The Clarity of Crystal

Reunion Day.  

August 8, 2009.

First, family. 

Odd to see family members that I haven't seen in over a year.  

To realize they do not know who I am.

And to see the shock on their faces when they take a look at my name tag.

"Drenda???!!"  

Yes, it's me.

It may be a small world, but it is still a world where some news doesn't make it all the way around.

So the afternoon had a lot of "punched in the stomach by cancer" moments.  

A lot of surreal moments.  

Explanations of the last nine months.  Reassurances to others that the worst for me is over.  Surface descriptions of the terror.  

I heard my voice say words that were unbelievable.  

But they were true.

Rush home to prepare for the school reunion.

Again, no recognition.  

Blank stares.  Perhaps I was a spouse of a graduate, and not a member of the class?

 I was in a room with 115 people, most of whom I had not seen in 30 years.  Lots of looks at the name tag -- not unusual at a class reunion.  The second glances did not bother me.  But when some had to take four or five looks at the name tag and then back at my face, that was a bit disconcerting. 

I realize that my classmates remembered me as a red headed girl.  And now, as a white haired woman, I didn't fit into their memory.  

And the problem was mine.   

I realized that I did not feel safe in a large crowd where just a few people knew my story.  I was thankful for the presence of Kathy and Kim and Kris.

I realized that I have become accustomed to being surrounded by people who know me, people who know my story and struggles.  People who work with me.  People who care for me.  People who have been with me on the journey through breast cancer.  I have not had to explain much lately to "my" people.  So I have been comfortable.  It's easy (as in "easier") to be comfortable with people you know well.  And it is easy (again, as in "easier") to be comfortable with complete strangers.   Not so much, apparently, with those you know "sort of".

At the reunion, I found myself wanting to explain away my appearance. 

Perhaps I am not as comfortable with the way I look as I have led myself to believe.  

I don't like to be different.  

I don't like to stand out.

I don't like to have breast cancer.

Saturday's reunions made that crystal clear.