It has been a very peculiar week. A week that changes things. There are moments when i am feeling that old work ethic tug to sit down and really sort through it all. Try to understand the implications of each event in succession. But the truth is, i just don’t know what it all means. Just that I am different because of it.
There is the really amazing information that the tumors are getting smaller. The cancer is less. Then that my lovely friend Hazel has died. Of cancer. Or of pneumonia from the cancer.
And then there is this other idea. That this is happening to all of us. Even people who don’t hardly know me or Deborah. People who, for one reason or another, are affected by this event. I wrote of waking up in the middle of the night and having that moment before consciousness, not yet knowing i have cancer. Some friends told me they had a similar experience. Something is wrong. Oh- val has cancer.
By sharing this week that the tumors were getting smaller I was able to witness the exhale of people holding fear and hope and anxiety and letting a little of it out. Some sobbed. Some danced with joy.
There is so much happening in these bodies and lives. These people who are holding me up and close. They are working so hard. And I realized that I don’t know the half of it. And maybe people don’t want to burden me with their struggle. With their fear.
And that seems a shame. My favorite thing in this life is to witness what it looks like for someone else as they live this life. To hear the truth. It makes me feel less alone. In this very human experience of permeability. None of us will get out unscathed.
And it is not a burden to hear. It is a privilege to understand our interconnectedness. The idea of mortality has been such a powerful force in my life. I feel transformed by it. I have always felt my role is as field ethnographer in my own life. Ask questions and try to understand. I think that curiosity, like art, saves lives.
Not one of us can do anything to change the fact of this cancer. We can only accept. Or not accept. Try to understand. Let life be beautiful in a new and interesting way.
So this is my invitation to you.
If you are reading this and feel affected by it. Write. Tell me. Or tell us all. What is this process for you? Post it in the comments or email me. Or Deborah. Or each other.
I like the idea of a dialog better than a newsletter any day.
love.
val
Let us know if chemo is to happen tomorrow – for me it’s important to know the day you spend taking the drugs, and to calculate the worst day (was Sundays) so I can hold you in my mind those days, think of where you are and what you are doing. I feel less powerless when a part of me is with you. I can light candles, I can direct my thoughts and love no matter what I’m doing that day. Somehow it helps me channel things towards you and that makes me feel better. So let me know.
Hi Val – I remember as a child when I realized I was trapped in my own head and would never really know what it was like to be anyone else. I found it a very disturbing and sad realization at the time. Since then I’ve been amazed at how much our empathy and communication can dissolve the state of being “trapped.” Powerful life events, such as cancer, seem to be catalysts in this, as they cause us to put aside a lot of the unimportant stuff that seem to get in the way of sharing. Wish it was easier. Thanks for sharing. My thoughts for continued good news with the both of you.
Howdy, Val!
I look forward each day to getting an update on how you are doing. Thank you so much for taking the time to letting us in on what you are thinking and feeling! You are soooooo transparent!!! Thank you for that also. I love you very much and I continue to pray for you each day.
Sanda Panda Bear
Dear Val and Deborah,
I look at this website once a week or so. I feel as if I am getting to know Val in her life again – even though I connected with Val so long ago and not even for very long (though we had a pretty funny personal connection happenstance).
I really enjoy hearing the love, hope, conviction, open-heartedness and yes, also the fear that I read here. It helps me to see what it is like to be that way: open-hearted. Having always been a rather cautious person, myself.
Thank you so much for opening up your words as your heart is open, as your friends and families hearts are open. It is a blessing.
I continue to send my love your way.
Mari
Hi Val and Deborah. I’ve been thinking about what to say here since you posted and nothing seems quite right. Thank you both for being so generous with yourselves. At least I can tell you that I am reading this blog almost every day and sending positive thoughts your way in random moments.
At most I could go on about how incredible this life seems to me when held up next to death. My brother died instantly last year in a motorcycle accident and that was a whole different thing than the possibility of pain and death stretched out over months and/or years. Really what I see in this blog and what I hear from others who know you is the possibility and purpose of community, love and life that we all hold within us. I’m proud to be even a tiny pinprick part of it.