Before my grandma died, she struggled with depression. To battle this emotional rollercoaster, she took out dozens of cards and wrote uplifting quotes, questions, and advice…. Then, she placed these notes in a plastic recipe box and called it her Happiness File. She'd pull out a card whenever life seemed too overwhelming, and her own words would reframe nearly any situation. Ironically, now that she's gone—and I'm fighting cancer—these notes have become lifelines from Heaven.
The other day, I gingerly pulled a card from the mock recipe box and read my grandma's words: "Be honest with yourself and others."
You know when people ask how you're doing and you say "good" even though you might feel awful? During a conversation this week, I responded honestly rather than with the cultural norm.
One of my friends (let's call her "Sandy") came over with her son. We sat, ready to visit in the front room, and they had only been there a minute when Sandy's cellphone rang.
"This is really important," she said before answering the phone and slipping out the front door.
Her son and I watched her through the window. He's probably in sixth grade, and I wracked my brain for something interesting to ask him. "So… how's your summer going?"
"Good," he said.
"Good? That's great."
Then, out of nowhere, he shifted the conversation as if he'd been thinking about something since they first walked into my house. "My mom told me you have cancer… and that you've been fighting really hard. But that… you'll probably die from this."
"Yeah," I said slowly, surprised. "That's what doctors are saying." But I have to admit that despite my initial shock over his blunt words, I found them refreshing. We were simply putting the facts out there.
It's strange with cancer how a lot of times I feel like I'm trying to make this situation better for other people. There have even been moments when visitors come over, and I end up comforting them—or at least trying to—because they're having such a tough time with mortality.
"Are you scared?" the boy asked, bringing me back from my thoughts.
"Yeah, I am scared. When you think about dying, it's about time… It's about less time with my husband and kids." At that moment, a new thought hit me about fear. Lately, my neck and head have been hurting so much that I can hardly sleep. The last time I hurt like this, doctors ordered an MRI, and they found a new brain tumor! Luckily, the tumor in my neck hadn't grown because if it had, they'd planned to radiate it, and that could've affected my ability to talk normally. I explained a little bit of this to my friend's son.
"Not being able to communicate with my family," I said, "it would be such a loss. I shouldn't think about the what-ifs, though. I need to appreciate right now, like getting to see your mom." We looked out the window where she stood, still talking on the phone. "And I got to visit with you."
My thoughts turned to cancer treatments again and the people I know who had radiation on their necks and mouths. Some of them struggle to communicate, and it's devastating to see those losses. Just knowing what people endure for even another moment with those they love…
My friend came back in at that point. "Sorry. Work is apparently crazy today."
They didn't stay much longer, but before they left, the little boy turned to me and smiled. "You made me realize something," he said. "I'm so lucky to have the life that I do."
"Sounds like you two had a good visit?" Sandy asked me.
"We really did," I told her. "You have one smart kid!"
After they left, I thought about the cliché, how we aren't promised tomorrow. I know that all of us have thought about mortality, but what about the abilities we could lose?
A lot has changed physically for me since I got sick. I can't walk very far, let alone hike, rock climb, and enjoy many of the things I used to do. I would have appreciated them so much more if I'd known what my future held. But, as another great cliché says, hindsight is 20/20.
It just goes to show that we need to cherish what we have right now. Take that trip. Ask your special someone out to dinner. Tell loved ones how much they mean to you. Start your dream business. Get that long-coveted degree. Just LIVE to the fullest of your current capabilities. For me, I'm grateful for the ability to write this article. After all, I'm lucky to even be alive; that alone is pretty incredible.
