Hello! I’ve recently returned from
a quick visit to Missoula, where I was part of a reunion of people who worked
on the Hellgate High School newspaper, the Lance. The occasion was the retirement of our
advisor, photography and journalism teacher Wayne Seitz. I suspect that a secondary reason this event happened
now is that the friends who organized it know that a couple of us are dealing
with cancer at the moment. I think this may have helped them decide that
waiting for “someday” to get together was a bad idea. So we did it now, and it was great. I can’t
tell you how much fun I had.
We played pool. We went to bars.
The music seems to have deteriorated to some degree over the last thirty years.
Dubstep at the Stockmen’s? Really? And why
do they need wi-fi at the Oxford? The
Ox, the only place where I have ever had people fight over my head and bleed on
my food? Do the old guys playing poker
in there want to update their Facebook photos between hands?
But we all had fun anyway. We went
to the Missoula farmers’ market, which is always awesome, and bought
huckleberries and chatted with friends and parents-of-friends who passed by. We
went to the Western Montana Fair and ate ice cream and fried cheese curds and
tater pigs. We looked at the 4-H livestock. Mostly, we had a few beers and
talked.
It was sort of reassuring, in a
selfish way, to see that I am not the only person who can’t remember a lot of
stuff. It’s not just the chemo! It’s not just menopause! Some of it is plain
old age. The men were forgetting stuff, too, as well as the women. Yes, I admit I had to be reminded that I had
once been copy editor of the Lance. But hey, other folks had to be
reminded about conversations that other people still remember in detail, more
than 30 years later, or even of entire road trips to Seattle.
During this reunion weekend, I
learned a few things. No, not about something juicy that happened during a lost
weekend in Seattle. Actually, I learned that I have not been great at staying
in touch with people over the past 32 years. I hadn’t seen most of these folks
since the day I graduated high school, in 1980. I lost track of some people I
really liked. It was delightful to meet them again and see what lovely human
beings they turned into. I am sorry I missed the last several decades of their
lives. But it was wonderful to meet them as adults.
One friend who should have been
there, Michelle, died a few years ago, and I really wish I had kept in better
contact with her. I miss her. I would like to apologize to her for a thing or
two. I would like to hear her laugh.
I was shocked to learn that my old
journalism teacher had not known that both my brother and I turned out to be
newspaper people, thanks in part, at least, to him. Our thanks to this good man
were maybe 20 years late, but at least I had the chance to speak to him. Note to self: you don’t have forever to say this stuff.
So, in short, communicating with
people I care about is moving up in my list of priorities. It’s more important
than many of the stupid things I waste time on all day long, such as Facebook
and driving around the suburbs. I am going to have to maybe let some busywork
go so that I can get to what is most important.
This is all part of a natural process
cancer survivors undergo, according to a book I just read called Dancing in
Limbo, by Glenna Halvorson-Boyd and Lisa K. Hunter. The book was suggested
to me by my friend who was also at the reunion and who is also dealing with
cancer. According to this book, cancer patients first go through a phase of
physically dealing with their illness, via treatments and surgeries and so
forth. During this time, patients tend to be focused on the immediate physical
task at hand, and often they are upbeat while working on this big project. But later they hit a mental wall, as they are
mentally processing the whole thing. They have to get used to the idea that they
are truly mortal and indeed will die of something, whether it is cancer or
something else. They have to get used to
really, really not being in control of the situation. Then they have to grieve
the loss of that innocence, of the immortal feeling of youth. Also, many times,
they have to grieve the loss of body parts or of generally feeling good. Then they can gradually learn to live
gracefully in their new reality, which the authors refer to as “dancing in
limbo.” They say it is a process of learning to become your most “authentic”
self.
I guess that is what I am doing as
I am sorting out my priorities. I am trying to figure out who the “authentic”
self is, because I haven’t seen her in a while. And she is older than I
remembered! I am picking and choosing how to spend my time a little more
carefully. I am not earning any money. That can be inconvenient. But I am spending
more time with family and friends. I am painting a lot and writing more. I am
slowly letting other stuff go. Haven’t been antiquing lately. Haven’t done anything horse-related for a
long time. Haven’t done any yard work. Or committee work. Oh, well. So it goes.
Another thing I have had reinforced
lately, both from my reading and my dealings with friends, is that everyone does mortality differently.
Some people, like me, blab all sorts of intimate facts to the whole world in a
cancer blog. Other people do not even wish to discuss it, much, not even with their
friends. And everyone’s time frames for
dealing with this stuff are different. Some people deal with it in fits and
starts. It can be awkward and hard on a
friendship when the parties are on different schedules in this area, with one
person wanting to wallow in it for a while, for example, and the other person wanting
it to just all go away. So, fellow cancer patients, if some well-meaning person
tells you You Need to Talk About It, you can tell them, “No, actually, I don’t,”
unless of course you do. Maybe they do. But maybe they need to talk to
someone else…
The other thing I have noticed
lately is the people around me who are dealing with cancer, even dying, so gracefully
that it is hard to believe what it is they are actually doing. You are still
having fun and loving your friends and sending your children off to college and
going to the beach and living what life you have with chutzpah. You know who
you are. For what it’s worth, you are a walking guide to how to do this, and you
are greatly admired.
