That Saturday evening at 11, I was ready to go to bed after spending most of the day baking Christmas cookies with Nancy, Rose Zabanal of UPAA and our "Barefoot Contessa" of cookies, Cathy Anderson but I couldn't resist checking my email. There it was: Paul's email announcing Daria's brain tumor surgery day after Christmas! It sounded very ominous: recently discovered, fast progression of symptoms pointing to a fast growing tumor. Naturally, I was shocked! Paul had explained Daria's absence at our Christmas party as Bell's Palsy - a nasty, virus-based illness, which can leave annoying slight residual symptoms but... brain tumor!?!!
It brought back memories of my own illness because of the similarities: the dreaded cancer, surgery around Christmas time and my husband living with an illness of his own. The memories swirling in my mind led me to my desk drawer, where I kept the original letter I wrote to friends and family that year when I was in the throes of undergoing breast cancer treatment.
At this time of the year when we pause to ponder the meaning of Christmas, I think it is appropriate to share it with you. Although it presents an individual perspective, the universality of fear AND hope when faced with a threat to one's mortality cannot be denied.
December 4, 1997
In three days, it will be exactly one month since the mastectomy. I look at the thin line on one side of my chest where my breast used to be and I know I am mending. In one way. In other ways, I am waiting for my private world to stop spinning so I can see where I am. And where Britt is. And Thomas, Zandra. And the rest of the world that I love and loved me back.
With heroic efforts, we tried to keep the flowers alive and like all mortal things, they slipped away. The wonderful dinners became leftovers and then they were gone, too. The greeting cards with their beautiful words of encouragement and support are somewhere in my little bag. The one with all the magazines, the books, the stampitas, loose change, video cards and the journal where I wrote "F" words in. I am sure the heavens were choked with smoke from jos sticks lit in Hongkong and candles in Spain. And God had an earful from novenas from the Philippines, prayers and good thoughts from Nepal, Micronesia, the mainland, Kauai. Everywhere friends, family and even strangers put in a good word. Everywhere where Britt's email SOS reached as he sought counsel, helping hands, prayers, information. Whatever. And got back much more.
It is staggering to be the object of so much love and concern. Me, the strong one. Me, the giver. It is a role I am not used to playing.
There are times I am able to locate my sense of humor. It is hard to live up to being half-Kate Moss and half-Dolly Parton. On others, I cry a little while I put feelings to words. Many times, I am afraid. Of dying. Of chaos. Of being nothing. Of a paper cut in the wrong arm.
Last night, I felt the need to walk down the street. Just to experience walks I've had before. I looked up the sky and saw the same star that was over me a month ago. It was only then I noticed it. But it must have been there long before then. As surely as life has always been. In one form or another. As surely as it is marching on now while I'm trying to keep in step. One wobbly step at a time.
Yes, life has gone on. So must I. So will I.
Thanks for being there for me and mine.
Love always, Divina
PS. May your Christmas and New Year be as blessed as you've made ours!
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