"Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you; they're gifts given to help you discover who you are."

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Live like you are dying?

I've been saving this rant er, blog topic in my head for some time now.  Certainly not a new song/phrase, but I really hate it.  What the hell does that mean anyway?  How would you live differently if you knew you were dying? 
  • Quit your job?  Not if you need the health insurance.
  • Travel the world?  Not if it's completely unaffordable, and not if you have a family to take care of.
  • Create a meaningful bucket list and cross things off, one by one?  Not if you really don't have time in between going to work, going to treatment, scans and other medical appointments, hauling kids to activities, and/or supporting those you love in other ways.  In the real world, there is no time for bucket lists.
  • Appreciate those around you more than you ever thought possible?  Savor every moment with loved ones?  Yes, yes indeed you can do that.  Even when it's difficult because you feel like shit and even when people let you down?  Yes, you need to do that.
The vague, lofty idea of living differently because you're dying annoys me.  It assumes that those of us who are aware that death is the inevitable end of our somewhat crappy journey have some kind of super human insight into what makes life meaningful and how to do it better than everyone around us.

The reality of living with a terminal disease is that many times when you're doing something fun and/or something out of the ordinary, you wonder if this is the last time you'll ever do it, the last time you'll ever be there, the last time you'll ever see these people, etc. So even when you're living in the moment, your mind is dragging you into the future. The hazy, unknown future.

The reality of living with a terminal disease is that you spend time pondering all the things the future will bring that you know you will most likely miss out on.  Life fulfilling moments and experiences that you won't share with your kids.  Senior proms, moving into the dorms, wedding dress shopping, new grandbabies.  All of these haunt me and make my heart hurt for my daughter because her mom won't be by her side.

This Labor Day weekend has for about seven years now meant a party at our house--including friends, family, food, cocktails, music and fun.  It's not happening this year because I didn't have the energy.  I'm not living like I'm dying.  I'm missing the people I would have seen and the fun I would have had and I'm angry that cancer has taken that away from me. 

3 comments:

  1. dear Dee,

    the issue of live like you are dying certainly is rant worthy, and you have written a powerful and thought provoking post. I would venture to guess that those who are in the same boat can relate far more to the truth of your words and experiences, than to authors of ideas that may not ever have been where you are. we all need these wake-up calls to the realities of cancer, the never-ending sadness that punctuates each of what should be the happiest of occasions, the reels that play incessantly about milestones that we may never see, and all the mental, physical, and emotional flotsam and jetsam that is the wreckage of what cancer wreaks.

    I am so sorry for your anguish, for the times of feeling righteous anger, for the times that hope seems to be thin ice to be fallen through, and for having to rail against meaningless notions that don't even come close to what you are living.

    thank you for your honesty, for sharing your thoughts and feelings, and for the reminder of how we need to be informed and more sensitive and to listen to voices that are crying out to be heard. I hear your voice...I am sorry for all you are missing out on...I am here for you.

    much love,

    Karen xoxoo

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  2. Karen, your comments are more well written than my posts. I love your words..."the reels that play incessantly about milestones that we may never see, and all the mental, physical, and emotional flotsam and jetsam that is the wreckage of what cancer wreaks". In that one sentence, you've conveyed that you get it. And that in itself is comforting to my parched soul.
    Thanks as always for reading, and for commenting. I appreciate it more than you know.
    ~D.

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  3. dear Dee,

    thank you, dear Friend, for taking the time to respond to my comment with such kindness. I am so glad to be able to let you know that I "get it", and that it brings you comfort.

    much love and big hope being sent your way,

    Karen xoxo

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