Untethered

"Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. 
Do not let pain make you hate. 
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. 
Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, 
you still believe it to be a beautiful place." 
               ~Kurt Vonnegut

I love where I am so much. And I’m enjoying every hike and every moment in the mountains. Plus pushing myself to try new things creatively and to write every day.

It’s not just about location, it’s feeling happy and content with who I am and where I am in life. Things are not perfect; I’m ok with that. I am surrounded by loving, kind, interesting, fun people. My daughters are growing up beautifully through this, after years of pain and suffering that they are still processing.

There was some good news from this week in 2016 — another milestone of completely clear scans and the doctors tell me to expect a long, cancer-free life. An excellent prognosis and still holding strong!

This April was five years since my last treatment (not counting what happened in the summer of 2015 with side-effect fallout). March 1 was six years since diagnosis. Whew… And wow. In many ways it feels like yesterday, and in others, a completely remote lifetime ago.

I’m still here to have the human experience — which to me now means fully feeling and going through (not around or avoiding) what is really happening in my life. And facing things head-on, with as much grace and courage as I can muster. To be ok with my imperfect body and self.
Someone recently asked me about my “fight” with cancer.

I did not fight cancer.

The words fight and battle and other violent images still make me cringe… Though I understand it is the language that permeates our society’s relationship with health crises.

Going through treatments and trying to figure out how to heal was an exercise in radical acceptance.

I spent many hours a day realizing what a great life I had, even though it had been fraught with abuse, alcoholism, fear, anger, chaos, and pain. I learned to accept and feel love during that time like never before — unconditional, gracious, pure love. And I allowed myself to love and forgive.

In that year of cancer treatments, I said I love you in gratitude and as an act of closure. The thing I couldn’t admit out loud was that I’d been given a year to live. So I loved like never before, breaking my heart wide open and taking risks I’d avoided so deftly before. It wasn’t easy because I was also confused, angry, and so sick I couldn’t tolerate noise, light, scents, and other things that made no sense to me. I worried that all the people I loved would not love me back, as evidenced (in my mind) of some people only connecting virtually and not actually talking to me or being with me when I was so afraid of being alone, of dying alone.

I still tell as many people as I can in a day that I love them. Or at least to show it in some way, if for some reason the words can’t be said.

Last week I found myself driving through a snow-blinding storm to reach a mountain meditation retreat, a place I could breathe deeply and silence the voices crowding my head with distracting fears. I closed my eyes and saturated myself in walks along pine scented paths overlooking a high dessert, golden flatland that seemingly stretched to the ends of the earth. And I collapsed in moments of grief, a slow and erratic wave that touched me and receded only to return intermittently over the last week. And it hit full force with an undertow today, though I thought I had prepared.

That’s the other thing… Today is eight years since my mom died.

Eight years untethered from the core of our family, our heart, our guide. We miss her terribly. When I think about it, I have to stop and take a few deep breaths and let the tears roll… Not because I’m sad, but because in these moments I remember what it was like to hold her in her final breaths, passing from this life peacefully. It was an amazingly beautiful experience. What I believe about our consciousness and post-human experience is a topic for another time though.

Today I ask that you consider making the time to be truly present with yourself and the people you love. Retire your vices — alcohol, drugs, to-do lists, being right, perfection, etc. — the things that buffer you from feeling what is real. Get out of your head and breathe into your body.

And when with your people, stop what you’re doing to look at them, to touch them, to convey your affection. These moments matter and they will carry you through whatever trials you have to face in this world.

I am grateful for my family and friends who carry me and care for me. I love you.