The Longest Day of the Year

And that is saying something in Iceland, with the midnight sun and all. But it is the "and all" that concerns me today. Because today feels longer than 24 hours (and really it actually is longer, much longer, days longer).
Today is the day we buried my aunt.
Here.
In Iceland.
And had the memorial. And visited with all the relations and school friends.
Long. Hard. Tiring.
Extra long and tiring as I stayed up late into the "night" last night with my aunt's youngest daughter. Being with her in her pain and tears. Having some of my own.

And not just long and hard and tiring, but also significant.
And important.
And meaningful (Just two days after what would have been Disa's birthday).

And with all the intensity of family dynamics that probably come with every funeral, but are heightened in this situation. I wish it could be different, a joyous celebration of her life. But it is like there is a cancer not just running so rampant in so many bodies in the world, but also running rampant in the communities and families of today. Where they are eating themselves from the inside out. And maybe it is not "today", in "this age", maybe this is just what family is like. The intensity that comes from living in close quarters, sharing tasks, and sharing life. And because I only have memories of living in this age I have nothing to compare it to, and so I wonder why it is so hard and harsh. Assuming it was better in a different era, not a self consuming cancer of the emotions. Perhaps it is sorting out the cancer of the emotions that will free us to address the cancers that are eating our bodies. But that is a pondering for a different day.

Today is just to honour my aunt.
Bless you and god speed my dear, as you go to be with your sisters.

Iceland

Tomorrow I start the journey. Feels like an epic one. Significant. In so many different ways.

We are taking my aunt's ashes to Iceland, so she can rest with her sisters. All of the Canadian family is going. My mother, my father, my brother, my cousin (Disa's second daughter), and me. Haven't been to Iceland with all of my family together since I was 10 (and my cousin wasn't even born yet). I will be on the flight to Reykjavik with all of my immediate family, first time I have been on a flight with all of my immediate family in maybe a couple of decades. And really, I have to notice that this united pilgrimage to my mother land (or maybe just my mother's land) is because my aunt was such a significant force in our lives, even if not an everyday part.

She moved to Canada for many reasons, but the invitation came because my mother was pregnant with me and she wanted the comfort and support of family, and more Icelandic voices to help us children learn what was our first language, long gone rusty now. She was like a second mother to me, often taking care of me when my mother was doing other things. And in many ways, especially in my personality, I take after Disa more so than any of the other sisters. Including my mother.

She had her flaws, we all do. But she loved me, in that way that sometimes parents can't because they have to try to "raise you right". As I have already said, she wasn't an everyday part of my life, but she was always looking over me. More so now I guess.

And losing her to cancer. Just a year and a quarter after her older sister died of cancer. Well, it feels so very close to home. And scary. And a frightening reminder that it doesn't always go as well as it did for me. On other occasions cancer related deaths get me angry and feisty. This one rocked me, and knocked me back a bit.

Time now to regroup. Time to honour who she was and what she gave me. Time to remember how very lucky I am. Time to be with my family, really be with them, in whatever form their grief takes. Just time away from the frantic pace of my life. Maybe a chance to reflect, maybe just a chance to raise a glass, to all the women that came before me.

Mammogram Pop Quiz

I had one of these the other day. Just like that. The cancer agency called and said "We (not sure who the royal we is in this case - because I am sure the queen doesn't care) want you to come in for some alternate views." Alternate to what? I think to myself. But keep quiet, because really, what good would my cheeky sense of humour be in the face of the unwaveringly unamused people that seem to find themselves employed at Cancer World.

So in I trot, just a few scant hours after the call (lucky me, they had an opening at 3). Accompanied by the fabulous Kimberly, who made me laugh right the way through.

Dr. Wilson (I should have known the royal we included a scots woman) had found a suspicious looking white patch on the results of my regular mammogram, and wanted to double check. After a ludacrus number of "alternate views", that, by the way, required a few yoga poses to accomplish, but were still effective at reaching every part of my breast even so (done by a woman called Cathy, who was so exceptionally nice and gentle - bless her heart, and her boobs, when it comes her turn with the machine). With breaks, where I should have been icing my breasts, but who has ice handy? I was told with a sort of hesitancy that less than inspires my confidence that it must have been the scar tissue folded over itself. I can go home now.

I swear they do this sort of thing just to keep me on my toes.