Tag: faith

Just… No More

Screenshot

This time last year I had the privilege of helping with Into the Woods at Greenville Theatre. This day last year was World Cancer Day. Light with darkness sprinkled with hope. That’s the tag line of my life.

Sondheim wrote complex themes and lyrics. The genius is that you hear and feel them where you are in life. It resonated quite differently with me last year. The song, No More, has become an anthem. If you haven’t listened to the song I highly recommend it. It takes place in Into the Woods when everyone is reeling from current events… They are, ironically, in the woods and are surrounded by giants, witches, loss of loved ones… The grief was overwhelming and hope was invisible…

Here are my thoughts… then and now, through the words written by Sondheim.

BakerMe
No more questions,What’s wrong? How do you feel? What’s your pain level?
Please.It’s hard to answer these honestly
No more tests.Testing fatigue
Comes the day you say, “What for?”
Please- no more.Please… no more.
Baker’s Father
They disappoint,
They disappear,
They die but they don’t…
Baker
What?That makes no sense, like most of life these days…
Baker’s Father
They disappointI disappoint those I love
In turn, I fear.and my life is a burden
Forgive, though, they won’t…they shouldn’t forgive that burden
Baker
No more riddles.stop
No more jests.trying
No more curses you can’t undo,to
Left by fathers you never knew.find out
No more quests.what’s wrong
No more feelings.I’ve turned my feelings off
Time to shut the door.It’s easier to be alone
Just- no more.Just.. no more
Baker’s Father
Running away- let’s do it,Validating the idea of escaping into myself
Free from the ties that bind.or literally running away
No more despairEscaping will bring peace
Or burdens to bear
Out there in the yonder.
Running away- go to it.Go ahead… shut down
Where did you have in mind?
Have to take care:But, where to go?
Unless there’s a “where,”
You’ll only be wandering blind.
Just more questions.I can’t escape my pain or worries
Different kind.There will always be questions.
Where are we to go?Is there a place to go?
Where are we ever to go?Is there a time I should go?
Running away- we’ll do it.Pulling into myself sounds right
Why sit around, resugned?
Trouble is, son,
The farther you run,The solution never comes from running
The more you feel undefined
For what you’ve left undone
And, more, what you’ve left behind.Shutting down will cause heartache to my Core 4 groups.
We disappoint,Guilt
We leave a mess,Guilt
We die but we don’t…No one is alone… not even me
Baker
We disappointTruth
In turn, I guess.and
Forget, though, we won’t…time to chose what to do now…
BOTH
Like father, like son.Can I become a better version of myself?
Baker
No more giantsI’ve feared the unknown
Waging war.…the uninvited guest
Can’t we just pursue our livesCan’t I just be happy
With out children and our wives?with my Rock and Children?!!
Till that happier day arrives,…when I’m whole
How do you ignoreHow do I ignore
All the witches,all the appointments,
All the curses,all the hurtful things people say,
All the wolves, all the lies,all the guilt for being a “miracle”,
The false hopes, the goodbyes,promising doctor apointments, all of my friends who have died,
The reverses,the wishing,
All the wondering what even worse isbut fearing something far worse is coming.
Still in store?
All the children…Oh, my children and husband
All the giants…Oh, the battles that are still happening…
No more.The final “no more” is the thought that the Baker, our main character, will take no more of the destruction and his choice to return to the world that he doesn’t approve of… a world that has cost him dearly, to reconnect to those true friends/family and meet the challenges together. THIS is the lesson of Into the Woods. THIS is what I aspire to, but don’t always achieve. I’m grateful for those who stay with me in the trenches, who chose to love through the days I’m silent, who will laugh with me, cry with me and just be normal with me.

World Cancer Day: honoring the fighters, supporting the survivors, remembering the lost.

Living is complex for each of us. We carry hopes and dreams, disappointments and sorrow. We love, we laugh, we cry, we scream, and that’s how it should be. Do I wish the world was a better place? Yes, I do. Do I wish that sickness and pain were a thing of the past? Yes, I do.

&

Do I chose to pull into myself at times and escape? Yes, I do. Do I choose to step back into life, with all of the hurt? Yes, I do. I do because the causes are worth fighting. I do because my Rock and my children are my everything. I do because I love my little life. There may not be a solution for every problem, but there is always hope.

The Case of the Chronic Incurable Friendship

Since starting this blog I have had a few people ask me what it felt like to hear the words, “You have cancer.” It’s hard for me to describe, so let me share with you a quote from David Fajenbaum that perfectly describes that moment for me. He writes, “I knew the language the doctors use, the careful truth-telling, the hedging, the open endedness. I’ve spoken that language before. Now that it was directed at me, it didn’t feel nearly as careful or open ended as I’d once assumed. Instead, the words felt like they were casting me out of the room, out of the hospital entirely. I’d been consigned to the plane of possibility. Anything was possible because no one knew. I was on my own.” – Hope Wears Sneakers

I still live on that plane of possibility.

Honestly, I’ve just begun to realize that my life is a chronic condition. By that I mean that up until recently I was still in crisis mode. 15 years. It’s been exhausting. Whether it was never hearing the word “cured” or not being able to ring the bell at the end of treatments, the constant testing or if it’s part of the drug trial – whatever the reason it’s been quite the realization process. So, now that I’m aware of this chronic condition, what do I do? Wouldn’t it be great if there was such a thing as a chronic incurable friendship to go along with my chronic incurable life? People who would stick around no matter what – that they understand that each scan, new detailed lab work, every specialist appointment feels like (and is) life or death? People who would understand my dark humor and my need to spend time alone, and yet they stay.

Guess what?

I already have a few of those!

BONUS: they already knew that I am chronic with a hint of crisis. (I wonder if that should be my personality type? Hmmmmm….)

These people have helped create a new and special type of magic that combats the pain, both physical and mental, of living with chronic health conditions. You’ve already been introduced to my Core Four. Let me introduce you to one of my chronic friends, Amy W.

Amy and I met in Colorado and became instant friends – the type of friend that makes you feel like you’ve known them forever. Her classroom was right across the hall from my office and we shared just about everything that was going on in our lives. Amy and I have so much in common: we are both stubborn, hate to be a burden to anyone, self-sufficient, creative and full of compassion for the underdog. We both love all things theater, especially the artistic choices in set design, staging and character development. We could see a play together 100 times before we would run out of things to talk about or discover.

Amy is the first chronic friend that joined my crazy life who was not a part of my life while I was battling cancer. We met during the “post-cancer but my body continues to fall apart” phase of life. She understood me. She stayed.

I cannot tell you how healing that is to my soul.

Amy understood from day one that my life meme is the one that says, “I hate to cancel. I know we made plans to get together tonight, but that was two hours ago. I was younger then and full of hope.” Trust me, I did a lot of cancelling on her. Yet she still stayed.

My life’s motto

Since those early days in Colorado, Amy and I have gone through a lot of heartache together. We both lost our jobs when the school downsized. We have both lost a parent to cancer. We both moved away from our beloved state, and we did not move to the same state. Yet, she still stayed and even comes to visit me. She doesn’t stress or become fearful when she doesn’t hear from me, because she still “gets it” – we don’t need to be together to be friends, because ours is a chronic incurable friendship. No matter how long we are apart, or go without texting or calling (well, calling doesn’t usually work because she also knows how much I hate to talk on the phone), we can pick right back up and carry on as though no time has passed.

We also share another thing in common, and how I wish it were not so. My Amy W has cancer. Those parts of me that she understood, she now understands what caused them because she’s experiencing them now. The fear, the hope, the planning (oh, there is so much planning involved when you receive a cancer diagnosis), the life-focus adjustments, the being strong for those around you when you don’t feel strong, the inner strength that comes roaring out when it is needed, navigating tests and procedures during a pandemic while the world is in chaos… so many things I wish we didn’t share.

The joy and comfort of having friends that are chronic and incurable are that no matter what – no matter what, they won’t leave. No difference of opinion, no level of heartache, no misunderstanding ever changes the friendship. It’s solid. It’s messy. It’s Lucy and Ethel laugh out loud funny. It’s comforting each other when there are no words. It’s speaking truth in love. It’s no matter what – no matter what, they don’t leave.

It’s an investment.

Oh, how I wish we each could move towards this type of friendship with those around us. Not every friendship is the same, but our approach in how we see each other could be the same. To see the person, not the affiliation.. the person, not the social status.. the person, not the social media post.. the person, not the snapshot of one moment in their life.

So many hours of my week are spent dealing with the chronic and incurable effects from my cancer treatment. It’s hard. It’s scary. It’s frustrating. However, the actual living of my life is pretty wonderful. What makes the difference? The human connection. The raw, real, honest and uncancellable frienships.

I guess I could say that the pain and heartache brought on by the chronic incurable conditions of my life are exceeded by the joy, hope and love brought on by the chronic incurable friendships in my life. I lead a blessed life and am so very grateful.