This past week, I almost forgot I had cancer. I wish I could say I did forget, but that knowledge that there is a malignant growth in my body trying to kill me isn't something that I have been able to put totally out of my mind. It's more accurate to say that, during this past week, I was gratefully free from most adverse side effects of chemotherapy. But I also was more attuned to the simple pleasures of life, and more grateful for the events of each day.
Certain Native American tribes have a saying, "today is a good day to die". BC (Before Cancer), I would have associated that saying with a morbid death wish. Now, I understand that it is associated with a desire to live each day at its fullest, aware that life is short and uncertain, and accepting each morning as a gift from God. With such an attitude -- free from regret over unresolved past misdeeds or failed plans, or from endlessly deferring the development of the soul in exchange for soul-crushing daily drudgery -- then a well-lived day is a good day to die. And the next day is a gift from God, another day to be well-lived on its own terms, and in accord with an appropriate balance of life. I have a better appreciation of this concept now, although I can do better in keeping the important priorities at the forefront of my consciousness.
Jennifer and I enjoyed our time in NYC last week. On Thursday, we walked the High Line -- a new urban park made out of the elevated railroad on the West Side of Manhattan, from 14th to 30th Streets. It was cold, blustery, and rainy, and we walked for 4 or 5 miles, enjoying each others' company, talking, and in no particular hurry. BC, I likely would have been less patient, more intent on doing something instead of being in the now. But on this walk, my cancer-laced bladder and I was content to meander and go nowhere fast. We tried a new BBQ joint on West 23rd ("Rub" - recommended), then wound our way back to our hotel (the Casablanca on West 43rd - my new favorite in the City). I ended up skipping the first day of the conference, even though I had planned to attend the afternoon session on the Federal Circuit. What I was doing seemed more important, and in retrospect I think I chose correctly. I made up for it on Friday, spending time at the office and at the conference, including an hour-long speech/presentation as the concluding speaker. Fewer than half the people fell asleep or walked out, so it must have been a success.
Jennifer and I managed to see 4 plays while in NYC: Rock Of Ages, a collection of 80's head banging rock songs stitched together with an almost coherent boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, disappointment and reconciliation story. It was great silly fun. Godspell, a revival of the 70's musical drawn on the Gospel of Matthew, with lots of energetic, reverential fun. The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe, an ingenious two-person play with minimal props and an utterly engaging method. And The Fantasticks, which Jennifer somehow had never seen. We had a wonderful time, and I am grateful that I could enjoy a respite from chemotherapy to do so.
Today was Kirsten's 17th birthday. We went out and bought her a motorcycle -- a 2002 Honda Rebel with 6300 miles (my gift was half of the cost). We enjoyed a family dinner and had a most pleasant time. I am aware of how, during this time, the family is pulling closer together. Shared challenges and shared burdens can increase family cohesion. It is a silver lining to an otherwise dark cloud, and one that gladdens my heart. Likewise, at church one of my friends movingly told me how she reads every entry on this blog, and it inspired her to try live her life better. It once again reminded me that I cannot pretend to understand God's hand in my life, or to pretend that my ways are his ways. I do not recommend cancer as a way of building family unity or as an object lesson to others, but to the extent that others find some benefit to my musings, then that's ok. Such comments reinforce my belief of the importance of community, of our virtual village, of the fact that we give and receive love and support and concern, and in so doing, we strengthen each other as well as ourselves.
Thank you, God, for the gift of life, and for family and friends. I can genuinely say that today was a good day to die. But my life has been prolonged, and for that I am grateful.
I have read your cancer blog since you began it. In spite of being your brother, I have resisted the desire (always there) to comment - we have talked by phone and written each other. Why post feelings on a public site?
ReplyDeleteThe answer is one word: love.
Your cancer writings reflect the genesis, the birth, the rise of a significant alteration and elevation of mind. Today, you gave it words. I admire the change. It is beautiful.
I loathe the cancer that may take you from us. I suppose it is as illogical to loathe cancer any more than a text message sent from a car that could also send you sailing into the great beyond -
I suppose I am a sniper looking for something, anything I can fire at any enemy that distresses you, my brother. If cancer had a face, I'd hunt it down or find a place to hide you from it.
But I have no weapon but love, no bullets but prayer, no place to hide you. I want to write "god bless" in closing, but I know what you know. He is blessing you already. I love and admire you all the more for the way you are accepting that blessing.
It is a fine thing to have a brother like you.