Prompt 210. Jon & Maude

& a prompt on "scanxiety" and compassion by Alexa Wilding

Hi friend,

Last Saturday morning, I woke up to a text that said, “Your foster dog will arrive in 30 minutes.” It caught me completely off guard. The week before, I had applied to foster a senior dog, but it turned out she wasn’t well enough to make the trip from Texas to Brooklyn, so it had fallen through. In the meantime, the organization had assigned me another one, but I had missed the email. Then suddenly there was Maude, a four-pound, half-hairless piglet of a pup, and there was no way I was turning her away.

By the time Jon woke up and made his way downstairs, Maude was curled up in my lap like she’d been there forever. Jon was thoroughly bewildered. “What are we doing right now?” he asked. “Are we getting a second dog? What is happening?”

And honestly, he was right to be confused—and skeptical too, because Maude arrived at a time that wasn’t exactly low stress or low stakes. I’ve been struggling with GVHD, a complication of transplant, and am going back on a full dose of steroids, and Jon was just days away from the premiere of his new work American Symphony at Carnegie Hall. On top of all that, both of our families were coming to town to attend. All to say, we were juggling a lot.

Jon kept his skeptical position for most of the day—until later that evening, when he sat down at the piano and began playing parts from his symphony. It was so gorgeous, but at one point I was surprised to hear a strange sound, like Jon was somehow singing a two-part melody. Then I felt my lap humming, and I looked down and realized that Maude was letting out a little howl. Her crooning was such a delight, and every afternoon until the performance—which was incredible, more on that later!—the two of them serenaded me.

Click to hear Jon and Maude’s duet

It’s been a full week now with my weird little wolf pack of River and Maude, and I love it. Maude has totally won Jon over too, so much so that on the morning of his symphony, he texted me not about the premiere, but about Maude, asking, “Should we keep her?”

I surprised myself by being the one to say, “No”—that I was happy to foster her, but I’m just not well enough to take on another pup. It’s brought me so much joy to provide Maude safe haven en route to a forever home. I’m also grateful for the reminder—that when you’re stuck in the sink sands of your own suffering, extending a hand to another creature can pull you out of it.

It’s something I see again and again from my sweet friend, Alexa Wilding. You may remember her as the mother of Lou Sullivan, the fedora-donning, tap-dancing, two-time-cancer-surviving little wise man who brought us one of our all-time favorite prompts, “Inside Seeing,” in the early days of the pandemic.

Last week Alexa shared a gorgeous little essay on her Instagram page—about “scanxiety,” the laughter of monks and children, and a powerful prayer of compassion that helps her through the hardest days. I loved it so much that I asked if I could share it with you today, and she said yes. I couldn’t be more thrilled.

With love,

Suleika

Some Items of Note—

• Today from 1-2 pm ET is our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers. Carmen and Holly will be hosting, and they’ll be sharing some tips on building creative community. You can join by clicking here!

• On Threads, our new community space for the Isolation Journals, we’re continuing our weekly ritual: a collective gratitude list of small joys. You can read and join the conversation here!

• September is Childhood Cancer Awareness month, and in honor of Lou and Alexa, we’re helping raise funds for Making Headway, an incredible organization that provides all kinds of support for families like theirs. You can find more info at the bottom of his email—or just go ahead and donate here!

Prompt 210. On Happiness by Alexa Wilding

My son Lou had scans last week. The results were good, all was stable, but we had to wait three miserable days for them. During that time, I was pushed to the limits of patience, grace, and courage. In fact I spent some time with anger, rage, and fear—a gang I try to avoid because who wants to hang out with those assholes—and let me tell you, we had it out. Next time, I won’t be so afraid of them.

It’s hard for people who haven’t been there to understand why scans send even the steeliest of us running up that hill to make a deal with God. We’re all living on borrowed time, no one knows their fate, but scan days push you to the front of the bargain line. It doesn’t matter how many years it’s been, or where you or your loved one land on the spectrum of terrible things—you’re in a Buddhism bootcamp you don’t remember signing up for. It ain’t pretty.

But my child’s clear eyes are gorgeous. His excitement—always—to go to the city, to be put under, to see his team. What does he know that I don’t? 

I read once that shamans laugh a lot. So do monks. And when I follow my slapstick, dancing little holy man down the street, I find my heart expanding, my laughs landing deeper in my changed body. What an adventure, what an honor, what a romp.

When happiness feels out of reach, I say this Sanskrit prayer: May creatures everywhere be happy, healthy, and free. And then I add whatever else feels good. This past scan day it was: May those of us on this tough road be lucky enough to find the community they need, like the one I’ve landed in, where beloved friends hold our trembling hands, laugh at our stupid jokes, see us for who we are: scared, hopeful, basking in your brave and tender love.

Your prompt for the week: 

Compose a prayer of compassion. Maybe for someone you know, maybe for a community or a nation. If you’d like, begin with this line, which comes from a Sanskrit prayer: May creatures everywhere be happy, healthy, and free.*

*Lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu.

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments below, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Today’s Contributor

Alexa Wilding (she/her) is a writer and musician. She is also a two-time pediatric brain cancer mom, breast cancer survivor, and advocate. After a decade as a critically acclaimed singer-songwriter (“the neo-Stevie Nicks”—The New York Times), she received her MFA from The Writer’s Foundry at St. Joseph’s College, Brooklyn. Her work has appeared in Parents, Cup of Jo, and most recently Departures, where she writes about travel and self-care. Alexa lives in Hudson, NY, with her husband and twin sons. She is writing a memoir about all of the above.

Support Making Headway

In honor of Lou and Alexa, we’re helping raise funds for Making Headway, an incredible organization that provides all kinds of support for families like theirs. “Pediatric brain cancer is the deadliest of all children’s cancers; it’s also the least funded,” Alexa says. “It’s hard for me to write that, as we’ve been through it twice. What makes it doable? Making Headway.”

For 25 years, the Making Headway Foundation has been providing care and comfort for children with brain and spinal cord tumors while funding medical research geared to better treatments and a cure. They offer a vast array of services, including counseling, educational advocacy, in-hospital quality-of-life programs, scholarships, fun family events, medical research grants, facilitating clinical trials, neuro-oncology fellowships, and so much more.

If you have the means and feel called, you can donate below—and you can even dedicate your contribution to Lou Sullivan!