The last few days have highlighted the bittersweet knife edge of the curse and the gift in this diagnosis.

On one hand, there’s the preciousness of each day, the beauty in the tiny moments, the joy in spending time together, even if it involved a silly amount of time on motorways. The recognising the perfection in everything- the refusing to let the busyness stop me noticing how light rolls over the hills, the russet fur on a bumblebee bum, the kindness in a stranger’s eyes.

On the other hand, the fear and grief of knowing each day that passes will not return. That life has an end point and I don’t know where that is. I know that no one knows, but we carry on, not being aware of the not knowing. Once you have been shown your mortality, the not knowing becomes a very real part of life, a constant uncertainty.

We’ve been looking forward to this holiday for so long. Celebrating our first anniversary tomorrow, it feels so little time has passed. Yet how much has changed…

I remember the joy, that glorious, hope filled day, the promises made of forever. Yet here we are, just 364 days later, not knowing how long forever will last.

We’ve both had a grey old melancholy sitting over us, alongside the anticipation of holiday and the rich contentment of knowing there are no deadlines, no agendas for the next two weeks.

This afternoon, sitting in the sun at Loch Buie, leaning in to each other, drinking amazing coffee, eating the best toasties probably ever. Watching sunlight sparkle on the loch, the mountains carved by the light, great northern divers, whimbrel, golden eagle, right in front of us. Life really doesn’t get better than this.

And that, I think is the knife edge. It’s not about beauty versus grief, as if they were different. It’s the grief for the loss of the beauty, of love. The three are so entwined, like a triskele, love, loss, beauty.

There’s so much grief that this beautiful life, my precious, funny little life, will come to an end at some point down the line. There’s so much love, because that is all that is important, and it feels more vibrant, more real, more endless than ever before. There’s so much beauty – of life, of love, of the dance of of it all, the exquisite intricacies that loss brings to the dance.

I don’t want to miss a single opportunity for happiness. I didnt get to see Beltane Border Morris dancing in the dawn at Haytor this year. Treatment fatigue just made it too much to rise at 4am. It was so, so hard, like FOMO on speed! Before I would have been disappointed to miss it, but now there’s a new, deeper element of loss there.

Living within the limitations of my body, the energy left after work and chores, is hard. My heart wants to do it all, because it’s there to do, to see, to explore. The urgency to do, to experience everything and everywhere is huge.

Who knows how many more holidays, how many more Beltane dawns, how many more coffees in the spring sunshine there will be?

So the dance continues, knowing that each holiday, each sunrise, each good coffee has a new poignancy, a new sliver of grief, no matter how happy the moment, a vague sense of unease and insecurity. I’m finding my way, learning the steps, listening, watching, cherishing, dancing hesitantly yet determinedly.