|
 March 2009 Post Book Essays Old Friends and New Years - March 20, 2009 Old Friends and New Years - March 20, 2009 Each friend represents
a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive. Piglet sidled up to Pooh
from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I
just wanted to be sure of you." Today marks the Baha'i New Year, the first day of spring, and the end of a nineteen-day period of fasting, observed from sunrise to sunset. The time of fasting is a time of resetting our internal spiritual clocks, doing some self-assessment, drawing closer to God and praying for detachment from material things, while withholding food and drink. All religious traditions share a similar discipline that serves as an allegory for us of physical abstinence as a symbol for offering ourselves up to something higher. Because this practice and religious law is first of all emblematic of a spiritual principle, there are exemptions for those of us unable to observe the Fast, either fully or even in part. If we cannot fast, we should still use this time to carry out the spiritual purpose of the Fast. It has been many years since my health permitted me to engage in the physical aspects of this time, refraining from food or drink during the daylight hours. I miss it. Before my illness, I remember a feeling of such solidarity with members of my faith as I rose before the sun to cook each morning, rattling pans in the dark as I prepared breakfast. I imagined the music of the pans and the clink of dishes and the ring of pottery marching through the time zones around the world as others rose, like me, to obey happily this commandment in our faith. In recent years, the core of the Fast for me has involved soul-searching and internal atonement, as well as scouring the corners of my heart for gratitude and the many reasons to be content. One of the things I've thought about during this year's fast is old friends. At my age, I am blessed with some long-standing friendships that have come through the tests of time and the challenges of change. I have friends who know my darkest sides and have mercifully concealed my failings from others. I have friends who know every part of me, literally, having been present and coaching me through the birth of my daughter or tending to me post-operatively. I have friends with whom I have traveled tens of thousands of miles into completely unfamiliar and sometimes dangerous territories or situations, upon whose wisdom my safety and sometimes even my life relied. I have friends who have loved me and propped me up through the fires of spiritual and emotional testing. I have friends who, seeing my pain as I owned my own failings, have felt moved to entrust theirs to me as well, beginning to heal me with the realization of our common humanity and its frailty. One friend and I have marveled at the longevity of our friendship and our awareness that even if we live to be 85, neither of us has time left to us to build new friendships that would have the texture and the strong warp and weft of our complex, comforting, long history that now spans over 35 years. I have friends who have shared secrets with me that probably have no meaning to anyone any more, but to whom I offered the promise of absolute confidentiality; those secrets will go to my grave with me. A promise is a promise. Some friendships were born of girlhood and play, imagination, and dreams of growing up. Some friendships had their genesis in adolescence, built on school and activities, family and neighborhood, and trust that we could share our uncertainties with each other safely. Some friendships began in young adulthood, figuring out together just how to function in the world competently and ultimately confidently. Some friendships resulted from being young parents and rearing our children together, supporting each other and giving our children an opportunity to become friends, too. Some friendships came from collegial relationships, collaborations at work that became warm and loving after pursuing a common goal, learning and respecting each other. Some of the most powerful friendships I ever had were with musicians I was with for ten years. Many friendships grew out of shared faith and a longing to serve God, each other, and the larger world together. Obviously, some of my deepest friendships have been from having the common bond of adversity and seeking how to respond to it in a way that redeems the experience and elevates the spirit. I've spent this Fast reflecting on the many, many ways I have had the good grace of friendship in my life. In my twenties, I remember being surprised and delighted to find that friendship in my life was even more important than it had ever been. As a child growing up, I couldn't have imagined that the intense friendships of those years could or would ever be eclipsed by the joys of adult friendship. Best of all has been to marry my best friend. He's the whole package for love, constancy, humor, care, fun, comfort, shared goals, and the long haul. When Steve and I traveled to Louisiana seven weeks ago to visit a couple of our dearest friends, he took photos of our trip. When I was downloading the photos last night, I came across this photo I did not know that he had taken. It says everything to me about the preciousness of old friends. It's my New Year's gift to myself. I start this new year filled with gratitude and a long, long list of friends (old and new) whom I love so much, who have brought depth and dimension and wisdom and humor and faithful concern and love to my life.
On Birthdays, Aging and "The Bucket List" - March 3, 2009 "A man's age is something impressive, it sums up his life: maturity reached slowly and against many obstacles, illnesses cured, griefs and despairs overcome, and unconscious risks taken; maturity formed through so many desires, hopes, regrets, forgotten things, loves. A man's age represents a fine cargo of experiences and memories." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wartime Writings 1939-1944, translated from French by Norah Purcell My view on aging was transformed almost 15 years ago, one of the odd little "gifts" of receiving a cancer diagnosis. I was 42 years old and I and most of my peers were struggling with having just turned 40. I was certainly becoming aware of the truth of Hank Aaron's wry observation: "When you reach forty you can't do anything every day." The body simply isn't what it was at 20. Then my own body surprised me with a big whammy: breast cancer at a relatively young age. I remember that my discomfort with middle age was changed literally overnight to a desperate longing to have as many birthdays as I could, to pile them up and to see my 50's, my 60's and beyond. Today is my 57th birthday. It's a remarkable achievement and blessing, and it's caused me to do some "summing up" of my own life internally. I realize that in the world of statistical probabilities and metastatic breast cancer, I am an aberration, an anomaly that flies in the face of the odds. Optimistic as I am, I had not expected to live past the age of 54, in 2006, and that was giving myself a liberal dose of the benefit of the doubt. Even a year ago, on my 56th birthday, I was about to be dismissed from the hospital after an extended stay and another close brush with my own mortality. I was debilitated and there was still a good deal of uncertainty as to my immediate future. And yet, here I am! I am still engaged in the dance a year later, and the band doesn't yet seem to be tearing down to leave. Two weeks ago in our therapy group for those of us with advanced breast cancer, we were discussing life and aging. Two who were talking are in our fifties and have been living with chronic cancer for years. One of the other group members is in her early thirties, five years out from a diagnosis at age 26 and recurrence a few years ago and who is enjoying the uneasy truce of a full remission. At one point, I was reflecting on the unpredictability of this disease and its course, especially when a growing population of us is managing it from year to year with the expansion of treatment options available to us, both conventional and through clinical trials. With this new trial I've been in since Thanksgiving, I've had to make some adjustments to new side effects and to the doctor's goosing the dosage, trying to find a balance between keeping the effectiveness of the drug intact and sparing me difficult symptoms resulting from the chemo. I've thought about friends I've lost. Sometimes when you get to this point in metastatic cancer, it's not the cancer that kills you per se but side effects, toxicities, and opportunistic infections. I've even recently developed some anemia that is a direct result of my red blood cells just getting beaten up by chemo over so much time in treatment. There's always a piper to pay. When I came out of my brief remission after my first recurrence and the prognosis was pretty grim (nearly 6 years ago!), I made a list of things I still wanted to do. Before the movie, I didn't realize that I was making what is now known as "The Bucket List," things you want to do before you kick the bucket. I've done a lot of the things on that list. I'd still like to get to the others, which includes taking the grandkids to Disney World. That's a big dream now on a retirement income, but I won't rule it out. But even more important to me than reviewing my "Bucket List," is the time I've taken recently for some introspection and blessing-counting. I've spent a lot of time lately remembering. I've looked back over my life. I have had such a rich and fulfilling life. I have had the chance to do so many things for work, for service, and for pleasure. I've been a very fortunate person. I have a wonderful husband, a daughter I'm proud of and close to, and stepchildren whom I love and with whom I've forged a warm relationship. I have magnificent grandchildren who bring me so much joy. I have great friends. I have a vital, alive faith that offers personal spiritual growth and a religious community that is a source of support and chances to serve my faith and the larger community. I have done meaningful work since my teenage years and have had a varied, stimulating career history in different settings. I have traveled many times outside the U.S. and have had a first-hand opportunity to experience other cultures and the essential oneness of our human family. I have siblings I love and am close to, despite geographic distance. I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world, with mountains and rivers and natural phenomena that make me happy every day. I've had a few wonderful dogs that loved me extravagantly and unconditionally and gave me hours and hours of companionship and comfort. I've never been rich, but I've always had shelter and something to eat. I've had access to excellent medical care all of my life. I've participated individually and collectively in expressing myself through artistic endeavors. My life has been filled with music and visual art, with dance and theater, with good books and the companionship of those who create art. My God! What a life! Saint-Exupery's words at the beginning of
this essay ring so true to me. He must have felt them deep within
his own soul as well, having had some close brushes with death
as an aviator. He had an elder's wisdom even though he ultimately
died in a plane crash at only 44 years old. As I note this next
mile-marker in my life, this most welcome 57th birthday, I am
not blind to a few regrets and acts of bad judgment along the
way for which it would be nice to have some "do-overs."
But I can truthfully say that if I were to die tonight, I've
had a wonderful, wonderful life. For whatever it took to bring
me to this point, I feel nothing but gratitude. I'm at peace.
|
||||||||||||||
