Continued…

As kids, living on small-scale country properties, things were bound to happen. Not always in a good way. If she heard us complain about it, we got the old "it's all about building your character," speech.

Okay, not so much a speech, but a reminder that life could be so much worse and our petty little complaints didn't amount to much compared to the wider world. We had food. We had clothes. Heat. Water. Freedom to roam outside, for the most part.

I've been missing that freedom. To collect fallen branches and build a wigwam. Skating at night on a pond not much bigger than a double-car garage. Walking in the nearby forest with our dog. Ready to fight a rabid-looking fox with twigs when we were silly enough to bring our pet rabbits into that forest. As kids, the world wasn't as scary. We didn't know the dangers yet or how they could bring about profound sadness.

In these modern times, danger is brought on by organic life at a molecular level, which feels contrary to the natural order of things. If a predator wants to take you on, they should at least have the guts to stand in front of you and look you in the eyes while doing it.

Does that make cancer cowardly? Indifferent? Opportunistic? I wish I knew. It's not like those cells live in a pack or a pride, having to raise their offspring—or do they?

Out in the wild, you see the point and purpose to it all. The miraculous circle of life.

I don't think there is anything miraculous about cancer.