life was fair? How... will I tell mom? To tell the woman who held me like the world in her arms. To tell the man who carried me like the world on his shoulders. To tell them one of their worlds are crashing down in rocks, debris, and boulders. I couldn't stand becoming the grenade to a family that already had shell-shock. What if I die?

Die, death... words that haunt me like the ghosts that I may become. No. Stop, Angelique. It isn't certain, you haven't had it checked. For days I lived in a world consumed by fear. The word "cancer" became the equivalent of nails on chalkboards. Soft pillows became blocks of...ice cubes. I was an ice cube waiting to melt. 

I didn't want to miss the sunrise, or the sunsets. I didn't want to miss the smell of mom's bread and rose beds, or dad's tea. My brother's elephant-like foots steps that shook the house, the overplayed pop hits from my sister's computer.

I didn't want to miss his stupid smile he gave me when he made a joke, nor the laughter of my friends, and beautiful sounds of music. I didn't want to miss the clicking of piano keys, and calluses from my guitar strings. Morning traffic, walks to school, late night sleeps, singing in the shower, graduating, getting my first job, moving into my first house, getting married, having a family of my own, or growing old. I didn't want to miss living.

Five checkups, two ultrasounds, and countless nights later, I'm alive. I'm okay. The lesion was nothing but a fibroadenoma; a benign tumour that wouldn't grow any larger. It had seemed as though my fears were all pointless, but the experience was too sharp to forget.

All the endless tears and sleepless nights helped me realize something important; I didn't appreciate all the goodness in my life until I was about to lose it. 

My life then dawned into a new "point in time". Life was no longer a "solid", a gumball, a pizza, or even the ice cube. Life became a flower; beautiful, fragrant, and always growing. Yet, it's delicate, ready to wilt under harsh conditions. Life takes effort; we only reap what we sow. We must preserve the flower as best as we can, show it love and nurture it even after the roughest of storms. Most importantly, life is ephemeral; we must appreciate its beauty while it's still alive. 

Though there were points in time when life was trivial, petty, and expendable, now I realize that life is a rose, and this is the time I plant my garden.