Hello friend.
It’s been a while. I’m just going to assume you know that I’ve been busy, and that free time does not come in abundance for this author. Thus, I soak up this moment- getting to pour a glass of Pinot Grigio and settle back into the chair.
It’s finally October, one of my favorite months of the year. Autumn has arrived, in all of her symbolic glory. I am present. I am grateful.
I wonder if the dreaded “C-word” has affected your life in some way. And no, I’m not talking about the “C-word” that rhymes with “blunt”. You cheeky rascal, you.
Whether it’s been through an acquaintance, a coworker, a friend, a family member. Perhaps it’s something you have personally experienced. As unfortunate as it is, cancer has become almost commonplace in our society. Cancer stories come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.
I’ll be transparent with you, friend. Cancer has touched my life in recent months. And by touched, I mean it set my world aflame.
Back in March, my father was diagnosed with cancer. It took our family by surprise. The loss gave us whiplash, from which we remain in recovery.
I am lucky to say that my dad was my hero and one of my closest friends. When I was young, I maintained a healthy reverence for the man. Nobody messed with him. He possessed striking features, somehow bearing a strong resemblance to both Clint Eastwood and Dick Van Dyke. He was always the smartest person in the room, capable of outwitting anyone in his presence. Both a physician and humanitarian-aid worker, my dad was a servant at heart and lived a life outside of himself. He was goofy, caring, and compassionate. He was everybody’s “Yes-Man”, up until his last day. I credit him for my wit, Germanic work ethic, sense of style, and sense of humor. I cherish every moment we shared together.
Losing someone is hard. It’s weird and it’s haunting and some days you feel the sorrow may eat you alive, like a violent sequence in a shitty zombie movie. Sometimes you might wish you were in a shitty zombie movie rather than having to move on with a life that now feels emptier, less meaningful. People say that time heals, but I remain skeptical. I was FaceTiming my older sister about a month ago and we were discussing this very subject.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I think that it somehow gets worse with time. The grief doesn’t fade, you just learn how to manage it.”
I find myself in agreement. What I’m learning about loss is that it never goes away. It doesn’t just magically disappear once the clock strikes midnight. Time doesn’t have a say in matters of loss and grief. I think that we learn to live a life that accommodates loss rather than minimizes it.
Another thing I’m learning about loss is that it’s okay to laugh about it. Death is no laughing matter, but life sure is. I remember shortly after my dad passed, one of my close buds at the time made an offhand cancer joke. She immediately stopped herself, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, obviously embarrassed and ashamed. I simply smiled and explained to her that there was no need to hesitate with the cancer jokes. In fact, I’d been cracking such jokes with my siblings for months beforehand. It wasn’t that I was mocking the situation. It was how I was moving through it. Even my dad, in his notoriously deadpan manner, uttered a few jokes about dying during his final days with us.
Maintaining a sense of humor in a time where laughter feels forbidden can actually be the key to survival. It can lighten an already somber mood. It can breathe life (no pun intended) into a hopeless situation. Many times, it can be just what puts a smile on someone’s face. Laughing makes the grieving a little more bearable.
When you experience the death of someone close to your heart, living can, at times, feel like a chore. It’s wearisome, having to go on. The spirit becomes fatigued. There will be many (and I mean many) sleepless midnights, a few extra empty bottles of wine lining the kitchen counter, there will be sunny mornings spent in the depths of sorrow, and the art of reminiscing may, at times, prove to be a difficult task. Loss presents itself in an array of colors. No experience is the same.
In my season of loss, I am learning to cultivate hope. Hope is one serious motherfucker. That bitch doesn’t fuck around. A few months ago, I was ready to erase the word from my vocabulary. Now it’s become a lifeline. I can’t get enough of it. I never thought that I’d be as hopeful and optimistic as I am right now. Fear has lost its power. The sorrow remains, but in a somewhat sweeter way. Some real poetic shit, I tell you.
That’s what life after death does. It changes you. It molds you into a version of you that you never imagined. A version that is humble. A version that is brave. A version that, if not formed in your darkest hours, would not be standing here today.
Seasons change. Autumn gives way to winter, which gives way to spring. Death gives way to life…blah, blah, blah.
You get the fuckin’ gist.
M’wah!