Tiny White Box–Thoughts on Life, Death, Recovery, and Other Mundane Topics

Earth, You’re Too Wonderful for Anybody to Realize You

Thank you.

THANK YOU.

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!

(I’ll tell you more about the above, but I don’t want to bury the lede any deeper.)

I sat down with my oncologist this morning, waiting to find out if the sword would fall on me, if the last six months as a cancer patient would end or veer off into terminal territory.  Having finished chemotherapy a month ago, and gone through a PET scan last week, I sat with my doctor, who gave me the best possible news: my lung cancer is fully in remission. Apparently, the winter of side effects—exhaustion, memory problems, word retrieval challenges—has paid off.

Please excuse the rest of this column. I take pride in my contrarian nature, in my ability to identify clouds on any horizon. Today, though, is not a day for me to be philosophical or intellectual. It’s a day to freaking celebrate!

Did I mention I don’t have cancer?

Thank you to all the residents of and recent immigrants to Hope Nation. The texts I didn’t respond to, the phone messages you left, and the prayers you threw up. They made a difference.

The cancer is gone.

Thank you to all the members of the larger recovery community—from recovery center directors and staff—to people I’ve met in church basements to the newest newcomer who gave me hugs.

An incredible weight is now lifted.

Thank you to God, to my Higher Power, to that Big Joker in the Sky. Call it what you will, there is a power at the center of the universe that appears to answer prayers, respond to positivity and care about us. This healing is evidence of that.

I can now think about the future without trying to determine whether it will last for three months or into the indefinite time I have left.

Thank you to all, each and every one of the people I’ve been in contact with since I first got the diagnosis. Each of you has taught me something, even the jerks. Especially the jerks.

I can now start looking to work again, in some fashion or other. 

Thank you to all the old high school friends who’ve expressed support and encouragement. Who would have thought, almost 50 years ago, that I, voted Class Clown and Class Revolutionary and who graduated 103rd in a class of 105, would be remembered fondly? Likewise with Army friends, some of whom it took me a lot of mental prodding to remember. I did finish my four-year term and got out as an E-5, but I’m unclear how folks even knew I was alive.

A planned family trip to Sedona with my wife and three daughters will now be celebratory rather than a preparation for a funeral.

Thank you, most of all to those same four people. Becca, Meri, Libby and Elena, you have been my power when I felt powerless, my fonts of joy when despair flooded me.

I can now write again, one gift I treasure among all others.

Thank you to all the people I haven’t mentioned. Each person who’s tossed up a prayer, sent me good vibes or even just shaken their heads in sympathy when they heard of my situation.

I’m going to close with a soliloquy from “Our Town,” one of the first plays I was in. Emily, a young woman who’s just died in childbirth, is transitioned briefly into the land of the living, to relive her 12th birthday. She sees her family at the breakfast table and is overcome at how little they look, really LOOK at each other. Heartbroken, she asks to return to the afterlife. Here’s part of her final speech.

“Wait! One more look. Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover’s Corners. Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking. And Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”