It's been 24 hours since you revealed your grim diagnosis to me. I hope you can forgive me for standing dumbstruck as you shared your terrible news. Even today I'm still shocked so I can't imagine how you feel, but I could tell by your solemn demeanor that the weight of this terrible knowledge is eating at your soul as you contemplate your future. And while I can't say that I know how you feel because nobody who hasn't been in those shoes possibly can, what I can do is offer you my most sincere sympathy, my support, the knowledge I will be here for you always, and an outsider's insight as to living with and assisting loved ones in similar situations, and the lessons it's taught me. Cancer is a word that has both figuratively and literally eaten through my family, stealing loved ones along every decade of my journey through life. I learned about cancer at the age of 10, when my mother was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease, what is now commonly known as Lymphoma, soon after the birth of my baby sister. In those days treatment was experimental and debilitating, which cast me instantly into the role of mommy for a baby girl and chief cook for the family. Throughout the first few years there were rounds of chemo and radiation followed by a period of remission. But even though the cancer was gone for the time being, my mother never returned to us, at least the one we once knew. Instead of returning to living, she buried herself in the Bible preparing to die instead of enjoying the days she had remaining on earth with her family, friends and the life she still had. Those should have been joyful days but instead we tiptoed around our mother, treating each day like she was on her deathbed when in fact she had a reprieve from it. The doctor told her she if she made remission for 5 years she would be cured, but almost as if she willed it, the cancer returned 6 months shy of that mark and so a few years later she physically expired even though she had mentally checked out years earlier. My mother was 42 when she officially died. In my late 20s I assisted my bent and frail 100lb 86 year old grandmother as she summoned superhuman strength to help care for her baby, my favorite aunt, as Sandy fought and lost her battle with coincidentally, Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. in less than 2 years she was gone at the age of 47, but was still running books and partying until she took to her bed for the last time. She showed me life is what you make it and my grandmother was living testimony that there's a hero in all of us and you never know what you are capable of until you summon your inner strength. When my sister walked into the oncologist's office 6 years later with her mom and daughter so that he could offer his grim diagnosis, the doctor asked the trio, "who's the patient here?" and a stunned Sheri replied, "I am. Why do you ask?" His response shocked none of us, "Because with this lab work I expected that my patient would arrive by wheelchair." By the time they caught my sister's cancer, she was given just 9 months to live and that's all she was given, but Sheri wasn't about to just lay down and die. She lived each day to the fullest, and the only time she used a wheelchair was when she took her family on a cruise a few months before she died at age 38. Ever since she could walk she was fearless and she was fearless even as she faced her own mortality all the while comforting those around her who were supposed to be comforting her. It was only right that instead of mourning this strong woman, we held a Celebration of Life Reggae party for her and with her just a few weeks before she died instead of after when she couldn't enjoy it. Two more wonderful aunts followed, and then my mother-in-law lost her life to cancer without so much as giving a thought to battling the inevitable.
Which brings me to my friend, Keith, my most-times bff since 8th grade. Keith didn't have cancer but I can't think of anyone else I know who lived life to the fullest quite like him. After his divorce he became a free spirit and loved to pick up and travel whenever the mood hit him. He was fearless. He would go anywhere and try all kinds of new things. He had countless crazy stories to tell after his bouts of wanderlust and you knew they were all true because you couldn't make up the things he experienced. Because of his travels he always knew the best of everything: sandwich shops, restaurants, Bloody Mary bars, rest stops, and curiosities in both the most popular and most obscure places as well as the most scenic routes to find them. When he traveled he loved to stay in hostels or shady stops on his way to wherever. One time a wrong turn led him to a nudist camp, another time to an early 21st century commune where he decided to stay and live like a hippy for a week until he got antsy and jumped back into his car to continue his journey. In 2009 he had a massive heart attack and lost 60% of his heart function. While in the hospital, struggling to survive after being brought back to life several times, he developed MRSA. He was ultimately hospitalized for years and subsequent problems led to kidney failure and he was placed on kidney dialysis along with a strict diet and a 5 year prognosis . The first thing he did when he got out of the hospital was eat all the foods that he were denied him and go on a road trip. He decided he was going to enjoy life and that's exactly what he did. Everyday was a new adventure for him and he tried to milk the most out of every second. He laughed, ate, played, traveled, shoveled snow, tended to his girlfriend until her last day and traveled some more. 2 years before he died, he almost froze to death in a snowbank because he insisted on walking around in a blizzard without the cane he loathed and was knocked over by a hard wind. Fortunately 45 minutes later he was saved by a passerby who noticed him kicking about like an upturned cockroach, as he gleefully described it afterwards. He unapologetically broke all the rules and never had a single regret. In spite of his 5 year prognosis, he was well into his 8th year when he took his last trip, this time to Las Vegas, just weeks before his body insisted it was time for his final rest.
What I learned throughout this journey with my loved ones is that it is inevitable: all of us are going to die, but what few people seem to realize or at least acknowledge is that none of us know when it will be. It might be easier to put a time frame around it if one receives a terminal diagnosis, but that is as inexact as thinking that just because you don't have a devastating illness you won't die. Anyone of us could be taking our last breath this very next moment, or not. None of us know because we don't possess the power to know when and how unless we take our own lives. So what life and loss has taught me is to live and enjoy each day as if it's your very last, otherwise those are days just wasted instead of lived.
One of my favorite quotes I'm ashamed to say comes from a movie, Stephen King's Shawshank Redemption, where Red say, "Get busy living or get busy dying." It is such a profound statement. I wish I could have given that advice to my mother, but I am thankful that today I can offer it to you, my dear friend. Spend time with family and friends, take care of your bucket list, travel, drink Margaritas for breakfast, eat ice cream for dinner, make love outside, stay up binge watching awful movies until you pass out on the sofa, don't make the bed! Have fun, enjoy the sun, knock off work and veg out. Buy that sports car you always wanted! Make the most of the life you have today. Right now is all any of us really have anyway because tomorrow is promised to no one, so it's imperative that we live each day to its full and utter completeness. #cancersucks #mydearfriend #livelife #livelifetoday #carpediem
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