I love New York City. I always have. When The Guy and I went today for a last round of tests before his bladder cancer surgery, I had an odd feeling as I watched my beloved skyline approaching me from my perch on the ferry. The weather had that early summer morning heavy dampness to it, with dark skies constantly threatening rain, like a barely suppressed bad mood.
This was my city, my happy place, yet I was going there for an unhappy reason. This wasn’t a shopping spree down Fifth Avenue or a stroll through Central Park. This was all related to cancer, and I hated it. But when I got off the ferry, I noticed that I breathed a little easier. I relaxed a little. This was still New York, my favorite city in the world, and if we had any hope of everything being okay, it would start right here.
By the time we left his final appointment, the sun was out. We walked through parts of the city I’ve never seen before, did stuff like walking through the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria and eating lunch at a place I’d never heard of. I swear the city embraced me today, welcomed me, reassured me.
And now, well… I’m back home, I have a bit of a sunburned nose, I’m exhausted, and yeah. I do think everything is going to be okay.