EC Stilson's

Just Within Reach

2026-04-24T16:17:00.001-04:00

We often think of a bucket list as dreams that will happen “someday"—a compilation of things we’ll do when the time, money, and goals align. For me, after doctors diagnosed me with cancer, my bucket list took on a totally new meaning.

Now, I’ve lived almost four years longer than predicted, fighting just to see my kids grow up. My youngest daughter, Indy, recently stopped me in my tracks, explaining that while this battle has been “horrendous” for all of us, even this has changed our family for the better. “We’re all so much closer, and we've worked really hard to make good memories.”

Still, although we’ve done many incredible things together and checked numerous items off my bucket list, two things have felt truly out of reach. One of them is “Number 19: Go Up Slate Mountain Trail Again.”

If you’ve ever been to Slate Mountain, you know its magic isn't immediate. At first, it’s just a bridge and a climb. But as you ascend, the world opens up. At the summit, where the earth drops away into a panoramic expanse, it takes your breath away and renews your sense of wonder.

Over the years, I’ve seen rock chucks, mice, a bobcat, snakes, turkeys, sage hens, deer, and even a moose. And somehow, that trail felt like the backdrop of my life before I got sick: I trained there for a marathon; my husband, children, and I would hike until our lungs burned and our hearts almost burst with happiness; we'd picnic by the water; and I’d bring my violin and fiddle in the meadow.

But I haven’t been able to go back since 2020….

Following multiple surgeries and the physical toll of various treatments, my ability to walk far has diminished. Despite not being able to physically get there, Slate Mountain has filled my dreams. During hours-long scans or radiation, I’ve transported myself there. I’ll imagine sitting by the stream, the cool air on my face as I visit with my family in a world where sickness and death don’t exist.

So, I wrote two things on my bucket list as a tribute to a version of myself that no longer existed, and they truly felt unattainable:

Number 19: Go Up Slate Mountain Again

Number 20: Grow Old with Mike

Then, time marched on.

Last year, my parents gifted me a mobility scooter. At first, it just seemed like a tool for navigating grocery stores without collapsing. But this spring, as the Idaho air warmed, my family suggested the unthinkable: "Let's try the trail."

I shook my head, not wanting to set us up for failure. But, looking at my son’s hopeful smile, I donned a brave face and suddenly agreed to try.

What followed felt like a dream. My spirit came alive as the wind whipped past me. That scooter actually roared up the trail like a four wheeler, biting into the dirt and bouncing over the rocks. At one point, I actually outpaced my family, and honestly, I felt like…I was flying.

Then, in the quietude, sitting "ahead" of the group and waiting for them to catch up, a flash of color caught my eye. So, I gently stepped off the scooter and edged forward. There, waiting magestically on the path—like an angel!—stood a huge, wild peacock. Its feathers weren’t fanned, but the deep purples and iridescent blues still shone electric against the mountain. Within seconds, the bird cocked its head, a silent acknowledgment of my presence, then it disappeared into the brush.

I don't know the formal symbolism of peacocks, but in that moment, it felt like a breadcrumb from Heaven; the little miracle I needed to remember that our world is sometimes surreal, too beautiful for words.

I recently learned that I need another surgery. It feels daunting and exhausting. If I didn't have children or the dream of seeing their futures—if I didn't have Mike and the "outrageous" bucket list moments we’ve had—I might’ve given up by now.

But last week taught me something.

When I crossed “Number 19: Go Up Slate Mountain Again” off my bucket list, the wording struck me. As an editor, I’m usually picky about verbs, yet I hadn't written "’Walk’ Up Slate Mountain,” “Run,” or "Hike." I’d simply written: “Go.” “‘Go’ Up Slate Mountain Again.” I’d been more exact about my goal and less concerned with how we got there. I just wanted to make it happen with my family.

Sometimes we get so caught up in “how” we expect to reach our dreams that we lose the passion we had in the first place. We think that if we can't walk or hike—or run—or be “normal,” attaining our goals must be impossible. But sometimes it’s worth thinking outside of the box.

Sure, I didn't “hike” that mountain, but I still made it—as that peacock is my witness! And as I face this next surgery, I’m holding onto the fact that miracles are around us every day if we just take the time to look. It turns out that when you try and really put yourself out there, the "unattainable" might actually be within reach.

It’s Okay to Ask for Help

2026-04-20T09:10:00.003-04:00

Life has a way of changing when we least expect it, whether it’s a divorce, a wedding, a medical diagnosis, or just one of those seasons when everything feels different. Challenges can seem daunting and feel isolating at times. Lately, though, I’ve been reflecting on something my grandma used to say: “Friendships and families are what brighten the world.” I didn’t fully grasp the depth of that as a kid, but going through hardships as an adult has solidified her words for me.

Take my friend, Kara, for instance….

We first met years ago while both navigating the aftermath of divorce, trying to find a new life as single mothers. Back then, our therapy was taking long walks together, covering miles while venting about everything under the sun. Those walks became my lifeline. I remember once trying to surprise her with a trip to a “special spot” to lift her spirits. Kara somehow assumed we were headed to a five-star restaurant; she showed up in a gorgeous dress and four-inch sparkly stiletto heels. So, I changed to also dress up, and led her straight to my “favorite spot”—which wasn't a restaurant, but was a fishing pond!

We spent the afternoon howling with laughter as our heels sank and slipped in one section, but we held each other up, just like we have metaphorically throughout life. The whole thing seemed hilarious, ridiculous, and unconventional, but it’s a memory that still makes both of us smile.

Years later, as I’ve been fighting cancer, Kara has been right here to support me. She even brought me to treatments last week where doctors said I have to get another spinal surgery.

I could’ve started crying at one point, but Kara, not realizing, said something so silly at that exact moment that I couldn’t help laughing. This reminded me of another lesson: We can sit and wallow—it'd be so easy to give up and let the sadness move in and take up residence—but sometimes you have to actively SEARCH for the light, letting people in when it might be easier to build a wall around your life.

My grandma was right. If you’re going through a hardships, don’t isolate yourself. Maybe it's time to try leaning on your family, reaching out to a friend, or meeting somebody new. I just hope you’ll remember that you don’t have to carry the burden all by yourself. You never know what blessing is waiting.

Yes, life can be hard, but it's in the darkness when the light can shine the brightest.

Honestly, I’m really nervous about my upcoming surgery, but I’m grateful for the wonderful people in my life. And with them around me and my family, I know we’ll somehow make it through.

The Masks We Wear

2026-03-16T11:25:00.001-04:00

We often talk about the "fight" against cancer as a physical one—the nausea and fatigue, the looming shadow of scans, radiation, surgeries, and infusion treatments. But the most exhausting battles are often the ones waged on the spirit.

Recently, while at a low point, I received a phone call that didn’t offer a lifeline but a weight. A woman, driven by a "conviction," decided this was the moment to challenge my conversion to Judaism. She didn’t see my years of study or the peace I’ve found; instead, she saw my honesty about an uncertain future with health and my lack of fortitude.

So, she called and told me my suffering—cancer and other hardships—are a divine consequence, a punishment . She spoke of "outer darkness" while I already sat in the momentary gloom of my mind, just trying to keep my head above water.

The problem is that when we’re hurting, we’re vulnerable to the judgment of those who seem "whole." We look at the person shouting the loudest about their faith or their lifestyle and think, “Wow, maybe this is a punishment? Maybe I DO deserve this because a ‘perfect’ person said I’ve been doing life… ‘wrong’?”

But hours after hanging up the phone, another friend surprised me by coming to drop off a loaf of banana bread. “What’s wrong? You look, even more tired than normal.”

Without giving names, I explained about the morning’s conversation.

“No way!” she said, incensed. “Was it ‘Tiffany’?”

In answer to her question, I didn’t even need to nod because my reddening face must’ve confirmed her suspicions. And suddenly, her spontaneous visit didn’t seem quite so random after all.

“The people who are the quickest to point out the ‘sins’ causing your storms are often drowning in their own,” she said, toasting a slice of bread and passing it to me—in my own home.

Through the course of her words, I felt shocked to hear that our mutual acquaintance—“Tiffany,” the one who judged my soul—was dealing with a crumbling marriage, job loss due to her own need to proselytize at work, and a heavy reliance on medications she’s previously condemned other friends for needing.

My heart hung heavy with a profound, deep sadness because I realized her attack on me wasn't about my soul at all. I think it was about her own need for control.

We all do it in different ways. A lot of times I pretend I’m “brave" so I feel stronger. Some people pretend they have all the answers so they don't have to admit that the world is chaotic, and none of us know what the next second might hold. And then there are others like ‘Tiffany’ who judge the people around them—especially the people they don’t understand. I know she means well; I want to think she’s trying to “save” me because I was raised religious like her, and I remember having those same conversations with people. I’ve since called some of them to apologize. “I didn’t realize how judgmental I sounded,” I whispered to one man. “I wanted to help you, but who was I to assume I knew where G-d would send you in the afterlife? I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. “I always knew you meant well, but I really do appreciate the apology. No one wants to be told they’re going to Hell by anyone—especially someone who isn’t G-d.”

I broke out laughing and nodded.

The truth is, we are all just doing the best we can with what we have. On some days, "the best we can" looks like fighting through a cancer treatment-induced fog. On other days, it looks like hiding behind doctrine because the reality of our chaotic world is too painful to face.

If there is anything ‘Tiffany’s’ judgment and our mutual friend's banana bread taught me, it’s this: We are all carrying invisible burdens. Instead of using our beliefs to build walls or ladders to look down from, we should use them to build bridges. We don’t need to be perfect to be worthy of grace. We just need to be kind. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to get through this life the best we can.

(Names changed to protect the people written about.)