I'm not a writer, but I can talk, talk, and talk, and read, read and read. As, I approach my 70th birthday, I ask, "what happened?" I look in the mirror, and see a face that doesn't match me. The real Me, has gone through cancer, grief, sadness, and life's normal path, So, as I put on my lipstick, I choose to see a face , that is beautiful, kind, accepting, and just loving the moments. Moments are everywhere. I'm out catching moments, if you can't find me. Remember to catch your moments, you're gonna make it.
I saw a quote used by the Catherine Violet Hubbard sanctuary on their Facebook page. I wrote it down on the only paper I could find. “Things are beautiful if you love them”. Jane Anoulin. I totally understand, Aurora. I’m in that place where I’m aging. It’s beautiful and scary. I try to love me with all my parts. I hope you tell yourself you are beautiful and loved everyday.
This is exactly what I needed to read this morning! I have asked myself the same question, at 67, and have felt the same looking in the mirror! I’m facing a bone marrow transplant this week, and getting my head shaved tomorrow so I don’t have to worry about my hair falling out in gobs as chemo does its thing. But because you wrote this, I can work on loving --and catching-- the moments. Thank you for this!
"fight my way through" was my way, too, for so long. It served me well, until it didn't. When I was diagnosed -- a little over 2 years ago (clean now!) -- with breast cancer one of my first thoughts was, this is not something I can hurry or push through and get over with. The treatment has its own pace and I can only decide what to do inside that time and space.
It was a challenge to find ways to Be when there wasn't much to Do, and to feel that every day if life was precious, even when it "didn't look like much" to me.
I was used to measuring myself in things I did, got done, things I could "earn". No one deserves illness and no one earns good health, it just doesn't work that way. I do my best to remember those lessons now, when I am thankful to be on the other side of treatment for over a year already. It's given me much more patience and grace with myself and others which I hope to continue to use in good health.
"No one deserves illness and no one earns good health"--YES. As someone who also had breast cancer (I am 6.5 years post-treatment) I feel this so deeply. At my 5 year checkup, my beloved oncologist referred to me as someone who has "beat cancer" and seemed visibly shocked when I teared up and corrected her. No, I didn't "beat" my cancer--if anyone did that, she and her colleagues did, along with the researchers who developed the drugs I took.
During 1993 my life, as I defined it, blew up. I was feeling horrible, exhausted, gaining weight, just terribly “off.” On a trip to Scotland with my husband I discovered that he was in an affair and somehow managed to keep it together on the flight home, but then the rancor he had toward me exploded. Terrified, I scooped up my deaf and blind 13 year old spaniel and left in the cold, pouring rain with the clothes on my back on November 1. The Tuesday before that Thanksgiving, colleagues walk my 2 blocks up the street to the ER because my 36 year old heart seemed to be on fire. After my husband tries to get treatment denied (I was still on his insurance and despite being separated those were the days before PII. They finally reached my father, admitted me to the heart unit, and told me upon waking the next morning that I was in thyrotoxicosis, late stage Graves Disease. My bloodwork was worse than previously ever recorded. My internist joked that we’d pull through it so an article could be written. I had to drink straight iodine, the grape juice chaser not really cutting the sensory onslaught of swallowing a straight element.
Through sheer will my medical team pulled me through. Friends propped me up through a protracted 18 month legal battle to get divorced. I lived in a single room on Monument Avenue in Richmond (yes, THOSE Monuments) while I imagined a fresh start while I gained strength through miles of walking and hours of therapy. My parents, 5 hours away, took care of my beloved elderly Buttons.
I focused a lot on what I thought I’d lost. My 18th century historic register home, except it was really just a house, my gardens, books, clothes, relationships with his children, a supposed future blown up. It was extremely difficult to recalibrate a future in a city I didn’t want to be living in, but 2 mile proximity to work was essential.
I had started a Habitat for Humanity chapter in my “home” county. One Saturday, while walking, a Habitat box truck passed me. A light went on. I tracked them down, volunteered at worksites on Saturdays, joined their Board of Directors, led our first home built entirely by women, went to a Carter build. There was finally a divorce settlement that enabled me to buy the home I still live in on half an acre instead of six. There are now gardens, there have been four more spaniels and a pointer. I’ve been an active part of my godson’s lives and my career flourished.
Through this journey my health has fought me tooth and nail. Three autoimmune diseases, lower back surgery, two knee replacements, the second hip replacement in three weeks.
Those challenges seem pretty minor compared to those three Graves Disease hospitalizations necessary to get to recession. Life feels richer than the life I thought I had during 1993 because I’ve learned to be still when health or other circumstances require it. While I do resist, those times help ensure richness when you emerge from the other side if what seems like dark tunnels. We don’t navigate that journey alone. Loved ones shelter our pets, bring us food, sit with us, listen, cry, laugh, and love.
There are reunions ahead with pets, friends and family, gardens to grow, concerts to sing along to, food to savor.
Sometimes I reflect that others seem to have lived charmed lives without illness, strife, hardships. Maybe they do, but I wouldn't trade this journey for anything.
Death...the death of a beloved "sister in law" (my partner and I aren't married but he and I have been together..."We don't need no piece of paper"-Joni Mitchell) and her memorial service yesterday. She was a community maker, a gatherer, an includer of those of us on the periphery. Upon meeting my daughter, now 21 but age four at that gathering), Linda included her, embraced her, cherished her as a beloved. My daughter has chronic illnesses but Linda never focused on that when she saw Sylvie...she focused on their shared interest of antiques, of old photographs, of books....yesterday, at Linda's memorial, I had the chance, to share with her eldest son, the profound impact his mother had made on my introverted, amazing daughter. I did through with salted tears of deep gratitude and in doing so, began an instant bond with him and with his wife. We have "known" each other for close to 15 years, but never really talked. Yesterday...in the tears of sorrow and remembrance, I felt an opening into the "possible" and I know it was Linda At Work...creating bonds for three people who needed connection. Nov. 12 will forever be the day I hold Linda in my heart, and now the budding, deep friendship with her daughter-in-law and eldest son. I told my Sylvie (she is away at college) about yesterday, and she was so thankful:"Mommy! You made new friends. That is what I have wanted for you. I know my illnesses are so hard on you and it makes me so happy that you have two people who know sadness and also share your laughter too". Death, suffering, along with love, laughter and an opening.
Thank you for sharing your courage and hope with all of us. By sharing our stories we are not alone! In 1980 many traumas and mental illness surfaced because of the violence and blame that I received from my mother. I had 24 hour panic attacks and agoraphobia and I was in a mental facility for one month in NYC, on all sorts of medication. I regressed to a 3 year old.. while in the facility, but I received my first gift from a nurse named Maria, although an imposing figure, gave me a sense of safety and boundaries and on some level I knew she cared. The second gift was a 75 year old woman named Nancy who became my caregiver at home. She came for 2 weeks and stayed for 10 years. She became my surrogate mother and I her daughter, both giving one another the gift of love and care that each of us did not receive growing up.
I feel such deep happiness that you and Nancy found each other and that you each received and gave "the gift of love and care that each of us did not receive growing up". Yes-sharing our stories with one another is so powerful, isn't it? Thank you for sharing yours.
I'd like to share a few quotes that help me: “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” — Martin Luther King Jr. and “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work; you don’t give up.” —Anne Lamott.
I think we're all fragile and yet capable of great resilience.🌲
At 34 I’ve hustled my way to a relentlessly demanding career I love. In the past two years my body started to give clues of relapse, then revealed new complications-- without treatments. I’ve been in profound denial of the change I must make, to slow down and be in this body with love and care. I found an online community of folks who share some of my chronic conditions and a member of one of them reached out. We’ve become connected daily -- though we’ve never met (both of us house bound). She has gently offered resources, but mostly been there to listen. And, by creating space for me to reflect and tell my story helped me see the change I must make-- I still feel sad and afraid, but also hopeful that I can creatively and radically manifest a new way of being.
Thankyou so much for this prompt Misty. I've just read your blog over at The Quiet Life as a result. I have so much I want to say to you, but ultimately it boils down to- there is hope. I also had Long COVID and now I am doing all the things I loved to do before, just with added appreciation for my limits, and I've made huge changes in my life as a result. I changed my work circumstances, I started discovered poetry writing during being ill and have never stopped. it was a long road, but I promise there is hope x
Oh and I should add, after fighting the illness for ages, one day i wrote a letter to it. I told it it could stay for a little and I'd make room, but sooner or later it would have to go. It was quite a change in perspective for me, but ultimately that lesson in finding comfort within surrender is a lesson that has never left me.
On a mountainside in Scotland, I made a friend at the moment I was about to turn around because the path was too steep. Together, we navigated the path to the end.
Thank you for this prompt! I think my next Substack might be exactly about this!
It took me a minute to digest this prompt but then the pivotal moment/time in my life came to me. But it is built on years of hiding and personal shame. I remember the turning point and had prayed for it for endless years and like Misty counted each day I had separated myself from the nightmare of bulimia. Even one day had been a triumph but then all of a sudden one day became two and three and they built on each other like a Egyptian pyramid. I am over 25 years no longer possessed by this disorder and it was a nightmare of shame and hiding....I have revealed this to only 3 or 4 people in my life and two therapists. Actually my parents knew but never helped me. I was really on my own. I hesitated to write it to all of you, but the words came out. I am free!
It is really a tough one because you have to eat, you don't have to drink or do drugs. It took up so much of my life as a little secret. It is easy to hide also because you do not lose the kind of weight an anorexic does. And congratulations to you also!
Years ago, a wise therapist- one that I wish to all responded to a question-"Share your story, and if they can listen and stick around-friends their be" (Paraphrase)- my deep voice is a cover up from the rejection of living with PTSD--for so long--as do and did my brothers as well. That hidden voice is the child who experienced so much rejection and kept stumbling along. It is difficult for most to hear, I have found, especial those that have been on similar but different paths. I truly treasure my friends who are unafraid--this week I shared and sadly someone could not listen-but am not sorry-I understand.
Living within the uncertainties of “the in between” for someone who has always been a director, producer and controller of the storyline - it is good to be reminded by fellow life travellers like Suleika and Misty - to let go of said expectations, to lean into the undecided and learn to dance with your emerging new self and applaud each tiny step of acceptance as it opens you up to infinite possibilities to reframe, rediscover and redefine your life purpose - if only for this precious moment.
Thank you for your beautiful and encouraging words Suleika and Misty and all that have replied.
I’m in the midst of a life-changing event having been laid off from my job. I have worked since I was 16 years old (babysitting before that). I have built a long career and now facing a job search at 61 years old with my industry in a tailspin.
This change is forcing me to make new priorities and really think about how I want to spend my remaining work years (possibly all of them). It’s a new chapter for sure.
Celebration is however we choose to mark a milestone, enjoy whatever you decide to do (maybe all of it!)
Maybe it was August 16, 1990 when the phone rang at 10pm from my nephrologist informing me a perfect match kidney had become available for me. It was my third cadaver transplant since I was 16. It was a surprise as the first transplant almost killed me and the second lasted a great 15years. But was told the wait could be years.
At 65, when I reflect on these years, I’m thankful I was born with a fighting spirit. It’s not easy navigating a chronic illness for 50 years. What surprises me is my ability to get back up, even if I’m slower, I get back in the game of life. These days, the get back up is not quick and there are more fatigued and pain-filled days, but I still engage in life: I write, create, learn, walk my beloved dog, Autumn when I can, and I work very part time as an art therapist. I give thanks to my grit, inner strength and wisdom as I keep on Truck’n.
My 80-year old mother was in a car accident, hit head-on by an out-of-towner inadvertently driving the wrong way on a one-way road. By grace and luck her injuries were relatively minor, but even a simple road to recovery is a steep, switch-backing path for a sedentary octogenarian.
I arrived at the emergency department and found her slumped in a wheelchair, head dipped into her left hand, the dominant right arm in a sling. Looking up as I touched her shoulder she snarled, "What are you doing here?" She'd taken the first step in a familiar dance, and for the first time in my life, I did not want to join.
I'd found a pivot point. I continued for the next few months to coordinate with my siblings and her care team to provide the best treatment in the right settings. I visited regularly and organized to assure her smooth transition to living at home. And then I walked away. After a lifetime of abuse, I finally understood that I had to give myself the love, compassion and respect I kept expecting from her.
A good path, what a simple set of words with such a deep meaning. I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in 2019 and was done with active treatment in 2020. It was a journey that I did not choose and one I couldn’t ignore. I don’t remember the date of diagnosis, the first day of chemo, the last day of chemo, the date I had my mastectomy, or the dates of radiation. I just remember the process and each day waking up and being happy for it, even if that way was a day of treatment or recovery from treatment. In the fall of 2020, a coworker was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t know her that well, but upon hearing of her diagnosis I chose to become her support. We live 5 hours apart, but due to modern technology I could drop her a text every day. She didn’t have to answer me, I just wanted her to know she was never alone . I would have never considered my cancer a good path, but after my friends diagnosis it became a good path. I strongly believe that their was a higher purpose for me having had cancer and that was so I could walk with my friend down her path. On this path I gained a friend that as she used to say, “I love you huge”. Her path did not have a happy ending, I never thought it would, she lost her battle on November 10. I believe the date I will remember out of all of this is her date of passing. Will I mourn her, absolutely every single day, but without us both having had cancer, I would never have had the privilege of loving, and being loved by, such a strong courageous woman. Indeed, a good path
I'm sorry for your loss, Patty. I also had a "cancer friend" whose path diverged from mine. November 7 was the 2nd anniversary of her passing. It sounds like you and your friend were gifts to each other as my friend and I were. Sending peace.
I'm not a writer, but I can talk, talk, and talk, and read, read and read. As, I approach my 70th birthday, I ask, "what happened?" I look in the mirror, and see a face that doesn't match me. The real Me, has gone through cancer, grief, sadness, and life's normal path, So, as I put on my lipstick, I choose to see a face , that is beautiful, kind, accepting, and just loving the moments. Moments are everywhere. I'm out catching moments, if you can't find me. Remember to catch your moments, you're gonna make it.
“Catching moments” ♥️
“We are stronger, gentler, more resilient, and more beautiful than any of us imagine.” —Mark Nepo
❤️Yes!
I saw a quote used by the Catherine Violet Hubbard sanctuary on their Facebook page. I wrote it down on the only paper I could find. “Things are beautiful if you love them”. Jane Anoulin. I totally understand, Aurora. I’m in that place where I’m aging. It’s beautiful and scary. I try to love me with all my parts. I hope you tell yourself you are beautiful and loved everyday.
1st Samuel 16" 7 Man looks on the outside appearance but God looks on our hearts"""
You have a beautiful heart
This is exactly what I needed to read this morning! I have asked myself the same question, at 67, and have felt the same looking in the mirror! I’m facing a bone marrow transplant this week, and getting my head shaved tomorrow so I don’t have to worry about my hair falling out in gobs as chemo does its thing. But because you wrote this, I can work on loving --and catching-- the moments. Thank you for this!
You will have a great tomorrow! You have so many more moments to capture. You are beautiful!
Good luck! I’ve been thru one myself and know the drill. Be patient with yourself and the process.
Thanks! It helps to know that others have gone before and come out the other side!
"fight my way through" was my way, too, for so long. It served me well, until it didn't. When I was diagnosed -- a little over 2 years ago (clean now!) -- with breast cancer one of my first thoughts was, this is not something I can hurry or push through and get over with. The treatment has its own pace and I can only decide what to do inside that time and space.
It was a challenge to find ways to Be when there wasn't much to Do, and to feel that every day if life was precious, even when it "didn't look like much" to me.
I was used to measuring myself in things I did, got done, things I could "earn". No one deserves illness and no one earns good health, it just doesn't work that way. I do my best to remember those lessons now, when I am thankful to be on the other side of treatment for over a year already. It's given me much more patience and grace with myself and others which I hope to continue to use in good health.
♥️♥️♥️
That’s a powerful reminder - no one deserves illness or earns good health.
"No one deserves illness and no one earns good health"--YES. As someone who also had breast cancer (I am 6.5 years post-treatment) I feel this so deeply. At my 5 year checkup, my beloved oncologist referred to me as someone who has "beat cancer" and seemed visibly shocked when I teared up and corrected her. No, I didn't "beat" my cancer--if anyone did that, she and her colleagues did, along with the researchers who developed the drugs I took.
Appreciate your comment and the Truth in it
During 1993 my life, as I defined it, blew up. I was feeling horrible, exhausted, gaining weight, just terribly “off.” On a trip to Scotland with my husband I discovered that he was in an affair and somehow managed to keep it together on the flight home, but then the rancor he had toward me exploded. Terrified, I scooped up my deaf and blind 13 year old spaniel and left in the cold, pouring rain with the clothes on my back on November 1. The Tuesday before that Thanksgiving, colleagues walk my 2 blocks up the street to the ER because my 36 year old heart seemed to be on fire. After my husband tries to get treatment denied (I was still on his insurance and despite being separated those were the days before PII. They finally reached my father, admitted me to the heart unit, and told me upon waking the next morning that I was in thyrotoxicosis, late stage Graves Disease. My bloodwork was worse than previously ever recorded. My internist joked that we’d pull through it so an article could be written. I had to drink straight iodine, the grape juice chaser not really cutting the sensory onslaught of swallowing a straight element.
Through sheer will my medical team pulled me through. Friends propped me up through a protracted 18 month legal battle to get divorced. I lived in a single room on Monument Avenue in Richmond (yes, THOSE Monuments) while I imagined a fresh start while I gained strength through miles of walking and hours of therapy. My parents, 5 hours away, took care of my beloved elderly Buttons.
I focused a lot on what I thought I’d lost. My 18th century historic register home, except it was really just a house, my gardens, books, clothes, relationships with his children, a supposed future blown up. It was extremely difficult to recalibrate a future in a city I didn’t want to be living in, but 2 mile proximity to work was essential.
I had started a Habitat for Humanity chapter in my “home” county. One Saturday, while walking, a Habitat box truck passed me. A light went on. I tracked them down, volunteered at worksites on Saturdays, joined their Board of Directors, led our first home built entirely by women, went to a Carter build. There was finally a divorce settlement that enabled me to buy the home I still live in on half an acre instead of six. There are now gardens, there have been four more spaniels and a pointer. I’ve been an active part of my godson’s lives and my career flourished.
Through this journey my health has fought me tooth and nail. Three autoimmune diseases, lower back surgery, two knee replacements, the second hip replacement in three weeks.
Those challenges seem pretty minor compared to those three Graves Disease hospitalizations necessary to get to recession. Life feels richer than the life I thought I had during 1993 because I’ve learned to be still when health or other circumstances require it. While I do resist, those times help ensure richness when you emerge from the other side if what seems like dark tunnels. We don’t navigate that journey alone. Loved ones shelter our pets, bring us food, sit with us, listen, cry, laugh, and love.
There are reunions ahead with pets, friends and family, gardens to grow, concerts to sing along to, food to savor.
Sometimes I reflect that others seem to have lived charmed lives without illness, strife, hardships. Maybe they do, but I wouldn't trade this journey for anything.
Wow! You are amazing! You have quite a story to share. Thank you!
I think we all dig in and find inner strength we wish we never need to tap. It is quite a story, and much of the drama was left out.
Wow! What a journey! Thank you for sharing it with us. You are an inspiration 😊
Death...the death of a beloved "sister in law" (my partner and I aren't married but he and I have been together..."We don't need no piece of paper"-Joni Mitchell) and her memorial service yesterday. She was a community maker, a gatherer, an includer of those of us on the periphery. Upon meeting my daughter, now 21 but age four at that gathering), Linda included her, embraced her, cherished her as a beloved. My daughter has chronic illnesses but Linda never focused on that when she saw Sylvie...she focused on their shared interest of antiques, of old photographs, of books....yesterday, at Linda's memorial, I had the chance, to share with her eldest son, the profound impact his mother had made on my introverted, amazing daughter. I did through with salted tears of deep gratitude and in doing so, began an instant bond with him and with his wife. We have "known" each other for close to 15 years, but never really talked. Yesterday...in the tears of sorrow and remembrance, I felt an opening into the "possible" and I know it was Linda At Work...creating bonds for three people who needed connection. Nov. 12 will forever be the day I hold Linda in my heart, and now the budding, deep friendship with her daughter-in-law and eldest son. I told my Sylvie (she is away at college) about yesterday, and she was so thankful:"Mommy! You made new friends. That is what I have wanted for you. I know my illnesses are so hard on you and it makes me so happy that you have two people who know sadness and also share your laughter too". Death, suffering, along with love, laughter and an opening.
♥️♥️♥️
Dear Misty,
Thank you for sharing your courage and hope with all of us. By sharing our stories we are not alone! In 1980 many traumas and mental illness surfaced because of the violence and blame that I received from my mother. I had 24 hour panic attacks and agoraphobia and I was in a mental facility for one month in NYC, on all sorts of medication. I regressed to a 3 year old.. while in the facility, but I received my first gift from a nurse named Maria, although an imposing figure, gave me a sense of safety and boundaries and on some level I knew she cared. The second gift was a 75 year old woman named Nancy who became my caregiver at home. She came for 2 weeks and stayed for 10 years. She became my surrogate mother and I her daughter, both giving one another the gift of love and care that each of us did not receive growing up.
I feel such deep happiness that you and Nancy found each other and that you each received and gave "the gift of love and care that each of us did not receive growing up". Yes-sharing our stories with one another is so powerful, isn't it? Thank you for sharing yours.
Thank you for your beautiful response Sherri ❤️
Thank you, Misty, for your moving prompt.
I'd like to share a few quotes that help me: “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” — Martin Luther King Jr. and “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work; you don’t give up.” —Anne Lamott.
I think we're all fragile and yet capable of great resilience.🌲
Thank you for your powerful writing, Suleika.
At 34 I’ve hustled my way to a relentlessly demanding career I love. In the past two years my body started to give clues of relapse, then revealed new complications-- without treatments. I’ve been in profound denial of the change I must make, to slow down and be in this body with love and care. I found an online community of folks who share some of my chronic conditions and a member of one of them reached out. We’ve become connected daily -- though we’ve never met (both of us house bound). She has gently offered resources, but mostly been there to listen. And, by creating space for me to reflect and tell my story helped me see the change I must make-- I still feel sad and afraid, but also hopeful that I can creatively and radically manifest a new way of being.
Hollis: May you be gifted with grace and hope and continued loving care. May your being flourish. 🐠❤️💜
Thankyou so much for this prompt Misty. I've just read your blog over at The Quiet Life as a result. I have so much I want to say to you, but ultimately it boils down to- there is hope. I also had Long COVID and now I am doing all the things I loved to do before, just with added appreciation for my limits, and I've made huge changes in my life as a result. I changed my work circumstances, I started discovered poetry writing during being ill and have never stopped. it was a long road, but I promise there is hope x
Oh and I should add, after fighting the illness for ages, one day i wrote a letter to it. I told it it could stay for a little and I'd make room, but sooner or later it would have to go. It was quite a change in perspective for me, but ultimately that lesson in finding comfort within surrender is a lesson that has never left me.
♥️♥️♥️
Hmm. Write a letter to your illness. I like that idea.
❤️
On a mountainside in Scotland, I made a friend at the moment I was about to turn around because the path was too steep. Together, we navigated the path to the end.
Thank you for this prompt! I think my next Substack might be exactly about this!
Love this! ♥️
It took me a minute to digest this prompt but then the pivotal moment/time in my life came to me. But it is built on years of hiding and personal shame. I remember the turning point and had prayed for it for endless years and like Misty counted each day I had separated myself from the nightmare of bulimia. Even one day had been a triumph but then all of a sudden one day became two and three and they built on each other like a Egyptian pyramid. I am over 25 years no longer possessed by this disorder and it was a nightmare of shame and hiding....I have revealed this to only 3 or 4 people in my life and two therapists. Actually my parents knew but never helped me. I was really on my own. I hesitated to write it to all of you, but the words came out. I am free!
So much courage! To freedom!
Thank you!
It is really a tough one because you have to eat, you don't have to drink or do drugs. It took up so much of my life as a little secret. It is easy to hide also because you do not lose the kind of weight an anorexic does. And congratulations to you also!
Years ago, a wise therapist- one that I wish to all responded to a question-"Share your story, and if they can listen and stick around-friends their be" (Paraphrase)- my deep voice is a cover up from the rejection of living with PTSD--for so long--as do and did my brothers as well. That hidden voice is the child who experienced so much rejection and kept stumbling along. It is difficult for most to hear, I have found, especial those that have been on similar but different paths. I truly treasure my friends who are unafraid--this week I shared and sadly someone could not listen-but am not sorry-I understand.
Living within the uncertainties of “the in between” for someone who has always been a director, producer and controller of the storyline - it is good to be reminded by fellow life travellers like Suleika and Misty - to let go of said expectations, to lean into the undecided and learn to dance with your emerging new self and applaud each tiny step of acceptance as it opens you up to infinite possibilities to reframe, rediscover and redefine your life purpose - if only for this precious moment.
How perfectly said. Thank you!
Thank you. ❤️
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for your beautiful and encouraging words Suleika and Misty and all that have replied.
I’m in the midst of a life-changing event having been laid off from my job. I have worked since I was 16 years old (babysitting before that). I have built a long career and now facing a job search at 61 years old with my industry in a tailspin.
This change is forcing me to make new priorities and really think about how I want to spend my remaining work years (possibly all of them). It’s a new chapter for sure.
Celebration is however we choose to mark a milestone, enjoy whatever you decide to do (maybe all of it!)
Cheers,
Carol
Maybe it was August 16, 1990 when the phone rang at 10pm from my nephrologist informing me a perfect match kidney had become available for me. It was my third cadaver transplant since I was 16. It was a surprise as the first transplant almost killed me and the second lasted a great 15years. But was told the wait could be years.
At 65, when I reflect on these years, I’m thankful I was born with a fighting spirit. It’s not easy navigating a chronic illness for 50 years. What surprises me is my ability to get back up, even if I’m slower, I get back in the game of life. These days, the get back up is not quick and there are more fatigued and pain-filled days, but I still engage in life: I write, create, learn, walk my beloved dog, Autumn when I can, and I work very part time as an art therapist. I give thanks to my grit, inner strength and wisdom as I keep on Truck’n.
My 80-year old mother was in a car accident, hit head-on by an out-of-towner inadvertently driving the wrong way on a one-way road. By grace and luck her injuries were relatively minor, but even a simple road to recovery is a steep, switch-backing path for a sedentary octogenarian.
I arrived at the emergency department and found her slumped in a wheelchair, head dipped into her left hand, the dominant right arm in a sling. Looking up as I touched her shoulder she snarled, "What are you doing here?" She'd taken the first step in a familiar dance, and for the first time in my life, I did not want to join.
I'd found a pivot point. I continued for the next few months to coordinate with my siblings and her care team to provide the best treatment in the right settings. I visited regularly and organized to assure her smooth transition to living at home. And then I walked away. After a lifetime of abuse, I finally understood that I had to give myself the love, compassion and respect I kept expecting from her.
A good path, what a simple set of words with such a deep meaning. I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in 2019 and was done with active treatment in 2020. It was a journey that I did not choose and one I couldn’t ignore. I don’t remember the date of diagnosis, the first day of chemo, the last day of chemo, the date I had my mastectomy, or the dates of radiation. I just remember the process and each day waking up and being happy for it, even if that way was a day of treatment or recovery from treatment. In the fall of 2020, a coworker was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t know her that well, but upon hearing of her diagnosis I chose to become her support. We live 5 hours apart, but due to modern technology I could drop her a text every day. She didn’t have to answer me, I just wanted her to know she was never alone . I would have never considered my cancer a good path, but after my friends diagnosis it became a good path. I strongly believe that their was a higher purpose for me having had cancer and that was so I could walk with my friend down her path. On this path I gained a friend that as she used to say, “I love you huge”. Her path did not have a happy ending, I never thought it would, she lost her battle on November 10. I believe the date I will remember out of all of this is her date of passing. Will I mourn her, absolutely every single day, but without us both having had cancer, I would never have had the privilege of loving, and being loved by, such a strong courageous woman. Indeed, a good path
I am sorry. You are strong. Know it.
I'm sorry for your loss, Patty. I also had a "cancer friend" whose path diverged from mine. November 7 was the 2nd anniversary of her passing. It sounds like you and your friend were gifts to each other as my friend and I were. Sending peace.