It was two years ago today that Marisa walked into our door with those surprising and dreaded words…

“I have cancer”.

I don’t remember much about that day.  I remember calling my parents and asking them to take the kids.  My dad dropped what he was doing and drove here.  It is a 10 minute ride.  He was here in 7 minutes.  And I remember being with Marisa.  Being loud.  And being quiet.

As I write this, I am looking at the spot where she stood.

Strange to be looking at that spot and remembering where she stood, what she said and what she looked like then.

And as I look at that spot, there is nothing there.  It is gone.  Like Marisa.

Two years.  Seems like a long time.  Seems like yesterday.

I am a different person now then 2 years ago.  There is a new Mendelt. 

It isn’t a shiny, polished, cherry flavoured, new-and-improved Mendelt.

It is a weathered, experienced, stretched, torn, reshaped, somehow more content, peace seeking, suffered and deeper Mendelt.

And in many ways it feels like the old Mendelt knew much more than this new version.