CATHOLIC BROAD DEALS WITH CANCER GRIEF

I realize I am shooting myself in the foot by putting the word "cancer" in the blog title. This is one of the words I used to avoid and race past. Maybe if I had included the word "cooking" in the title it would have been better, as I always get more hits when I talk about food and recipes.

I had planned on posting an Advent Reflection about St. Joseph, whom I love, but instead, I realized with a slight lurch of the heart that what I needed to do was talk about what winter & Christmas are like for me now.

As I cruised into December I felt my chest tightening, and I recognized my anniversary grief as I hit the days of my two surgeries, Dec. 10th & Dec. 11th. I believe Grief is different from depression, which is more like dragging a gray bag of dirty laundry behind.  Grief is fuller, juicier, takes up more space in my chest, and somehow feels healthier than depression, which feels more like the onset of the flu. Or syphilis, take your pick. Not that I am familiar with the latter.

So--did I order a crate of my favorite Sauvignon Blanc from our local vintner? No, I did not, though the prospect of loads of "Wither Hill" did sound festive. But not what I wanted right now. (Did I mention that I am on Day 9 of "The 30-Day No Alcohol Challenge," by James Swanwick? Woot-woot!)

Instead I went back to visit the site of my surgery, looking at a photo my husband saved of a blown up blue latex glove with the words, "Happy Birthday" written on it in magic marker. That nurse. Damn!  I told her it was my 70th birthday and she ran off, returning with this amazing balloon. This just goes to show that in the midst of darkness is light, and nurses often bring that light.

I also knew that I had to confront the losses of this surgery and the months of chemo, which I still have not totally recovered from.  If ever. Still have neuropathy, still taking gabapentin, still have less motor control in fingers, and still get weird fucking brain fog. Though, as I told my husband, it is more like a "system's crash", when he speaks to me as I am trying to write a Christmas card address; literally, my brain came to a complete, dead stop; words were erased; and I-could-not-think. Empty brain.

Luckily, besides my supportive husband, family, and faith community, I have a loving friend who's gone through his own cancer journey and whom (don't you love it when you can write "whom"?) I called yesterday.

"How are you, Annie?" He asked, and I immediately burst into tears, a rare event for me. (What IS this wet stuff streaming down my face?)

"I'm sad," I sobbed. "I am realizing all the things I've lost! I tried to tie a bloody ribbon on a bloody Christmas present, and I fucking couldn't do it!"

Quietly he said, "I know, Annie, I know just where you are.  I'm on the verge of tears a lot these days too. Anything sets me off--car advertisements, Christmas carols, babies, dogs...."

That made me feel so much better.  I love it when other people can't help themselves!  I am not the only one carrying around this juicy, hot-mess of grief. And I apologize for my bad language, but hot-mess grief necessitates swearing. It helps. It's documented in the CDC files.

So what happened to St. Joseph, who was briefly mentioned at the beginning of this blog?  We always talk about Mary in the Catholic Church (which I am a member of), and her fiat when she said "yes" to God. Although a good friend recently wondered if Mary really had a chance to say "No" with a big, honking angel in front of her telling her that, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you."(Luke 1:35) That's a discussion for another time, but she did express doubts.

Joseph had his own fiat, when he did not put Mary aside, though that was his intention when he learned of her pregnancy. The same angel came to Joseph in a dream telling him, "...do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife..." (Matthew 1: 20) Which he did, caring for her tenderly, I believe. Do you suppose there were some titters in Nazareth about Mary's pregnancy? And what did they tell the people? The Bible never deals with the interesting side-stories.

What I want to point out here is that we all have our fiat, when we have to say "Yes," and stop resisting, saying "No, I don't want that suffering. Take it away, please, holy angel." Mary & Joseph said "yes" to unimaginable mystery; to a journey they could not see the end of; to God's mysterious power and the awesome beating of angel wings.  

I have my own fiat too, where I have to say "Yes" to the changes in my body; to the realization that I will never get back to the place I was in before cancer; to shaky fingers that can no longer open jars; to occasionally wobbly legs; to brain crashes; to sudden tears. All of that.

But--and this is a big but--I've got my buddies by my side (thanks, Amanda & Joey!) who have walked this hard journey on their own and then with me.  I take such courage from their work and the way they deal with what happened to them.  It shows me there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even as one wag commented that the light at the end of the tunnel is temporarily out of order.

I wonder what fiat there is in your life, for as sure as God is closer to you than your own breath, you have one.