Death By Another Name
Tuesday, April 7, 2009 at 1:35PM My cousin Jane received a breast cancer diagnosis this morning. Another cousin called to ask if I might contact her, since I have been in that place, walked down that path. I called.
Things didn’t go so well. I mentioned death almost right away, cutting to the great fear beneath. She was reeling with her news, and there I was suggesting that fear abates when you face your death. Should I have said potential death? But heck, none of us are going to potentially die. We are all goners for sure.
We talked about plenty of other things, practical matters, helpful and informative. But there it is: I have become a person who can talk about death with a certain ease. Somehow, the more dialled in I am to the reality that oh yes, indeed, I will die (sooner or later), the more comfortable I am in my own skin.
Death has become the prism I look through in order to see, and holding death close, a cheerful act. I used to cry every day. I am still tenderhearted (as my mom puts it), but something has shifted.
My best friend Lisa called last week; a mutual college friend with whom I have fallen out of touch, Andrea, has been diagnosed with non-smoker’s lung cancer. It's in her hips, her back, her liver. She is a single mom with two early teen-age sons, and the doctors give her two years. She hopes to push it to five. She is in pain, pain they are working to manage.
In the past, I would have dissolved into tears, grieved great heaving grief. But not any more. I have become practical; there will be time for grieving later, hopefully much later.
Instead, I am coolly calculating. What I care about is maximization: she knows the likely What of her death, and she has a pretty clear sense of the When. The fundamental question that remains is the How. How, then, is she to live in the interim? How does she stretch time? How does she make the richest memories for her sons, the fullest nows for herself?
I make a list in my head: adjunct supplements that helped me through chemo last year, ways that I calmed my mind and its dark imaginings, ways I found to leave footprints behind for those who will follow.
My cousin Jane needed something softer that my matter-of-fact suggestion that the fear she would need to embrace was that of death. She spoke of her hope for a lumpectomy. She was, even in her shock, thinking practically. Cosmetically—not cosmically. Which was reasonable and good.
At some point, though, that other kind of thinking will come to almost everyone.
I had an apocalyptic dream the other night. North Korea has been making more nuclear rumblings, and I am highly suggestive.... In my dream, I ran into the house, calling out for my family. I could feel the radiation making me sick, burning. The wallpaper was turning brown, peeling off the walls; the air itself was sepia-toned, and broken. I called out, This is the eeeend…and leapt into the air half-floating, half-flying: slowly, with great compressed momentum.
I wonder if these dreams are making me tougher. I don’t love less, but rather more, and cleaner—with less expectation of being loved in return. I suffer foolishness less gladly—mainly my own. I am patient, but hurried. Compressed momentum.
We are all terminal. This is the great sorrow, and the great liberation. So here’s our chance, mine, yours, Jane’s, Andrea’s—to live. To live and live until we don’t. To find love even in the dark and burning corners and hold it close until it grows bigger than all of us—bigger than our tears or our clumsy words. Big enough to be enough.
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Reader Comments (19)
Well said......
Thank you, Ellen, for sharing so openly and beautifully.
Keeping Jane and Annabeth in my prayers. How eloquently you write about your experiences. i showed your blog to my (non-tech) mother, and she just smiled. Thank you.
Let's not think about recurrence rates. Let's keep our eyes on where we want to go, dear Sister. Bad news can stay in the rearview mirror, thank you. Love and hugs, Mimi
You ought to trademark "Big enough to be enough". That was brilliant.
It's so good to read a post that makes us think...to realise that the only thing we have is the moment...that to consciously accept death is to embrace life...
Ellen - I am a 10-year survivor of breast cancer (diagnosed at age 42 with two large tumors). After the initial shock wore off and I realized that death wasn't the only option I came to embrace Brian's "Angels of Mercy" (by the way my downstairs bathroom is plastered with Brian's artwork and books). I now look at my cancer as a wake up call (easy for me to say I guess because I survived) and use it to push myself to to my very best each day. The other quote I found during those dark days and that I still live by is this: "In the face of uncertainty, there is nothing wrong with hope." (Bernie Siegel) Good luck with your journey.
"We are all terminal....this is the great sorrow and the great liberation......"
How eloguent is this?! Sadness fills my heart this morning for a loss in my life and a loss looming on the horizon. But, I shall treasure your words.
Thank you.
As a 33 year old woman with MS, I know the feeling of loving without worrying about being loved in return and having little time for the time-wasters. The clarity is a gift but it took me two years to get there. Thanks to your wise and funny words along with Brian's I've been able to regain my momentum and sense of (often morbid) humor.
Ellen, personally I have not faced cancer, but have friends and loved ones who have... some have won the battle, some have lost... but this entry is such an encouragement to us all... to accept that death will come to all of us at some time... and how that frees us to live better and to love more, taking our focus off ourselves and being a blessing to others. Thank you for the perspective and the hope in your words...
I have recently been diagnosed with cancer and although they say they "got it all", I still had that fear. The fear of reoccurance and possibility of this leading to death. Since all the females in my family and two males have died from what started as breast cancer (yes men get it, too), this fear was overwhelming. Reading your post has made me stop and think. None of us are gong to live forever, we must face the idea of our own death.
I am now handling things better and I appreciate your candor and the new outlook your post has given me.
Thank you for giving me a new look at my world and realizing how truly blessed I am.
Ellen, I too am a Breast Cancer Survivor. Or a "Fighter" as I like to say. I was diagnosed 10 years ago at the age of 36. Our children were 5, 7 and 9 years old. It has metastasized to my spine. Sucks, yea, but I won't accept a death sentence. We all die eventually, just like you said, so a positive attitude is essential to your health and happiness for yourself and those around you. Which brings me to Story Peoples' Story of the Day, a wonderfull positive commodity to add to anyones day! Finding joy in even the smallest of things is important. So, good luck to you, and to all fighting this battle.
Ellen,
Two days before my mother died of breast-cancer-of-the-bone, my darling daughter (age 32, married mother of 2 little girls ages 4 & 1) was diagnosed with breast cancer... she's getting her 3rd of 4 chemo treatments this week. This summer she will have mastectomies and then more chemo ... she is triple negative too. She is a wonderful positive example of how to face facts head on. She is stronger than I am in this whole situation. I can barely use her name and cancer in the same sentence! Thank you for YOUR positive outlook. I am trying so hard not to ler her see my fears, but I discovered it is much much harder to be the mother than the daughter of someone with cancer ...my mom survived 28 years after her first mastectomy!
This weekend my daughter's Team raised $4,647 in a Breast Cancer Awareness walk... she raised $2,012 by herself! There were over 25 of us on the Team.
I pray that soon we won't have to fight this battle! The cure will have been found!
Here's to all of you beautiful women!
cj
Ellen,
I am a cancer survivor as well. I understand as much as another person can where you are. I was diagnosed with melanoma 2-1/2 years ago. I am fine now, but the chance of recurrence is something I've learned to live with. My family will say I "speak my mind" more now, which isn't always easy for them. Oh well :) I'm more honest with myself and others and I never want to miss an opportunity. It's weird, but my biggest fear was being diagnosed with cancer (I have a family history of melanoma) and once I faced my fears and survived, it was totally liberating. I've actually never been this relaxed about what the future has waiting for me. I have a small gallery in Michigan and carry "StoryPeople" here. I believe the last two years have prepared me for the economic downturn we've suffered. So many things we can't control, so now I have given up my "Illusion of Control". Peace to you, Ellen
Thank you for your words of wisdom. We all have a limited time on earth......some of us find out, early on, when the bus is leaving....and the rest of us hang out at the station, keeping busy, until it's time to leave. But it all boils down to the same thing.......none of us get out alive. I agree with you....that if we truly take the time to LIVE while we are here......life is much more joyful for all of us! Blessings to you, your family, friends and readers........enjoy TODAY! Fran
I just walked 39.3 miles in two days in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer here in Washington, D.C. People always ask me, "Oh, that's intense--someone in your family must have breast cancer?" I'm always perplexed by this. PEOPLE have cancer--WOMEN (and a few men) have breast cancer. Isn't that enough? It's what I think of during my 22-mile training walks when I'm tired (and likely to get cranky if I think about myself too much)--"Someone is having chemo right now, and it's not me, so keep walking! Someone is getting a mammogram right now that my fundraising helped pay for, so keep walking! A scientist is studying about breast cancer right now, and the funding came from all of us, so keep walking!" And I did, and I do, and I will keep walking and fundraising. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about your cancer.
Thank you, to all for your wonderful words and thoughts. Hardship, illness, loss--it has touched all our lives. This is precisely the thing that makes humans worth saving: our humanity in the face of it all. What beauty. My love to you and your dear ones. CJ, I will light a candle for your daughter.
Dear Linda Leonard,
Somehow I missed your post until now. Happy Mother's Day, and I offer you my love for the fight! I saw the new Star Trek film with one of my sons today, and what I must say to you now is Live Long and Prosper. Ellen
Great job here. I really enjoyed what you had to say. Keep going because you definitely bring a new voice to this subject. Not many people would say what you've said and still make it interesting.
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