When Hope Makes You Cry: Cancer, KiteBoarding and New Moon Dreamings.

'Don't tell me your bloody father is out kiting?'

Mum's pulled up at the Point with my youngest nephew - the oldest one had fainted at school that day, requiring five stitches and a trip to hospital to make sure it's nothing serious. She needs Dad to take the van to pick up his bike from school.

'Mum, he's kiting!' I say. This would not normally be eventful - not enough for an exclamation mark, anyway. He's always been a kiteboarder, a surfer. Mum's always been a surf widow.

'Yep, that's the third time this week' she laughs. 'And he's too tired to do the dishes'. This is the moment I know things have gone back to normal. He's no longer exempt from household duties, and my mother's going to be pissed at him for trying. All is right with the world. Still, seeing Dad out there - I'm on his side. At the water's edge, I tell him Mum's after him to pick the bike up. He mutters something about 'fat chance' - perhaps he's more polite than this, which is likely, but I get the drift. The conditons are perfect - not too windy, not too crowded.

Perfect for a man who got the all clear from cancer six weeks ago.

Zoom in on the grin on his face. He's 71 years old and alive - and not only alive, he's fit and alive. It's one of the reasons he survived an aggressive treatment for an aggressive cancer. Having always been fit and healthy, mindful of his diet and being a yogi and a surfer (and if he couldn't do that, there was always running, gym and gardening - his philosophy has always been 'ya just gotta keep moving'), he was best placed to go through the grueling onslaught of chemicals that half near kill you before they disintegrate the disease. The doctors said they wouldn't have even tried if he hadn't been fit and healthy.

Dad wasn't this smiley all the way through. He was mostly positive, which helped a lot, but a cocktail of drugs bring you down whilst they're trying to save you. Beside, part of his identity as an active person who thrived off being physical had disappeared, and what is one to do with that? My friend's Dad has been nicknamed 'Mordor' behind his back - with a spine injury he can't surf anymore and it's made him a grumpy mountain of doom - unbearably so, for those around him. I get that, but it's no way to live. No amount of logic or reprimanding would bring my own Dad up either - he'd been known to say 'I may as well be dead' (resulting in a nurse pulling up a chair and giving him a damn good talking to) and 'I'll never get back in the ocean again'.

Standing on the warm water's edge the other night, it was time to gleefully say 'Dad, I told you so!'. As soon as he got the all clear, he was off - a gym plan three times a week, paddle boarding, laps of the pool. It doesn't take long to get fit again if you've always been a fit person. When he got the diagnosis, he wondered why the hell he'd bothered to look after his health if he was just going to get cancer. He quickly admitted that being healthy and fit gave him a great quality of life as well as helping him get through this trauma of chemicals and strains on his immune system. And now, it was helping him recover far faster.

For those of you that know the story of our family journey through cancer last year, you'll know how much I admire him and love him, and am so glad to have him around for a little bit longer. Seeing him fly through the air on his kiteboard like this made my heart absolutely sing with joy - what a wonderful image of hope it is! I'm proud, too, that he's my Dad - most people that saw him at his absolute worst are amazed at this recovery and inspired by it. He's a good man and it's good news.

By some kind of coincidence, I met a girlfriend at yoga on Monday night just after taking these photos. It was the first time she'd gone to this studio - she'd had a long afternoon sleep and upon waking, felt a sudden urge to celebrate the new moon with a session of yoga and signed up for the introductory deal for a month. She's been having a tough time - last year, she collapsed and was diagnosed with cancer. Unlike Dad, she's on an immunotherapy treatment trial, which has been fairly successful, albeit ongoing. She's one of the most positive people I know, and blows people away with how she's tackling this illness head on.

I never take my phone into yoga class ever - it's just not a done thing. For some reason, I had put my bag against the wall near my mat, so the phone was there, and against all the rules, I pulled it out to show her the photos of Dad in the five minutes before the teacher walked in. She knows Dad's story, knows him. Of course, she was thrilled, positively gushing with joy and excitement over this incredible photographic evidence of someone who has not only recovered from cancer, but has really recovered.

And so we moved through the new moon practice, setting intentions for the month ahead. I wondered what she was thinking about, with this terrible thing inside her. At the end of class, the om's and namaste's over and done with, she turned to me with tears absolutely streaming down her face and hugged me. She was just so darn happy about Dad she couldn't stop thinking about it all the way through class, bless her cotton socks. It had made her week, her month - and had given her hope just before her next treatment.

It's hard to hold so much in your heart. So many stories of cancer in so many people's lives. Be it joy or despair, it does spill over into tears. Today, I'm looking at flights to England, where my man's step father is entering palliative care for lung cancer. He's the same age as Dad, and must face what Dad did, but with far less hope, given his diagnosis.

Hope takes a different form, now. It's hope that we might get a chance to see him and say our goodbyes.

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