Well, we made it through the holidays, and I’m delighted to admit it wasn’t that bad.
SO MANY people had told us that it wold be the worst holidays ever. I’m not so sure about that, for a couple of reasons …
First, as I said at Tommy’s eulogy (at his request), the fear of the event is often much worse than the actual event. So, while I was waiting for everything to come crashing down, it did not. We had plenty of tearful moments, but we didn’t do anything that we normally do, so there wasn’t the glaring vacancy of Tom in the traditions because we didn’t do them.
In many ways, because I’m a pre-worrier, I think last year’s Christmas was equally hard — but in a different way. Last year I was fearful that it would be our last holiday with Tommy, and I didn’t know how to stop time and savor what we had. In my mind everything was framed by “this will likely be our last …” and I allowed that to rob me of some of the moments we had. Plus, Tommy was undergoing chemo, which delivers its own version of hell. So, last year I had fear of what was likely to come permeating everything … this year I “just” had dealing with everything, which at least is something that can be chewed through, although sometimes only a small bite at a time.
One thing that helped me immensely was a book my grief therapist recommended, called When A Lifemate Dies (Heinlein, Brumett, Tibbals). I read it in three sittings, and would’ve probably devoured it the first night but knew I had to get some sleep if I hoped to hold my own against the kids in our daily Scrabble game. (Who knew “cyme” was a word??!! (Becca did.))
There’s a passage in one of its essays that totally resonated with me, so I’m sharing it in case it helps others. It is from Rondi Lightmark:
“Everywhere I go these days, I meet or hear about someone struggling with or dying of cancer. There is a battle waged, but I remember well that point when the battle metamorphoses and the terrain becomes pregnant with stillness, peace and possibility. Love emerged, both in the warrior and in those companions who have helped hold the sword. Those who find some key to unlock a door into new life here, find they have acquired a brimming, transformative energy that comes from the conquering of fear: energy which cannot be held, but must be shared.”
That passage spoke to me because, while Tom was likely fearful of dying at times, I can’t say that I ever recall him voicing that fear. (Fear of needles and blood pressure cuffs? That’s a different story!)
As far as I know, Tommy never felt sorry for himself for getting cancer, and didn’t kick himself for ignoring for so long the clear signs of something gone awry … back when it was likely much more treatable. In a calm acceptance that I hope to learn, Tom always said “it is what it is” (except for needles and blood pressure cuffs) and we moved forward from there.
With that acceptance we found that huge, transformative energy that made our relationship with each other and so many other people and things spectacular.
The essay continues: “…if I meet someone new to the kind of pain and process I have been through, there is always an element of excitement in me, strange to say.
‘Wait,’ I want to say. ‘Watch and stay open because amazing things will come your way. More love and grace than you ever would have dreamed possible …’”
That was so true for us. And, as I talk to other cancer survivors and their support people, I see how they are changed by the amazing grace and love previously unrecognized. I know I’ve been. It is an exclusive club, not one that I’d wish on anyone, but one that changes its members.
And the essay continues …
“You’ve been given a life with a big bump in it. Use it to get up really high so you can see far, then jump off and fly. Something wonderful will hold you. And if, by chance, a big wind gets too full of itself and throws you down, say, a chimney, and you have to spend lifetimes flopping and crawling through smoke and soot in the dark, know this: someone will open the door.”
A special thank to all of you who keep opening the doors when I’m flopping about in the dark.
Charlotte
