Dennis reluctantly agreed to “let me attend” the cancer retreat, though it was clear he wasn’t pleased. An uneasy silence marked the drive from Pacific Grove to the Santa Cruz mountains. As I traveled along the Pacific coast and through Santa Cruz, memories flooded back—after all, I’d spent five years there.

Upon arriving at the retreat, I called Dennis to assure him I had made it safely. That evening, while reading the local newspaper in the retreat’s formal living room, an odd feeling washed over me.

It was as if some unseen force urged me to take a walk. Without questioning it, I headed out, passing through a large iron gate and walking down a quiet country road. A woman stood opposite, wearing a vibrant, short-sleeved outfit. She lifted her arms, smiled, and waved as I passed her.

In the stillness of the night, this didn’t strike me as unusual—this was, after all, the Santa Cruz mountains. When I returned, the clock struck midnight.

“Why am I here?” I asked myself quietly, slipping into bed

A soft knock at my bedroom door jolted me awake the following morning. Groggy and irritated, I cursed at whoever thought disturbing my much-needed sleep was a good idea, especially after last night’s walk. I dragged myself to the door, only to remember where I was. The retreat.

I opened the door, and a young man greeted me before I could speak. “Good morning, Doré. Breakfast is ready.”

“Sorry, I was still asleep,” I mumbled.

“We tried calling your room, but you didn’t pick up, so we thought we’d check on you.”

I got dressed and made my way to the kitchen, where a pot of coffee sat, waiting. A mix of people gathered around the large kitchen table, chatting.

“Did you go for a walk last night?” someone asked as I poured myself a cup.

I nodded, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Why were you out walking at midnight?” another person asked, curious.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just felt this overwhelming urge to take a walk.”

“Did you see anyone?” someone else chimed in.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, starting to feel the tension in the room.

“Do you believe in the spirit world?” a voice asked quietly.

The retreat wasn’t just life-changing—it was exactly what I needed.

Those first few days offered a perfect blend of quiet reflection, self-care, and much-needed respite from the chaos of doctor appointments.

I found solace in the rustic-chic accommodations and could indulge in as many activities as I wanted, making it both a rejuvenating getaway and a time for fun.

One evening, I called Dennis to check how things were going with Wendy.

I mentioned my late-night walk along the country road on my first night at the retreat.

His only response was, “What? Oh. I can’t talk right now—tell me when you return in a few days.”

Half-joking, I replied, “Well, I hope you’ll still be there when I return.”

The next day, a doctor—someone none of us had met before—came to the retreat to offer healing work.

The experience he provided was truly remarkable and deeply supportive.

I was incredibly grateful for the sense of community, joy, laughter, and peace this week brought me.

On the final evening of the retreat, I spotted the doctor sitting on a park bench beneath a magnificent coast redwood tree. I brought some iced tea and sat on the opposite end of the bench.

“I appreciated the healing work you introduced us to today,” I said.

He turned to me, his tone suddenly serious.

“Doré, this conversation must remain confidential. No one can know about it. Do you agree?”

Caught off guard, I nodded.

“Yes, but what is this about?” I asked, surprised he remembered my name among the 30 other guests.

“Please, Doré, I need your complete confidence. Can you promise that?”

“Yes, but why all the secrecy?” I pressed.

“As you know, I’m a doctor. If anyone finds out I’m speaking to a faith healer, it would ruin me.”

“First of all, I’m not a faith healer. I believe I’m an empathetic and intuitive person. That has nothing to do with faith.”

He paused, then said quietly, “I heard you’re a miracle survivor of your cancer.”

After our conversation, I stepped out onto the back deck, gazing at the river below, and reflected on everything we had just discussed.

The next day, I drove home. It was comforting to see Wendy again. I shared my experiences with Dennis.

“I don’t know, Doré. What’s all this about?”

“Trust me, I’m just as unsure as you are.”

The next day, I began making plans to close my business. It was time to let go of the past and those who had been holding me back from moving forward. I finally allowed the chapter of my old life to close fully and stepped confidently through the door that led to my future, free of fear.

The survival rate for stage 4 melanoma was alarmingly low. Thankfully, I’ve always sought information and held on to belief.

For those facing a melanoma diagnosis, I would offer four critical pieces of advice:

1) Educate yourself about every available treatment option and seek multiple opinions from melanoma specialists.

2) Take an active role in choosing the right treatments for YOU and your melanoma.

3) Lean on support from family, friends, your spiritual community, counselors, or anyone who can help you process the emotions that come with navigating a diagnosis like this.

4) Keep your hope alive by remembering that you matter. Your life and your story have meaning, and you are loved. Find a reason to hold on to hope, even when it feels like it is slipping away.

Maintaining hope through all the ups and downs wasn’t easy. I still wrestle with the fear of facing melanoma again. Still, I nurture hope by staying involved in melanoma support groups, sharing my story with others, and appreciating every single day that I’m alive!