A Year or Two... or Five... or 14?

 

Time is not measured by the years that you live

But by the deeds that you do and the joy that you give - 

And each day as it comes brings a chance to each one

To love to the fullest, leaving nothing undone

That would brighten the life or lighten the load

Of some weary traveler lost on Life's Road -

So what does it matter how long we may live

If as long as we live we unselfishly give.

~ Helen Steiner Rice

I had just gotten off the phone with someone who has offered me space in their clinic. We were beginning to talk specifics: rent, when I could start moving in furniture, expected starting date, etc. And he asked if I saw this as a long-term arrangement. I faltered for a second, then asked what he considered “long-term”.

“Five years?” he suggested.

As I re-played the conversation in my head, complete with stumbling over my time-rehearsed and well-used anti-committal excuses, I had to stop and ask myself, “What am I doing all this for then?”

Seriously, do I really think that I'm putting all this time, energy, effort and stress into starting a business... for a few months? Are the actions I'm taking not actually the epitome of committing to a long-term? Even if I define that as something different than five years? So why can't I just say it?

With the exception of school and one contract-position, the only actual time-defined commitments I've made in the past 14 years are the apartment leases I've signed. And I got out of one of those earlier than the agreed upon time. Any jobs I've held or relationships I've been in... just... sort of... lasted. Until they didn't.

But this. This is different.

First of all, I bought a bed last year. It made my transient life a little more difficult to move so often. So, as I said in my phone conversation, I have no plans to go anywhere else anytime soon.

Second, this kind of thing that I'm doing here, it takes time. Time to become established; time to become known; time to make enough money to move somewhere else. And even then, a move to a different city, well it's like starting all over again. How many times do I really think I plan on doing that?!

I've been working on a business plan. But after that phone conversation I realized I may need to put more thought into the time-lines. Maybe I'm not quite ready to say yes to five years. But that doesn't mean I can't define long-term in my own way. And it doesn't mean there isn't room for developments along the way that will affect or change those long-term plans. But I do have to start somewhere.

And really, when I think about how fast the last year or two... or 14 years of my life have gone; plus my excitement with finally be making this goal happen... Well, I just might find myself with no plans to go anywhere else after another year or two or 14 either!

 

Let's (not) Talk About It

It takes courage to stay true to yourself when so many voices
 are telling you to follow a more conventional path.

~ Sara Eckel, 
Stop telling Single Women they're 'Fabulous'

I had a thought the other day... actually, I've kind of had this thought a few times. But this time I decided to write it out.

It came to me after reading an article called Stop telling Single Women they're 'Fabulous'. There are many great points/quotes from that article, and I really felt emotionally connected and energized by it. I don't think I could have written it better myself, and to write a direct comment or response to it would likely be, I fear, redundant. I almost want to just post the link & call it my blog for this week!

But then my thought was this:

You know how during the many conversations about homosexuality (ie. equal relationship rights, acceptance vs. tolerance, etc.), people will comment that they look forward to the day when we won't have these conversations because it won't be an issue anymore? For example:

Just change the topic from homosexuality to singleness or even childlessness, and yeah, that was my thought. I look forward to the day when there won't be articles like the one mentioned above. When no request for respect nor explanation of what it means or what it is like to be [fill in the blank] is needed; because black or white (or any other colour), man or woman, gay or straight, male or female (or any expression in between), single or in relationship, parent or childless (read: really cool aunt/uncle)... it won't matter!

The unfortunate thing is, those conversation(s) may only disappear because a new one has taken it's place. We seem to be a people who need something to complain about; something to debate; some reason to look down on or criticize the proverbial them...

So I look forward to the day when people can just live their lives without scrutiny; when diversity is not tolerated, accepted, nor even celebrated – because it just is.

Then again, a world where we don't have various issues to debate and discuss... well, it sounds kind of boring... Plus, what would I write about?!

A Legacy Worth Sharing

My life goes on in endless song, Above earth's lamentations...
Through all the tumult and the strife I hear it's music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing?

~ Robert W Lowry

Last weekend I had the privilege of singing with a choir at the memorial service for a well-known and respected member of the community. A privilege because, even though I did not know this woman except as a familiar face from fall choir rehearsals, in that hour my life was indirectly touched by her.

Perhaps it is true that this moment held different meaning for me because I learned of this woman's 5-year battle with cancer around the same time I learned of my own Mom's diagnosis. Still, I was moved by the stories of her life as shared by her sister, her daughters, co-workers and friends. Stories of the impact this woman had made in the world: through her profession in the health-care field and initiating change in policies and procedures; through social outreach and community volunteer opportunities fit into an already busy schedule; through parenting her biological children and opening her heart and home to “adopted daughters” in need of support.

Testimonies of the life she led; of the lives she touched. A tribute to the legacy she leaves in her wake.

It seems sometimes as though there are fewer and fewer stories of self-less living in today's world. Of individuals who go far beyond the norm in terms of reaching out, supporting, and easing the journey of others on life's path. And so to come across such a story; such a life; such an individual is note-worthy.

There is a part of me that wishes I had had the opportunity to spend time with and to know this woman. And yet after the service, I feel as though I did!

The final song shared by the choir was We Rise Again. This song in particular moved me to tears, as the words “we rise again in the faces of our children...” speaks so clearly about the influence and legacy created and left behind by anyone who participates in family and community even a fraction as much as this woman did. She will be greatly missed, that is true. But – she will continue to rise again in the faces of her children. She will continue to indirectly impact the world and inspire people the way I was impacted and inspired by her: through a legacy that reaches much further in the lives and stories of her many loved ones!

It might take months

 

A gardener learns more in the mistakes than in the successes.

~ Barbara Dodge Borland

Who has learned to garden who did not at the same time learn to be patient?

~ H.L.V. Fletcher 

Much to my Mom and Grandma's dismay, I did not inherit their green-thumb. I do not have a talent for gardening and all things related. I cannot name that rare gem in the flowerbed, though I will agree it's very pretty. I take pictures of flowers when I travel because my Mom and Grandma will be interested. I go shopping at green-houses with them for the quality time spent together, though I bore and tire much faster than they do. And when I receive a plant as a gift, in addition to the appreciation and desire for more greenery in my home, I feel an immediate sense of guilt knowing it will likely not survive me nor my plant-nibbling cat.

But I continue to try. Always hoping that eventually one plant will survive! I'll pay more attention to the instructions my Mom gives me. I'll do my best to remember when I've watered it last, and to notice when it may need more (or less) sunlight. I'll put it in a hard to reach place and shoo my cat away. Yes, each time I have the best of intentions...

My three success stories involve a cactus, a swamp-like plant that was most happy sitting in water (both of which went missing at some point), and a bonsai tree which seems to be tougher than dehydration, over-watering, and a pot-shattering fall from the window sill (though this is currently at my Mom's awaiting re-potting).

But I have lost track of the number of times the same spider plant has visited my Mom to be nursed back to health. Last time I just left it there.

My current attempt involves a jade. Apparently these plants are among the easiest to care for. They do not require direct sunlight, nor do they require much water. Very little in fact.

I over-watered it.

Not to be completely discouraged, this hearty plant stores water in it's leaves, so it was just the bottom that drowned, rotted and broke apart. I still have healthy green leaves on top. Phone call to Mom – how do I save it?

“Put it in wet soil & leave it alone.”

(Did I mention that I'm not a naturally patient person?)

A couple weeks later I tested it. No roots had started. I've watched my Mom put parts of a spider plant into a cup of water and roots started to grow. I'll try that!

A couple weeks later, the bottom is rotting in a cup of water. Yet I still have healthy green leaves on top! Another phone call to Mom – how do I save it?

“Put it in wet soil and leave it alone.”

Yeah, but I tried that already!

“It might take a long time.”

Like, months?

“Yes...”

I know what you're thinking. This sounds like the perfect kind of plant for a non-green-thumb like myself. But did I mention that I'm not a naturally patient person?

Shortly after that last phone call with Mom, it dawned on me. This plant is like a lot of things in my life right now. They might take a long time to take root and actually start to grow – like months. And I will need to keep practising my patience in the mean-time. Not too much water, no direct sunlight.

Just put it in some wet soil and leave it alone.

Hopefully in a few months I might have a beautiful garden... or at least one little plant with the hint of roots! Maybe they've started to grow already. Maybe I should just go check...

(Did I mention that I'm not a naturally patient person?!)

Nothing?Everything?Something

 

  “Is it possible to think of nothing and remain awake?

Is thinking of nothing the same as not thinking at all?

Is being conscious of something the same as thinking?

...Thinking is about something or other.”

~ Jeff Mason, Thinking of Nothing

 

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to turn my brain off. To think about nothing.

The other day I was getting ready for work: taking a shower, doing my hair, putting on my make-up, getting dressed... All of a sudden 45min had gone by. I hadn't eaten yet, and I was on the verge of being late. I was lost in thought...

I can't even tell you what I was thinking about exactly. Except to say everything.

I tried to take a nap before going to work for an over-night shift. The moment I laid my head on the pillow and closed my eyes, my mind started racing. Song lyrics, to-do lists, e-mails, text messages, processing feelings, events... I was consumed and energized by thoughts of everything.

What would it be like to think about nothing?

To have quiet in my mind. Stillness in my heart. Calm in my soul. Just for five minutes. I'd even settle for 30 seconds sometimes. Thirty seconds of nothingness. I've tried meditating before; repeating one single phrase; counting my breaths. But even then, I'm thinking about that phrase. I'm thinking about my breath.

What would it be like to think about nothing?

I remember often asking a boyfriend years ago, “what are you thinking about?” and being annoyed when he answered with “Nothing.” You must be thinking about something, you can't just not be thinking about anything.

Now, I am some-what envious of this ability to think about nothing. How does one do that, I wonder? And realize that even while thinking about nothing, I am in fact thinking about something.

The First Treatment

“When someone has cancer, the whole family and everyone who loves them does too.”

~ Terri Clark

Mom had her first chemotherapy treatment last week. Afterwards, people wondered how it went. Did it go well, they asked?

All I could think was, how would one know that? And can a situation where there is poison dripping into your body for 3 hours really be described as going well?

It was a bit strange being in that room, as someone had warned me it may be. It struck me that cancer really does affect all walks of life: Men and Women; young and old; even the Conservative Mennonite couple in the corner. Most people had at least one friend or family member with them. Some were playing cards, others were reading or watching the personal TV available at each chair. The volunteers were wonderfully and annoyingly upbeat; welcome and welcoming to first-timers. One of the nurses said to me, as we were gathering our things to leave, that if we wanted perhaps next time someone could drop Mom off and pick her up again after. That there really wasn't much for us to do during the treatment. I was slightly offended by this. Why should anyone have to wait out their treatment time on their own? Sometimes it is reassuring to have someone just sit with you. To know you are not going through it alone.

Yet, I was most intrigued by a man who sat by himself. With a small grin ever-present on his face.

He had no book to read; no friend to chat to. The personal TV above his chair remained silent, pushed back facing the wall. He simply sat there, tubes attached to his arm, taking in the room around him. With a small, contented grin.

I found my attention returning to his face time and time again. I wondered, what was it about that place that inspired that contented grin. What was it about his situation that allowed that contented grin. And what was it about that grin that offered me a small morsel of peace, of hope, of contentedness. There, in that room full of poison. Full of cancer.

Every once in awhile it will hit me anew: my Mom has cancer.

And it takes my breath away.

I admire her strength in facing this, her hope and optimism in this fight.

For, as younger Brother highlighted, “I don't know what we can do... she just has to go through it”.

As do we all, really. One treatment at a time; one day at a time.

What if I'm just not lucky?

 “I'd rather be lucky than good”

~ Lefty Gomez

During a conversation with a friend a few weeks ago about a sense of entitlement, luck, and getting what one deserves; I mentioned that I have often felt lucky. “How so?”, she asked. “Well,” I responded, like I have never really had difficulty getting a job. Typically if I actually get to the interview part of the process, I'm offered the job.” 

“What if it wasn't luck?” she pushed further. “What if you were just the best applicant?”

Her questioning made me pause. And consider in a new light this “am I enough” question I have so often struggled with. What if she was right? What if I wasn't lucky, but qualified?

I started considering this prospect in other areas where I've felt lucky:

What if I wasn't lucky to have met all the great people and friends I have over the years; but have an attractive personality and am a good friend myself?

What if I wasn't lucky to have usually found just enough money to scrape by at the end of the month; but resourceful in managing my money?

What if I wasn't lucky to have gotten into grad school; but smart?

What if I wasn't lucky to have travelled the world; but motivated to chase my dreams?

What if I wasn't lucky to have gotten to where I am today; but hardworking?

          What if I'm just not lucky... but deserving? 

 

                                                           What if I'm just not lucky... but good?

Last week I found out that I wasn't offered the job after the interview. And it was disappointing. Definitely not lucky. But in a feedback conversation with the interviewer, the message I received is that I was deserving, qualified, and would have been an asset. The decision in the end came down to experience. Which, while mine was less than the other candidate, does not take away from the other positives. And is something that can – and will – be fixed with personality, resourcefulness, smarts, motivation and hardwork. All things that have maybe benefited me in the past.

I used to really dislike it when an old friend of mine would say “I'd rather be lucky than good.”

But the truth is, there is a responsibility that comes with being good. A responsibility to own your successes, and failures, and to push yourself with those things you are good at.

Luck – well, luck doesn't really require much effort. So I guess I can understand wanting to be lucky rather than good; to put in little effort vs. taking responsibility.

I would venture to argue that in most instances, a little bit of luck is present and helpful. Still with the realization that maybe I'm just not lucky, I'll settle for being good!

Be Breathless

New year, new moon, new normal. 

I spent New Year's Eve with some pretty amazing friends. All evening I had this excited energy in the pit of my stomach. It seemed to be saying that despite all the reasons I have to feel sad, angry and scared as this new year begins; this year perhaps more than any other needs to be fantastic. And it just might be! 

I didn't want to make this yet another New Year's blog full of reflections, resolutions and goals. Because as one friend said it on Facebook:

 “Here's some truth for you – the only thing that changes tomorrow is the last digit when you write the date. Life is neither short nor long; it's exactly what you make of it, so make fewer bucket lists and just do it...”

 

Truth is: the only reflection of last year that I want to remember is that I did try to live up to my mantra from when I started this blog, to Be Vulnerable – even in the uncomfortable places – and I did begin to live more wholeheartedly.

Truth is: there isn't really much I want to change for the coming year, though I know lots of things will in their own time and place.

What I do want is to continue to be vulnerable. And I want to step back in all those moments – the good ones and the not-so-good ones – where I am trying to live wholeheartedly and vulnerably, and to: 

Be Breathless 

So that is my mantra this year. I want to face, learn from, grow with, and enjoy every moment, every change, every challenge, every opportunity that life throws at me, and to

Be Breathless

I want to measure the next 525 600 moments of my life by being

Breathless.

I wish the same for you!

How to have a fantastic Christmas with cancer

 

“...I decided that since last year's Christmas season kinda sucked, 

this year's will be fantastic!”

~ Facebook status, November 22 2013

 

I wrote that status for my Facebook profile on the morning that Mom went into hospital. Before we knew she needed surgery. Before we knew she needed further treatment. Before it was clear that Christmas might look and feel different this year.

Last year at Christmas time I was depressed and stressed out. I avoided the carols I used to love; I didn't decorate my own apartment; I rushed home from work rather than enjoying the lights on near-by houses; and the only cookies I indulged in were at my parents' house.

This year I had wanted to re-discover all those things and more!

But that was before cancer entered my family... Because how do you have a fantastic Christmas with cancer?

After the initial shock wore off, and Mom began to recover and gain strength after that first surgery, I decided cancer was not going to get me down this Christmas! This Christmas perhaps more than any other needed to be fantastic!

The secret I found? Surround yourself with the people and things you love.

I baked 5 different batches of cookies. I sang in my choir's Christmas concert. I played my Christmas CDs, and watched some of my favourite holiday movies. I toasted to holiday cheer and exchanged small meaningful gifts with some of my closest friends. I sang O Holy Night and Silent Night (in German!) for the Christmas Eve service at the church I grew up in. I played with my nieces and nephews. I laughed, hugged, and cried with near-by family and friends; and texted and e-mailed with those at a distance. I took lots of pictures, and ate tremendous amounts of food... including too many cookies!

And for a few brief moments, I forgot about cancer and just had Christmas!

There are still lots of cookies left over and some turkey for sandwiches. The last bits of wrapping paper have been cleaned up. Younger Brother and his family are packing up to begin their drive home. I'll follow soon after. And life will resume as we begin to create a new normal for our family that includes cancer. There will be moments that are hard; moments that it is impossible to forget – if only for a second.

But I will always have the memory of this fantastic Christmas, surrounded by the things and people I love!

A Second of Carefreeness

“You know what I miss most? Being carefree”

~ Katy A. (diagnosed with cancer 2 years ago)

I was having a hard time deciding what to write about this week. Already having posted 3 blogs about my Mom's recent health issues, I wished for a different, unrelated topic to distract me if only for a short time. But the truth is, it consumes much of my conscious thought and energy in one way or another.  

Because, when something like cancer comes into your life in a real way, it's interesting how much more you notice it around you. The number of related buzzfeed posts and articles that have been linked by friends on a Facebook newsfeed (one inspiring a friend to “selflessly” offer to be the photographer if I decided to gallivant around the world half-naked wearing a pink tutu!). The stories from survivors; from those who know someone who has or is currently fighting it; and from those who have lost someone to it. You hold on to the nuggets of hope, swallow the reality of the threat, and share emotions deeper then before you were connected the way you are now.

Today, I came across this video:

which, though about cancer, spoke to my wish for a different topic for this week's blog. The truth is, we all have those things that occupy much of our thought and energy; that we wish we could distract or escape from – if only for a second.

This is easier for some than others. It's easier for me, living at a distance, than for my Mom who lives with this new reality every single moment. But still, I believe it's important that we allow ourselves those moments. To escape into a space of gut-deep laughter; of future dreaming and planning; of connecting with friends, doing the things you used to do before; of forgetting – if only for a second. 

I do look for these moments – with my friends, watching a favourite TV show, playing my guitar. And I hope to be able to help my Mom and family find some during the upcoming holidays.

So in the spirit of finding a second of carefreeness, tell me: What do you do, either for yourself or others, to escape – if only for a second – from the thoughts and worries that threaten to consume you/us?

In the Waiting Room

There were 17 of us between the ages of 1year and 81 years old crammed into the small waiting room during Mom's surgery 3 weeks ago. We cried, we laughed, we hugged, we ordered pizza for supper, we entertained the children and alternated between appreciation for their beautiful innocence which helped ease our own discomfort and a sense of how unfair it was that their Nana was in surgery.

And we waited.

Together.

A million things were running through my head. About how long I would stay at my parents after the surgery. And if I would be able to adjust my work schedule to return again soon. About whether or not I should move back, depending on what happened after the surgery. And if I really was strong enough to continue to pursue a career as a counsellor, supporting people through their life struggles while coping with my own Mom's illness. And of course the worst kind of “what ifs...”, the ones I don't even want to say out loud for fear they would become true.

Three hours later Surgeon came to tell us that all had gone well with this surgery. But then he started using other words. Scary words. Words I don't want to type out. Words that, though official confirmation was still needed, meant this really was only the beginning of a process requiring further treatment.

We cried and hugged some more, trying to process the vast amounts of developing information we had learned in a mere 2 days.

A young woman came into the room during this time and took a seat among us. I felt annoyed at this violation of our privacy. But quickly realized she must have a loved one in surgery. And this was the waiting room. Really, it was us who was invading her privacy. It was her turn to wait.

Dad was the first to formally acknowledge her presence, asking who was in surgery. Her Mom. We asked her name and invited her to join our prayer. Leave it to my family to reach out to someone else during our own time of crisis!

We asked if she had someone coming to wait with her. With her response of “later, after work” I immediately knew, if she would allow me to, I could not leave this woman alone to wait.

It was somewhat of a profound moment for me for a couple of reasons. One was a reminder of how blessed I and my family are to have each other. Not only the 17 of us in the room that day, but the countless members of our extended family and friends who have offered support in as many different ways. I cannot imagine sitting in that room alone, waiting. No one should ever have to.

The other was a realization that waiting with this woman, reaching out and offering support in that way was never a question in my mind. It is part of who I am and something I must continue to pursue, supporting people through their life struggles. It is in part what gives me strength and inspiration to face and cope with my own.

Since that night there are times when I feel like we haven't fully left the waiting room. We waited for test results that confirmed what Surgeon had told us. And now we wait for a treatment plan and treatment itself. During which time we will wait for results, for healing.

I often think back to that woman who walked into the waiting room on her own. I admire her strength. I really don't know if I would have been strong enough to do so. And I am glad that I don't have to find out.

Because we wait,

together.