So, can I tell you something?

Celine is back.

I probably don’t need to explain this, but on the off chance that I do, I’m talking about Celine Dion, and her return to the stage in all of her glory, after a six year absence.

In 2022, Celine announced a diagnosis of Stiff Person Syndrome, a neurological condition that had resulted in the loss of her voice. She has been undergoing medical treatment, physical conditioning and voice training, resulting in her triumphant return to the stage in Nanterre, France, earlier this month.

I’ve watched videos of Celine singing, resplendent in her stage costumes, emotional and teary eyed, and I’ve been moved to tears as well. I’m happy for her. I felt as relieved as she looked while belting out the power ballads that she’s built her career on.

I’ve appreciated her transparency and the courage required to share her journey with the world. I feel the depth of her gratitude, and love for the act of singing and for the fans that showed up and will continue to show up.

I understand receiving an unexpected diagnosis, after struggling with frightening symptoms. I have experienced the sorrow of watching important parts of my life change, lessen or disappear altogether.

I am at a time in life where my chronic illnesses and pain have created a significant impact on my life.

There have been losses.

I have been gathering a box of tools to help me to manage symptoms, to prevent, if possible, more issues, to provide comfort, calm my nervous system and to improve what can be improved.

This is where the reality of “flares” comes in. Recently I had two days of relatively less pain, I could even walk normally. That was followed by four days, as of today, or increased pain.

I couldn’t tell you why I felt better or why I now feel worse, it’s all a bit maddening.

On some level, chronic pain and illness is an equalizer. I don’t have millions to spend on doctors, treatments, medical, mental health and physiotherapy professionals. That’s a difference. Still, I do know the “gut punch” feeling of receiving a frightening diagnosis, of living with a wonky body.

I also know the wonder of hope.

Watching Celine Dion take back the stage was to share in the joy of hope. Hope in the possibility of taking back a loss, of settling a torment. The hope that God has not closed His ears, that His plan in the present moment involves a reprieve, or a change of circumstances all together.

The hope that celebrates another’s recovery, that applauds returned strength and stamina, that high fives the flare free days.

Hope that dances, even from a chair, that shared sighs of relief and cries happy tears.

Hope, that sings.