Friday, December 26, 2014


Last year at this time my hair had just fallen out. I was to spend the next six months -- seven, eight -- in frightening uncertainty balanced with unimaginable support. I had cancer.

Now I don't. And it isn't just about how life goes on, or, now I see life more clearly or live it more fully or understand mortality like an old friend. For me, the astonishing part is that I'm back. Just me. In the midst of the surgery-chemo-radiation-doctor's office-lab stabbing roller coaster, I believed life as I knew it was over, that I would self-identify as a sick person forever. And I don't.

I got my port taken out June 30th and began a new job on July 28th. It was too soon. My body wasn't ready, but I was so so so bored. In the final analysis, that's what cancer is: boring.

On this day, Christmas Day, Clinton St. is right where I left it, leaves replaced by mud. Kurt woke up before me as usual, like a little kid waiting to open his presents. I caved this year and bought him camo things. I have been a staunch adversary of hiding in plain sight as a fashion statement. I bought camo jammies and a camo blanket for my husband to wear during his upcoming recovery from his upcoming ankle replacement. In his words, they are going to cut off his foot and sew it back on. Not far off. He is afraid, and I am nervous for him.

Today, I opened gifts of massage and colored pencils and books in a quiet home filled with Christmas light. I love it when my life is like that. It is rare these days.

Dinner was awful. Next year, remind me that my husband doesn't know how to cook prime rib. It was raw. Again. And my brussel sprouts were perfect. Again. Kurt's son Dave came for dinner and it made me miss Mark all the more. I wish he was here and I wish he wasn't alone.

This is my quote for my year. It is by Leonard Cohen.I may have made some minor grammatical changes:

So, ring the bells that still can ring
Let go your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.


nina said...

Is Mark your son? Explain! (Please.)

I'm glad it's like this for you. Some people cannot shake the feeling of being forever with cancer or at the side of cancer or partly handed over to cancer. I'm glad you are not one of them. And I so understand the statement that it is boring to be very sick. All that waiting. Waiting is horribly boring.

Have a good New Year, bluesky.

someone said...

Yes! My son. I miss him horribly. He's only 36 and so far from his mother!

I hope you and Ed had a nice holiday. My job has changed and I hope to have more time to write. Without it, I am crabby.

Bex said...

I found your blog thru Nina, and I am reading some of the back entries and came across your quote by Leonard Cohen, which I love, BTW, and which, as it happens, is playing on the CD player in the basement right now, where my husband is doing repair work on his lobster buoys and listening to the deep, droning, wonderful voice of Leonard C. all morning, and just after this song played (I can hear it all upstairs) then I got to your quote in the 12/25/14 entry here... which you may never read as it's older... but I hope you do. xox