If there is a God, I lost weight in the past couple of weeks

A year ago, my sister, Donna, called. She was in tears. Which, if you know Donna, is a big-assed deal. 

She had taken my sister, Diane (they are Nos. 1 and 2 in the hierarchy of my childhood) to the doctor. A self-described hypochondriac, Diane hadn't been feeling well for a while. It had gotten to the point where she stopped diagnosing herself and actually asked for professional help. Which, if you know Diana, is a big-assed deal. 

After a short time in a doctor's office, she was routed to emergency surgery. The prognosis was terminal. Cancer. Ignored too long to fix.

Once we heard, my sisters and a good portion of our nieces, gathered in the parking lot of Union Hospital. It was deep into COVID and only Donna could go inside. It was cold. But we were together, even if separated by by some brick and mortar.

Yesterday, we celebrated a year of still having Diane with us. She's not running marathons or dancing on tables, but then again, she'd never run a marathon or danced on a table. (That I know about.)  As the family black sheep, she's participated in plenty of other shenanigans, always pushing the envelope and saying the thing everyone else (or maybe not) was already thinking. 

She remains irreverent, silly and always looking for the next practical joke. Post all the treatment, she has better hair, better underwear (You're welcome) and a better outlook on life.

In a word I don't often use, we are blessed.

Many of us - including the Bradbury side of the family - gathered Saturday to mark the occasion. Not with speeches or platitudes. Bcause that is not our way. 

Instead, we had die-hard IU fans out-shouting the Boilermakers even after the Purdue win. We had kids running barefoot in the grass, faces full of homemade chocolate ice cream and cake. We had stories; a shared memories a treasured recipe from Grandma Bickel that Aunt Shirley recited from memory.

And we had Diane, floating from group to group, watching the kids play, getting them the chocolate ice cream she'd made, encouraging them to get dirty and do exactly what they wanted to do in that moment.

In a word I often take for granted, we had family. 

And it was good.

The photos I have here are from last year when we gathered about a month after her diagnosis. Because none of us took the time from telling stories, catching up, giving hugs, advice (some welcome, some not) and just being together to snap photographic evidence of the day.

I think we will be forgiven for that. Happy anniversary and early birthday, Diane. 

For the rest of you goobers: Find a family member and give them a hug for no reason. And accept this virtual one from me. We're all incredibly blessed. 

Don't believe me? Ukraine. 

Love you.