It’s been a tough couple of weeks for me. I was hit with some rather unsavory cyber stalking. My FB account’s been repeatedly manipulated by some creep with too much time on his hands and no conscience to speak of. Some strange woman has decided to launch a very nasty Internet rally of her like-minded friends because I don’t recognize her telepathic powers. (She’s decided I’m some kind of menace to humanity and she’s going to wage an epic battle to save the planet….) I’ve got bills to pay and things to do, but someone’s always stepping into my path as I try to get there. And today, I received news that my beloved cousin passed away. No more sweet letters. No more cards with that familiar handwriting. No “one last time” to say I love you. Life is so fragile at times, so unexpectedly fraught with ugly surprises and uncertainty.
Last night I started the preparations for Thanksgiving dinner, even as I tried to meet a publishing deadline for a holiday novella. I’m so far behind in my housekeeping, the Dust Bunnies have their own zip code. I decided that rather than try to squeeze all my work into one day, I would multi-task and do what I could in the time frame I had. I got my turkey ready (I know it sounds odd, but I’m not really expecting a huge crowd and I have a little trick I like to do with the bird, the stuffing, and some gravy). I cooked my carrots, made the glaze, and then got busy with the broccoli with cheddar sauce. I even prepared my potatoes. And I did it even though the microwave conked out on me. That’s right. My carousel popped a wheel. It’s the harried cook’s equivalent of a flat tire.
There was a time I probably would have thrown up my hands and walked away from the kitchen. I certainly did consider having a pity party for myself. After all, preparing the Thanksgiving meal is a lot of work for me and I have so many other things that need doing. But then my father mentioned my late mother and how she used to do Thanksgiving. His favorite thing? Helping her lift the big turkey out of the fridge, onto the counter, and then into the oven. We forget sometimes that it’s the little things that matter most, those tiny moments when we have a place in the world.
That’s part of why I cooked the turkey yesterday. I want my dad to be able to slice it with his carving set, to feel like he’s a part of the effort. He misses my mother, no more so than at the holidays. The idea of rushing him, of being tense and crazy as I try to put dinner on the table, made me want to shuck that nonsense and concentrate on what really matters.
My life as a cancer caregiver taught me to multitask in ways I never thought possible, to focus on what has to get done and forget about what isn’t really viable or necessary. I am, after all, just one person. I don’t leap tall buildings in a single bound. I can’t heal the sick with a wave of my hand. I wish I could, because I would use those powers to help the people who really make a difference in this world.
With all of my frustrations over the past few weeks, it’s easy to get wrapped up in my own drama, to feel frustrated. But I sit here now on Thanksgiving knowing that my mother’s cancer experience changed me as a human being. On this day, I do give thanks for the many blessings. For all the strange people who feel compelled to trip me on life’s highway, there are so many more who have offered me a hand up, who have shared a kind word or thought, who have impressed me with their grace under fire. I have met many cancer survivors who have done incredible things with their lives as the result of their experiences with the disease. Would they have tried so hard or dug so deep without that cancer? Maybe not. Sometimes it’s the hardships in life that define us as human beings.
I’m so glad that I didn’t walk away from the cancer community after my mother died. I certainly could have. But those people who share with me are my teachers. They constantly remind me that tomorrow is promised to no one and we must take advantage of today. When I think of the young mother trying to boost her immune system so she can survive to see her kids grow up, when I think of the cancer survivor who shopped for a fancy pair of shoes for a cancer gala with such delight, when I think of each and every cancer widow and widower,and the children left behind, struggling to find the joy in the holiday without a beloved spouse or parent, I am reminded that I am blessed with more than I realize.
Cancer is a cruel disease. It can wreak havoc and ravage the beautiful landscape of the human body. But in those moments of choice, when we men, women and children stand on the precipice, looking down on what is right there in front of us, across at what is out of reach, and above at what we aspire to overcome, perspective is everything. Sometimes it’s not what we expect to do that makes us amazing human beings. Many of us don’t set out to be heroes. But every time we reach out to other human beings and push back at that darkness, we do more than just gain some ground in the fight against cancer. We come back stronger, wiser.
Cancer doesn’t just affect the human body, it shapes the spirit. Fate hands us the circumstances of our lives, but destiny forces us to choose the path, even when we don’t know the outcome. When we take charge of our own selves and how the world affects us, we are no longer victims — we are survivors of the Great Lemon Wars, servers of the world’s best lemonades, sweetened with our compassion and commitment to do right by those we love.
We forget that cancer survivors are sometimes the greatest givers of love. Even when a cancer patient can’t do all the things he or she wants to do, the hand can reach out and touch another human being in need. For many cancer survivors, time becomes a tool for a purpose-driven life; they are thrust into the realization that “it’s now or never!” Until that final breath, there is time for one more moment of joy.
When a disease like cancer robs people of options to achieve their dreams, it’s easy to believe that there is nothing left to work for, to strive for, to hunger for; and yet, wise teachers that some cancer survivors are, there are those who show us that dreams can and do evolve when the spirit is determined to make the best of a bad situation. For every frustration, every failure, every fluke of nature, we can and should look for hope, for help, and most of all, for happiness.
To all of you cancer families out there, I wish you a bountiful Thanksgiving. Eat at the table, but don’t forget to feed your soul. Believe in something bigger than this senseless disease. We have much to be thankful for on this day. It’s not about a boatload of people who stumbled onto the shores of Plymouth Rock and sat down to share a meal with the Native Americans they met. It’s about life and the people we treasure. Without them, our world is a lonelier, colder, darker place. Long after they are gone from this earth, they still remain with us, We will treasure this day and what we make of it, so go have some fun today. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Hug and be hugged. Laugh. Share. Even if it means shifting your path for just a moment, make one person happier today. Life is for the living, but it’s also for the loving. We have this moment in time, so savor it. God bless you.