On This Thanksgiving

 

"Optimism is really rooted in gratitude."

~ Michael J. Fox 

As this third Thanksgiving since John died approaches, I find myself with a sense of optimism I have not felt for many months.  Surprisingly so, considering this past year filled with a global pandemic, isolation, political unrest, and the rampant fear, anxiety, and anger that resulted.  But reading this quote by the actor, Michael J. Fox, makes so much sense to me because in spite of daily upsets and conspiracy theories, in spite of constant "the sky is falling" and threats and recriminations, I have managed somehow to record 3-5 statements of gratitude every night.  On only one occasion were the statements a repeat of "I made it through the day."  And though not always optimistic, I know the practice kept me from despair.

Were John alive, we would have engaged with a Thanksgiving ritual of taking turns expressing what we were grateful for over the past year.  This year, I will initiate the ritual with my sister and brother-in-law with whom I am staying while I await the availability of my own apartment in the rolling hills of central NY.  For, this, in itself, is certainly one of the most important items on my year's list of gratitudes.  

I offer my list in the hope that it will trigger yours, initiate the possibility that you will adopt this ritual, and conclude with a feeling of optimism for the coming year.

This year I am grateful for:

• having made it without contracting the virus
• having friends who were as careful as I was, thus never endangering me
• the technology that made it, and will make it, possible for us to stay in contact, possibly the silver lining in this mess
• the e-mails and jokes that brought moments of laughter and respite from the steady stream of vitriol on the airwaves and social media
• my circle of "sisters" - you know who you are - who message every morning and every evening to stay in touch, just in case
• dessert sunsets in Utah
• autumn colors in NY
• the constant companionship of my sweet rescue dog, Rufus
• having sold my home in UT in 2 days
• the incredible efforts of support from friends who were there when I most needed them and helped to make the move a success in a very short time
• the kind notes and e-mails that acknowledged the contributions I tried to make to my little Utah community and the many friendships I forged in the process;  the notes and e-mails from old friends to encourage and cheer me on
• a safe automobile journey across the country, thanks to the chauffeuring of a young friend and the absence of snow
• her continued help in tying up loose ends; I never could have pulled this off without her
• the care and generosity of my sister and brother-in-law, especially his wonderful cooking and both of their patience and tutelage as I learn my way around newer technology and newer environs
• getting to know them at a different level, growing to love and appreciate them even more
• chocolate covered blueberries and glasses of chilled white wine
• finding an apartment that meets all of my criteria 
• the unexpected kindnesses of strangers, strangers who are willing to wear masks
• the prospect of seeing old friends I haven't seen in years and family I have yet to meet
• being with my sister on the second anniversary of John's death, she who was with us that night
• warm memories that bring smiles now instead of tears
• being in the position to explore the area, make new friends, strengthen family ties, indulge in hobbies - how fortunate am I?
• and last, but most certainly not least, the e-mail from an old friend on the day I was questioning my decision to move, wondering what lies ahead of me, filled with doubts and misgivings.  Her kind assurance that John would surely say, "that's my Angie", was the perfect boost. I, too, know he would. 

With so much to be grateful for, how could I not be optimistic?  

.

 

 

Random Acts of Kindness

"Unexpected kindness is the most powerful, least costly, most underrated agent of human change."

~ Bob Kerrey

I woke this morning to a damp and dreary day. A good day to rest, read, and reflect - especially since we are still recouping from our recent trip to MD Anderson Cancer Center.

This trip can take a lot out of us. It's not just that air travel has become more difficult. It's also the emotional stress of not knowing what we might hear from the hematologist, the physical stress of pushing John everywhere in a wheelchair, the physical stress for him of yet another bone marrow biopsy.  And when we're done, managing another day of travel and our morale for at least another week until we receive the biopsy report.

We've made this trip three times within 17 months. Each with a similar routine, yet each yielding radically different reactions. The first visit we met with the hematologist assigned to us, an austere Russian trained research physician, whose honesty bordered on bluntness, a shocking confrontation with reality while we were already shell-shocked. By our second visit, she was warmer, gentler, but the news she delivered still bleak and unpromising. Still no cure on the horizon. No appropriate clinical trials available. And her concern for John's appearance disconcerting. The biopsy took two attempts, and the results still were inconclusive. Overall, every bit as challenging a visit. Maybe even more so.

It was a surprise, therefore, when we both affirmed as we left our accommodations that this trip was a much more positive experience even though we couldn't pinpoint why at first. Yes, our doctor was even warmer, more personable, more patient with our questions, clearer with her answers.  But still no cure, no appropriate clinical trials. The biopsy went smoother. But still no results yet.

And then it hit us in the airport as someone offered to help with our luggage. This what was different. The constant stream of kindness that had enveloped us the entire trip. People who lifted luggage without being asked. People who held doors and offered help with the wheelchair. People who not only gave directions but walked with us to be sure we were headed the right way - and not because they were paid to do so. People who smiled first. People who genuinely seemed pleased to see us and willing to listen. People who reminded me with every gesture that there are wonderful, kind and decent people all around us.

Simple, unrequested, unexpected acts of kindness. I'd like to think I would always be aware of and grateful for them. But I suspect they have meant so much more because I am so much more aware of our fragility, so much more susceptible to cynicism and despair. Powerful, inexpensive but not underrated in this household.

*If you found this helpful or know someone who might, please share and like my page.

I

It Was a Very Good Day

"How beautiful a day can be when kindness touches it."

~ George Elliston

I made a promise to myself at Thanksgiving that this holiday season, possibly our last together, would be one of our best, something for John to brighten his days, something to cherish for the rest of my life.  I made lists of possible activities, moments that could qualify as special, places we enjoy, meals I'd prepare - and I don't like to cook.  That weekend I took extra care to create festive touches in every room, even the bathrooms.  I spent an entire day just on the Christmas tree.  And crossed my fingers, hoping that my vision would become reality in the following weeks.  Hoping I'd hear him say that this was the best holiday ever.

Then, unexpectedly, unplanned, the telephone call from old friends, friends of three-plus decades.  Friends whose wedding we stood up for 32 years ago, friends whose conversations pick up where they left off even if months go by without contact.  Could they come out for a visit?  

They arrived last week.  And we did what old friends do - got caught up on each other's lives, shared wine, ate out, gossiped, laughed, reminisced, offered help without being asked for it, wished we lived closer.  And each of the three nights they were here, John commented to me, "This was such a nice day."  

Each day was a nice day, but I will cherish one in particular.  The two men went off for the day, a special treat for John, a day to spend with this man who in many ways has been as much a younger brother as a friend.  A chance to say things he might not say to me for wanting to protect me.  A chance to say what each needed to say in case this would be the last time they saw each other.

And they did just that.  When I asked John what they had talked about, at first he answered simply, "Love."  And then, "Of our love for one another and our special bond and how much I have touched his life." And then, "I cannot tell you what that meant to me.  To know I made such a difference to such a good man."  

There are other memories to create this holiday, but we have already had our Christmas.  John's days are brighter, I will always remember our conversation and cherish the man whose kindness and support made it possible.  A very good day, indeed.

*If you found this helpful or know someone who might, please share and like my page.

Cherish Is the Word

The word cherish is in my reading vocabulary, but not much in my speaking or writing.  Oh, I had promised it would be 15 years ago when I fought breast cancer and realized how many people cared about me.  When I noticed how much I hadn't noticed.  When I vowed I would be more present, more attentive, more grateful.  When I realized how much I had to not only be grateful for, but to cherish and cherish deeply.  For, to be grateful for a red rose or a pretty sunset, to be glad a friend called can become an intellectual exercise, a momentary acknowledgment, a good habit, but a habit nonetheless.  

My intention was confirmed and reaffirmed when, two years later, John was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins, and he received his stem cell transplant.  And survived.

I'd like to say I've lived the dozen or so years since then having kept my promise to myself, but I haven't.  I became distracted, caught up with retirement, and moving, and planning and preparing, more everyday tasks and chores.  I didn't even catch myself up short when John was diagnosed again a year ago.  After all, more tasks to get our "house in order."  More planning and preparation.

Then, last weekend a series of sweet, small events gave me pause.  Telephone calls from old and new friends to see how we are holding up.  To remind me they are here for us.  A visit with dear friends who were about to move.  And another from friends we left behind when we moved.  Hugs and words of endearment and encouragement.  And tears that flowed for days - with sadness and gratitude.  So much, so many to cherish.  How could I have forgotten?

Why does it take a crisis for some of us to remember?  To cherish what we have now.  To cherish deeply what we have now.

When You Need Somebody - Part I

"Tell us - from friends, loved ones, and even acquaintances- what does help/support/relief/kindness really look like?"

I've been mulling this question from my friend, John G., for the past few days.  He suggested the answer might make a good post here.  After giving it a lot of consideration, here's my first attempt.  Not a definitive description because I don't think there is one.  At least I don't have one.   What I will share, for now,  is what I am learning about support.

~ What support looks like not only varies from person to person but also for any one person, depending on the challenge and when it appears.  When John was battling non-Hodgkins, we lived in Houston, in an apartment near the hospital.  I didn't have to cook or clean and we were 12 years younger.  I needed very little physical help as compared to today.  But I could have used more emotional support; maybe I just didn't understand that I did as much as I do today?

~ There may many people who will offer to be of help, and though some may offer only as a courtesy, no one is a mind reader.  Unless someone knows you very, very well, they cannot know what you might need and what you will accept. Even if they know, a new situation may require a level or kind of support neither of you recognizes.  I've found it helpful to me and those who would support me to list all the ways someone could help me physically, intellectually and emotionally.  It led me to make many requests I would not have otherwise - asking our window cleaner if he would take down all items from upper shelves so that neither of us needs to use a ladder anymore, replying to a friend who asked me what could lift my spirits that day -"flowers", or to another "a regular luncheon date at a spa."

~Which brings me to my last point (for now), and perhaps the most important - support, help, assistance, however you refer to it, is as much related to whether or how well you accept it as to whether or not it is offered.  In the past, my pride was an obstacle to receiving the support I wanted.  Sometimes, I thought it a sign of weakness or incompetence to admit I needed help.  Sometimes, I'm embarrassed to say, I thought I could do it all or better. Experience has taught me otherwise. Sometimes I just didn't know what I needed. And sometimes, even today, I get too overwhelmed, too caught up in anxiety and fear to even recognize what is being offered.

Well, John, my friend, your question has instigated some serious thought. I recognized even as I started to compose my reply that there is much more I want to add - so there will be a Part II.  In the meantime, I welcome comments, questions, and other ideas.  Support each other?  What a wonderful idea.

I Hope Life Has Been Good to Her

I haven't thought about her for years.  I doubt she would remember the dinner she prepared 40 years ago as a favor for a mutual friend who was deeply concerned for me and thought she could be of help.  In the midst of debilitating panic at the prospects of living alone for the first time after a nasty divorce, I, too, was concerned, and thus, very grateful for the invitation.  Hoping she, indeed, could be of help.  

I don't remember her name.  I'll call her Sara. Our friend said Sara was ahead of me in the stream of 70's divorcees, swimming with grace and serenity.  Walking into her home, I could feel the peacefulness immediately.  After our meal, she got straight to the point. This I remember vividly.  "Mike says you are struggling with living alone and hopes I can offer some good advice.  Well, I'm no expert, but these three things work for me, a career I love, friends of the same sex, and hobbies or interests that fill the empty hours."  Simple. Straight to the point.

Well, I was teaching and loved it. I had a group of female friends from among neighbors and colleagues, who supported, and worried about me. But hobbies, interests? All my interests had been directed by my ex. So I thanked her, not adequately I'm sure, and set out to develop my own hobbies. And never saw her again. I eventually settled on needlepoint,  needle pointing a pillow for everyone I knew. Eventually, settled into a modicum of comfort in my singleness, but more importantly, gained the confidence that I could and would do so eventually with my own style of grace and serenity.

So what triggered this memory?  No single comment or event, but rather a series of events that took place this week.  A week of daily contact with friends, old and new. A week of sharing memories, tears, laughter, good food, serious conversation, fears and hopes and even a few interesting possibilities for the future.  A week that has culminated with suddenly remembering Sara and thinking of how, 40 years later, I would respond to her advice.

Some of the contacts this week were extemporaneous - e-mails, Facebook posts, a telephone call - from friends acquired along my career path, some friendships over 25 years old. Others - the newer St. George friendships - had been planned for some time.  My monthly luncheon date with a friend in her 80's, who shared her dream of seeing Alaska some day, and opened the possibility that we might do that together.  The next day, lunch at a local spa with a friend in her 50's, Grasshopper to my Sensei. Discussing my plans for the future, she sparked an idea for a  project I could become passionate about.  Asked how she might be of personal support in the days ahead, we committed to a monthly luncheon, at the spa, of course.

Then, there were the gatherings.  A monthly meeting of a group that has been meeting for two years now, pulled together in the hopes that these women would be a bastion of support in the inevitable life crises that, indeed, have begun to emerge.  Aging from 65 to 82, with a fount of knowledge and expertise and a bottomless well of compassion, they have become the haven we hoped for two years ago. For me, for sure. Then, today, lunch with friends to discuss Hillbilly Elegy, four "senior citizens" who share a love of reading and learning, 

So, how would I respond to Sara's advice today? At 76, retired, with perhaps too many hobbies, I would say friendship has become the most important, enduring element for me in living a satisfying life, whether alone or with a mate.  I would add, that especially as I have aged, I value a web of friends of different generations and different interests.  That though it is tempting, especially in today's divisive, hostile environment, to surround myself only with people who think and believe as I do, the diversity of age, interests, and viewpoints keeps me engaged and invigorated. That I need friends to cry with, and friends to laugh with, too. That I need friends who share a piece of my history, friends who nurture me in the present, and friends who help me face the future.

I take comfort in knowing I have created just such an elaborate web of friendships over the years, largely by remarkable good fortune, surely not by conscious design.  I don't know how Sara has fared.  If she would amend her advice as I have.  I hope life has been good to her. I hope she is surrounded by a web of loving, nurturing, diverse friendships.

LOL

"the most wasted of all days is one without laughter"

~ ee cummings

As someone who can be too serious and thus, tend to worry and fret, laughter, even a simple smile, is a lifeline to a modicum of serenity.  Especially these days in this world with the health challenges we are facing. Laughter brings me back to center.  It reminds me to be grateful for what I have.  Who I have in my life.

I thank my lucky stars that I married a man who values humor and sends me laugh out loud e-mails almost every day.  And I thank my lucky stars that I have friends who share silly FB posts that always bring a smile if not an outright belly laugh.  (Pat, that's for you!) I'm so grateful for the late night comics who can find or create humor from a situation that otherwise stirs up angst and anger.  And special thanks to all my friends and my brother and sister who, when we speak, manage to get me to laugh at something, anything.  My days would be darker without all of you.

So, I conclude this brief post with one man's witty observations on aging.  Hope you get a laugh or two, or at least an occasional smile.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/LR2qZ0A8vic?rel=0

Out of Crisis Comes...

"Often out of crisis comes this enormous wellspring of generosity and motivation."  

~ Josh Fox

We know from past experience the truth of this quote.  I retain many of the 100+ angels that were sent to me when I had cancer.  Although I am a confirmed agnostic, I do believe that the prayers offered when John battled Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, contributed to his survival, if nothing else, because he knew he was being supported, even by people he did not know.  And that contributed to his will to survive, in spite of a poor prognosis.

Even with our past experiences, we are profoundly touched by the outpouring of concern and offers of assistance we are receiving from across the country.  Many have asked what they can do to help.  I know there is plenty of advice out there that you should just do what you can because people in the midst of crisis often don't know what they need.  We certainly don't know the extent of what we might need yet.  

Some folks have gone through a challenge of their own and have a sense of what might be helpful.  A card from old friends who had heard our news through the grapevine came unexpectedly and that was touching.  Several friends have sent well wishes and prayers - always welcome.  A friend and a family member who have special medical expertise continue to provide translation of medical terms, insight into possible treatment, and research into other options.  Another who knows me well, knows how I tend to think and react, is a good sounding board as I contemplate important decisions.   Sometimes, a simple offer...like "what would make the day easier today and can I get or do that for you", as one dear friend recently queried, may be the sweetest gesture in and of itself, needing no response other than thank you for the offer.  And anything that brings a smile, or better yet a laugh, is a treasure.

But it is more than fine with us that you offer and then wait for our requests.  We are leaving tomorrow for MD Anderson in Houston. We will make more specific requests once we have more information.  For now, your prayers, moral support, positive thoughts and wishes are deeply appreciated.

First Things First...

"Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work; a future."

~ David Whyte

   Consolations

Because I hope you will follow our journey and share our thoughts with others, and because these will be strangers to us, I feel it only fitting to profile who we are and why this chronicle is important to us and, hopefully, to others.

John and I have been married for 33 years (must be comfortable because we both forgot our anniversary this year!)  We met in the summer of 1980 "in a bar in Kansas City."  Just as the song says.  I was an elementary principal at the time, he the Director of Corporate Engineering for a Fortune 500 company.  Both divorced, neither with children, neither intending to marry again.

We were married in Cleveland, Ohio, two and a half years later.  Within a year, John was transferred to Santa Barbara where I created a small boutique training/coaching firm that became my passion for the next 25 years, and he eventually created a small firm specializing in the abatement of asbestos and lead based paint.  That's the raw data.

In some respects, we are quite different.  He loves country and I like - almost anything but. He is a vegetarian, I am not.  He could watch sports all day.  Give me a good mystery.  And then there's politics.  Let's say we cancel each other's vote.  But we are partners, and the medical crises, of which we have experienced our fair share, have forged that partnership. We love each other, yes.  But as important, we like, trust and respect each other.

We have both battled cancer.  Breast cancer for me and non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma for John. The latter was put into remission with a stem cell transplant at MD Anderson 11 years ago. The same MD Anderson we will be visiting next week for further testing, prognosis, and treatment recommendations for the rare blood cancer with which John was diagnosed this week.

We are dedicated to facing this head on as we have faced every other challenge together. With the prayers and assistance of an incredible network of support.  With dignity and a healthy dose of realistic optimism. Learning whatever we can to make the most responsible decisions we can. And with a desire to contribute to each other and to others who are or may be facing a similar challenge.  It is our hope that by writing about our journey as we embark upon it, we can add insight and assistance to others now and in the future.  

It Is What It Is!

"A crisis is a terrible thing to waste."
~ Paul Romer

We are facing a health crisis as great, if not greater, than any we have faced before.  We do not yet know the full extent of this crisis other than what we have just learned from the preliminary results of John's bone marrow biopsy.  He has been diagnosed with a rare blood cancer that will require further information as to prognosis and treatment.  We do not have a clue as to what good could come from this.  But we do trust that something will.

It is out of our desire to create something good from this crisis for ourselves and for others that John agrees we should share our journey here.  Not that we intend to share intimate details, or rage against the universe, or wring our hands in despair. For it is what it is. But this is a blog about aging, and medical crisis and how one deals with it is one of the most challenging aspects of aging I observe. And am now experiencing.

So, in the weeks and months ahead I will be sharing the lessons we are learning, hoping that they will be of help and support to others who are faced with a similar challenge. And hoping you will share with us also - questions, comments, the lessons you've learned.  Let's learn together.

That's What Friends Are For

Having just reread my last post, I wish I had concluded it with this cartoon - 

For younger readers, this is Joe Btfsplk, Al Capp's little carrier of doom and gloom, an inhabitant of Li'l Abner's town of Dogpatch.  I see him at the periphery of my vision whenever I feel the degree of dismay I was expressing some nine days ago.  Fortunately, he doesn't visit me very often, and fortunately, he has returned home.

What's changed?  Not much out there in the world, sad to say.  In fact, there's been more stories of terrorist attacks, more non-sense, continued murder and mayhem, vile and bile, even in this short period.  What has changed, however, are my mood and morale in spite of it all - thanks to some help from my friends.

Friends take many forms and I've been blessed to be visited by a few this past week.  There are the old friends, one that I've cherished for over 40 years and another for almost 30.  The old and tried relationships that have been there through divorce and illness, the passing of parents, the challenges with children.  The friends with whom I can pick up a conversation after a gap of months, even years, and it's as comfortable and comforting as though we just had a slumber party.  The friends who remind me that I have overcome obstacles and crisis and am stronger and more resilient than I may think I am.  The friends who called just to check in and who listen through filters of shared history and memories and values.

There are the new friends, friends who seem to enjoy and value who I am today, wrinkles and warts and all.  One who, by sending a book with a slightly sacrilegious and wholly hilarious inscription , brought a belly laugh in spite of my mood.  One who shared a morning with bright and eager eighth grade girls, reminding us both that opportunities are so much better for them than they were for us at their age...progress!   Or another, who listening to my litany of dismay reminded me to return to what I know works for me - turn off the news, watch something pleasant and uplifting, read a good book, look and listen for the positive, focus on what I can control, remember to be grateful.

And the three I cherish most - my husband who accepts me just as I am, cheerful, anxious, upset, remote, frustrated, angry - room for it all, without a shred of judgment or criticism.  My 'baby' sister who has become close friend and trusted confidante over gaps of distance and age and circumstances, and my brother who knows better than anyone alive today why I am so committed to being optimistic, especially when it is challenging to do so.  Each was there this week.  Each listened and each cared.

I'd like to think I have long appreciated the importance of friendship, been grateful for the men and women I am blessed to call friends, but this week has added a new depth of understanding.  Friends, old and new may never be as important as in these last years of our lives, when the impersonal insecurities of a changing, tense and frightening world intersect with our personal physical and emotional challenges.  

So, I have declared a recess from the news.  I have been watching musicals and reruns of The Golden Girls and Murder She Wrote.  I'm reading a good book, focusing on what I can control - and being grateful for good friends.