My doctor talked recently about the shock of receiving a
cancer diagnosis. "One of my other patients," she said,
"compared it to peacefully mowing the lawn on a summer day and then
suddenly being hit by a garbage truck that runs off the road. Where did that
come from?" (Amen, amen.) "But it's not like a murder, or a death
sentence. It's a death threat. Keep that in mind. Nothing can ever be the same
afterward, but it's only a threat, not a sure thing."
Once more: amen, amen.
To be sure, life itself is a death sentence, last I looked.
But most of us manage to keep ourselves blinkered, blissfully looking the other
way. Once the word 'cancer' enters the conversation, however, things become
altogether more serious, and more real. Life becomes far more precious. Those
we love become far more precious. Death is a curtain with something mysterious
on the other side - maybe something nice, maybe something nasty, maybe nothing
at all - but all of a sudden I have very little interest in finding out. I'm
far more interested in exploring the things Partner and I haven't done and
seen, the places we still want to go. We used to joke that we'd better travel
while we're both still ambulatory. Now the joke isn't quite so funny anymore.
Hunger, they say, makes food taste better. Maybe the
awareness of mortality makes us realize how sweet the things of daily life are.
And I am lucky: lucky to have had a life full of beautiful
things, lucky to have known so many crazy difficult wonderful people, lucky to
have traveled to so many places, lucky to have found Partner, lucky to have him
with me at this awful time.
Most of all I am lucky to have Partner in my life. I am lucky to have someone to love who loves me back.
How could I ever want to give up so many lovely things?
From A. A. Milne:
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying
goodbye so hard."
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