Cancer has taught me many things. How to fight, how to survive and how to be inspired.
I recently lost a friend. Someone I met while on my cancer retreat in Texas. She was battling stage 4 breast cancer.
I wrote her this when I received word that she was in hospice.
Amy,
I remember meeting you for the first time while sitting around the campfire. You were talking about your divorce and smiling. SMILING. I arrived in Texas feeling like I was alone in the world. No one could possibly understand what I was going through, my life was a hot mess express and I was a first class passenger. And then, my very first night at the retreat I listened to you talk about your situation. I was in awe. I went back to my cabin and cried thinking fuck, I’m not alone.
You got him Amy. That son of a bitch. You fought for your soul and you won.
I remember thinking how strong you were. How much I hoped to one day be like you. Hearing you speak, I was so envious of you. I wanted to be you. So confident, so resolved, so at peace.
I went home to Boston thinking of you constantly. Using your strength. You were continuing to fight breast cancer while fighting for your sanctity of life. I used you as my benchmark. Amy did it. I can too.
And… I. Will. Never. Forget your smile, your enthusiastic clapping and cheering my name as I repelled off of that fucking mountain scared to death. Your eyes were the first thing I saw when I reached the ground. Your eyes were the what told me that I had done good baby. I had succeeded.
Thank you Amy for being the bright light that I needed. You have given me the strength to live happily ever after. Thank you Amy. I love you. And I’m so grateful to have had you.
Let’s call a spade a spade. I have trust issues. I won’t someday. But today I do. I joke about it. About how I will never let anyone “in” again. But the truth is, I’m scared. No way Jose Jones. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice nope can’t risk that so stay the fuck away Kemosabe.
There is also truth in the fact that I don’t want to share my life with a supposed “partner.” A.) I’m still smoking from the last fire B.) I love my life. It’s mine. I’ve worked hard to earn it and I’m just not willinggg to share. C.) I’m skeptical that there is someone worthy enough to share with. Unless he’s a dog. In that case come on down, the water’s fine.
I don’t feel sad about it but there is a guilt that I “should” have moved on by now. I mean c’monnnnn it’s been a WhOlEE year since I separated from my husband. We’re not divorced yet but ShOuLDn’T I hAvE moved on by now?! He’s engaged to another woman and I’m over here shopping for fake fire hydrants for my fur friends.
But Christ on a cracker I only have 1 tit for fucks sake. How can I be willing to share my existential self when I haven’t even accepted my current body. Which by the way, will HOPEFULLY be amended on June 24th. It will be my 7thsurgery in less than 2 years.
No one has actually ever seen this body. Besides my kids and possibly a few nosey fur friends who lack the quality of personal space and barge into my bathroom breaks
Which leads me to another lesson. I’m open and honest about my body with my children. My body is a mark of honor, strength, courage and resilience. My kids have helped change my drains, got me bowls to throw up in and have carried groceries when I was too weak.
The fact that they think I’m the most beautiful mom in the world and this is the body they are accepting as the standard is inspiring.
I’ve said it before but it bears repeating, they are my inspiration. My inspiration to fight for my life in mind, body and spirit.
We keep moving on because we have to. But we also keep moving on in the hopes that like Amy, we can inspire lives. Not just people, but lives.
