Don’t Even Say the Word Cuz Then You Make It a Reality

When a loved one has cancer.

You start thinking about lots of things.

Like why it takes weeks and weeks for procedures – and for medical staff to get back to you with results. And then when they do get back to you the cancer has gotten worse since its first discovery. You think about “beating it” – about how zillions of dollars has been poured into research and still, there is cancer among us. And no real answers about how to beat it. “Every case is different.”

You think about not telling anyone, otherwise you make it a reality. Hell, don’t even say the word out loud because then you give it some sort of power. If you keep it under wraps to some degree, then you almost believe it’ll just disappear like a bad report card.

You think about that feeling that’s constantly emanating from you –  fear. Real fear. You try to push away the gnawing dread in your solar plexus. You try to act happy at others’ parties or get-togethers, yet front-of-mind-awareness of your loved one’s condition has made a pretty sizable presence.

You think about how connected you are to the person. Like it must be some sort of titanium-strength chain and even though you don’t talk about that connection to people, you damn well know it’s there. It’s important, that connection. It’s friggin necessary. It is an actual life-line. You count on its existence.

You don’t think about the worst scenario. Well, sometimes it pops up, but you push it back down. You say to everyone who knows, “be positive.”  You refer to things like The Secret and “Ask and ye shall receive” or some kind of Deepak Chopra something-or-other.

Don’t Even Count on Divine Providence

I don’t believe in Divine Providence or luck. And I certainly don’t believe God says, “hey, just for ha-ha’s, I’m gonna give this good person cancer.” I don’t believe God decides to kill off humans or give them diseases or puts them in harm’s way. But I do believe, as individuals, we have a hand in our destinies. I  believe the term, “God helps those who help themselves” which really means – get off your butt and do something proactive. Help yourself to better health by DOING SOMETHING.  It’s the how – that’s the tricky part. You can tell the person with illness, “hey, it’s your life – do something, fight, be positive.” But how do you really convince that person that being positive is the way? After all, you are not in their shoes.

How do you become your own Divine Providence? There must be ways. Your path is malleable. Mold it to what you want. It’s gonna take some real work. You’re gonna have to obliterate fear, that’s number one. Make your destiny. That I believe. There are other things you can do like fighting negative feelings, researching, making yourself educated on the topic, calling for professional opinions, reaching out to key people.

Kenny Loggins. I believe him when he says, “Are you gonna wait for a sign, your miracle – Stand up and fight.” Hell yea. Fight. That should probably be number two.

The First Real-Live Saint in Connecticut

Sylvia Dix. She was an ideal human, one to emulate, if that was even possible. She was vibrant, nurturing, kind, giving, loving and would do absolutely anything for anyone. Her voice was gentle, and when she spoke, sweet sing-songy words came from her. She guided me in my career and offered a perspective that helped shape my grander point of view. She sensed when I was down and gave me a shoulder of comfort like a storybook mother who had only love in her heart. She made me feel important, special and like my life mattered, even though I was a self-centered 24-year-old at the time. That woman was a selfless saint. Indeed, I’ve never met anyone similar to Sylvia. In 1999 she died of cancer at the age of 67.

Okay, if a person like Sylvia could get cancer and die from it…then certainly no one is safe from this disease. Cancer must be a happenstance. Oh sure some people probably ate red dye number whatever or did some other cell-growing no-no like smoking, but the last several people I know who got cancer lived pretty clean lives. Recently I mentioned to an acquaintance how a 27-year-old friend was being treated for breast cancer. The acquaintance replied, “that’s how old I was when I got it. Been cancer-free 35 year now.” So yea, I know it’s not a death sentence, but it certainly makes one question a lot of things. However, I’m not gonna bother with the question of why. It’s a useless question. I asked that a lot back when Sylvia died, but no more. I’m moving on to more productive questions.

Fuck Fear

Those times when I become a victim of my thoughts, fear invades my core. I fear for my loved one. I fear for others. So, I work at replacing fear with joy by thinking of wonderful memories I had with my loved one. Great Moments in Hist-TEE-ry (Tee – from a school nickname I used to have). Like camping with my parents and siblings in Bishop, California and looking up at the stars – or fishing in the Pacific Ocean with my parents, or riding my brand new Huffy 3-speed down Braddock Street and feeling free, or that Christmas where we got a color TV and I thought we were rich then, getting ice cream cones from DQ, or my dad reading in his deep voice The Call of the Wild to us in motels we stayed in along the route from San Diego to Washington state or seeing my dad for the first time after he had been away for months in Vietnam or Okinawa or Lebanon. And I think about our most recent conversations, and said loved one showing me the things he created with wood and saws, describing all the various types of woods and their grains – the stages of gluing, layering, and assembling. In my head I’m thinking, “where did he get the patience to do this?” and “what can I do to show my love for his craft…what kind of surprise can I put together?” I ended up getting a gift card and some trinkets from Harbor Freight, also known as his home-away-from-home.

Sometimes I think of Sylvia. I see her like before, and she’s smiling in a real-June-Cleever-kind-of-way, and she touches me on the shoulder in my imagination and says, “it’s gonna be alright.” I believe in Saint Sylvia. Fear – gone.