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Ode to Grief and Stage IV

I confess the holidays and life, in general, seem more difficult this year. I’ve been pondering why. That’s when I realized my grief is deeper.

As the countdown for 2019 begins, I think of the loss of fellow warriors this year. This was the first year where some I’d met online and in-person from various support groups passed away from metastatic cancer. I had felt such a connection with these women. I had watched the progression of their metastatic cancer.

There was one survivor in particular whose death continues to hit me hard. Her name was Christy.

She was feisty.

She was graceful.

She was gentle.

She never lost her sense of humor.

She never lost her essence.

She never lost her compassion.

More importantly, as the end was near, she gently passed away on her own terms surrounded by her loved ones. I have never had a bird’s eye view of the progression from life to death in such a dignified way.

What struck me the most is I’m not immune to this happening to me. Metastatic cancer can happen to anyone. 

It’s brutal.

It’s painful.

It’s death.

While I have loving friends both near and far, I still have a difficult time relating to anyone outside of the cancer world. I can’t just“get over it” because more long-term side-effects keep presenting themselves in painful ways.  I’m crushed that my life post-cancer doesn’t feel like much physical healing has occurred.

Then I look outside of my physical and emotional pain and see the beauty and amazement of new opportunities that have come my way that never would’ve happened if I had not gone through cancer. Finding my writing voice again has been the greatest and most unexpected gift.

I had stopped writing for six years before I got cancer. My voice was gone. Then getting breast cancer, though utterly traumatic, has given me purpose and a voice again. I have such a passion to remain an advocate through writing and speaking.

As the New Year approaches, I do feel more hopeful than I did last year. I don’t know how much time I have left on this earth, as none of us do. After my friend Christy’s death, I am determined to seek more joy and continue to give be a voice for those who haven’t found theirs yet or don’t know how to express it.

I still have days of utter sadness, grief, anger, and frustration. Yet, I also have days of beauty, joy, laughter, love, acceptance, and new opportunities. I hope to find that delicate balance one day.

This quote continues to bring comfort as I enter 2019…

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”― Oscar Wilde

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One thought on “Ode to Grief and Stage IV

  1. Wow! This has hit home! It’s almost as if you were in my head! There’s a certain level of guilt that comes with watching our sisters pass and a level of anxiety knowing we are fighting even in remission. People outside of cancer see us living and they think the fight is over… so hard to explain to them that we have just begun! But I will say, I am living and enjoying every moment, taking risks, finishing those books and doing things I would never have done pre-cancer! Thank you for your candor!

    Like

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