This morning's tears, laughter, and musings
Dear ones,
Thank you so much for the tremendous outpouring of love, support, and wisdom. I am laughing and crying as I read all of the posts and emails. The continuous flow of emails this morning is reminding me not to try too hard to get anything else done but process this new reality. (A request -- Going forward, it will help me be able to occasionally focus on one or two other things, to have most of the communications about my health be on this site).
I truly do feel held in a web of love, compassion, and wisdom.
Don and I listened to a guided meditation from Tara Brach this morning and I was able to be with the fear that underlies my urge to do a lot of tasks right now -- to try to complete, delegate, renegotiate all of my commitments and to-do items. There is in my busyness a fierceness that is good -- a way I am determined to have an empowered life full of connection and meaning. And, there is also a resistance to change, to letting go of the illusion of control. An underlying fear of being disabled, helpless, bored, meaningless, disconnected, and unable to shape the world around me in any way. And, there is also the realization that at some point I may need to stop fighting for my life as I have known it, and instead fight for my life.
Though being the non-violent person that I am, I'm looking for a better metaphor than "fighting." One email from a friend who I think has been through breast cancer said " I will hold you in my heart as you navigate your way and prevail over these confused and misdirected cells" ... perhaps the new metaphor should be something about re-organizing my life...?
Much love and gratitude,
Becca
Comments (6)
I love the concept of "navigating" instead of "fighting". You are discovering the path through these new experiences using courage and hope and curiosity. How healthy and wise to look to people like Tara Brach as guides..... Surrounding you and your family with love.
You just need to re-purpose your community organizing and facilitation skills for your cellular community. We all know there's a few difficult cells in every group, right? It's just part of the work.
Yes, I love the "re-organizing" metaphor, and Ben's image of applying the gifts you have honed elsewhere toward getting your "cellular community" organized and behaving nicely together. I can only imagine how shocking and difficult this news must be to you and Don, but of course know that you have a village willing to do whatever we can to help you through it.
We are holding you with so much love as you navigate this journey, dear Becca. Your wisdom and grace in facing into what is, comes of course as no surprise to those of us who know and love you. May you feel all the support, love and connection that surround and embrace you. With big hugs and much love, Mary
Becca and Don, we are holding you both in our hearts and are available to help, in any way we can. I love your new words of navigating and re-organizing, and I hope you find many inspiring words, meditations, & touchstones. I'm reminded of being on a ship deep in the fjords . Every time it looked as if we would sail into the side of a mountain, a new way appeared. We hope and trust that the way unfolds beautifully for you both, whatever may come. With love, Jen & Doug
Dear Becca and Don, I was told once of a Native American tradition (I don't know what people) of "throwing the blanket". It meant that the speaker wanted to apologize ahead of time for any offense. I'm "throwing the blanket" as a pre-apology for my words. They really are meant from love, but I think sometimes that I have a strange way of expressing it, a strange way of looking at the world. I think maybe my ways of living with and thinking about cancer are offensive. Through Rumi's 3 years of cancer treatment, I also didn't really like the terms "battle" and "fighting". We weren't fighting and we weren't strong. We were enduring. We were tired and scared and slogging a lot, day after day. Sometimes being present and sometimes running away. Sometimes burning the toast and sometimes eating too many frites. Sometimes crying and sometimes hugging with the understanding that the hugs will end. I felt grateful for the grace that gave ourselves permission to do all of the above: To not be wise; To not be strong. The tyranny of trying to do cancer "well" seems too much to me. We're not gods, we're only human. I hope you are able to be kind to yourselves when you lose it. Sometimes it's better to lose it. Sara Mclachlan has some lyrics: "Hold on. Hold on to yourself. For this is going to hurt like hell." How are we really supposed to be in those situations? I don't think anyone knows. I'm so sorry that your body is sick. I am so hoping you will be well soon and that the path to wellness doesn't suck too bad. I do take some comfort the poem by Naomi Shihab Nye, called "Kindness". It actually does give me a deep sense of meaning in pain and, yes, suffering. Here's part of the poem: "Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore..." With love, Donal