This morning, I took my last shower before I go to Texas.
I've had so many first and lasts in the past five years, but for some reason... the showers always seem to carry significant weight.
I vividly remember the last shower before my first surgery, running my hand across my swollen and extended belly, knowing it was the last time I'd ever touch my stomach without feeling a scar.
I'll never forget how hard it was to wash my hair for the last time, knowing that in mere hours it would be cut off and packaged to send to the wigmaker.
I will always remember the shock of hot water splashing against my head the first time I showered after my hair fell out. Hot water has never felt as awesome as it did in that first baldie shower.
Coming home from the hospital after every round of chemo, I was so weak that I could barely shuffle from the car to my apartment, but I would still somehow gather up the gumption to step into my tub and take a shower. Washing the smell of chemo off my skin was more important to me than sleep, and sleep was more precious than gold.
This morning, I stood in my shower, with my forehead against the wall. As tears rolled down my face and water rolled off my shoulders, I couldn't help but think, "One more 'last'."
Because, tomorrow, my life will change. Again.
I have a return flight booked for Saturday. Only time will tell if I'll be flying home, back to the comfort of my own shower, in six days... or if they'll keep me in Houston for surgery/treatment for a few weeks or months.
I'm not even gone yet, but I'm already homesick for my own home.
Going to Houston is hard. It's what I need to do, and I'm so grateful that I'm strong enough and in a position that I can go, but it's still hard. I'm taking my own soap with me, so I'll still smell like me. But I know that I won't 100% feel like me again until I am home, taking that first shower in my own bathroom, starting the next phase of my life.