She stepped up to the microphone, cleared her throat, peered out at the audience (who responded with chair shifting and anticipatory laughter), put down her book, adjusted the mic, and she promptly turned around to take a drink. Seriously. Sneaking a look up at all of us, her fellow choir members, with a crookedy knowing smile, she turned. We were hers. They were hers and she knew it. It was a moment of sheer impossible audacity. She could have read the phone book and people would have sat at the end of their seat, would have leaned in rapt attention, we would have let go and laughed. It was beautiful.
My friend Meta is a stitch and a person for whom i hold deep love. When she let me, and her other 73 good friends, know she had cancer I knew I would shaved my head to be with her. "You are not going any where I can't go" I replied when she opened the door that evening. While obviously tinged with false bravado it was/is the only act of faith I can concretely give her from 600 miles away. Meta had been through cancer before, she was in our home when my beloved partner Mike died. So it is important to me that we both know that hers is not the same story.
What is it like to sit this image of a comedian who has audiences waiting for her words next to the image of courage that cancer demands of you. Cancer sucks, not only for the obvious reasons - like, oh yeah death or dismemberment - cancer sucks because it invades every pore of your life. The very dust of your home becomes ladened with fear that did not exist a moment before. What are the numbers this week, what do they mean, how do we get them to change. The sun shining through the trees suddenly seen from your bed in the middle of the day. The hushed voices, the people all saying things will be OK, the books that once gave you comfort are too heavy, the food that filled you and made you feel whole tastes like a bad penny. So many things change. You also get to live for a brief and honest moment when it is clear - every moment - clear what matters.
My friend Meta amazes me. OK that seem obvious. I have come to expect to be amazed by people who are moving courageously through life - but Meta does this "thing" in the same way that she delivered that speech. Meta laughs, she lets other people laugh, she takes her time, she is audacious - she will not let cancer define who she is. Just like my Mike, Meta seems to say with her very life - cancer may claim more than I ever want - but it will NOT claim the me of me that is me to my core. Meta will now be someone who has survived cancer, but that will not always be the thing with which she leads a conversation. Because of this, when she reaches for the mic and turns and smiles I will not think solely of her as someone who once lost her hair to survive.
OK cancer sucks, and it is a reality that we live with. This week my friend is tired. So if you pray - I am going to ask you to pray. Pray that she sees her balding head as beautiful, pray that she claims her way (not mine not yours), pray that food tastes good, pray that her bones carry her, pray that the walk to her friends is not too long, pray that she laughs, and finally pray what you know she might need.
That night with the microphone, well later, sitting around in the after glow, I asked her about that thing she did to make people laugh and wait and lean in, that thing that she does so well. Meta said that she has learned that she can take her time. That people will wait to laugh, to be together, to be seen, acknowledged, drawn out, drawn upon, and will wait because ultimately we trust.
Hmm a microphone might be the best teacher for how to sit with cancer - who knew.
My friend Meta is a stitch and a person for whom i hold deep love. When she let me, and her other 73 good friends, know she had cancer I knew I would shaved my head to be with her. "You are not going any where I can't go" I replied when she opened the door that evening. While obviously tinged with false bravado it was/is the only act of faith I can concretely give her from 600 miles away. Meta had been through cancer before, she was in our home when my beloved partner Mike died. So it is important to me that we both know that hers is not the same story.
What is it like to sit this image of a comedian who has audiences waiting for her words next to the image of courage that cancer demands of you. Cancer sucks, not only for the obvious reasons - like, oh yeah death or dismemberment - cancer sucks because it invades every pore of your life. The very dust of your home becomes ladened with fear that did not exist a moment before. What are the numbers this week, what do they mean, how do we get them to change. The sun shining through the trees suddenly seen from your bed in the middle of the day. The hushed voices, the people all saying things will be OK, the books that once gave you comfort are too heavy, the food that filled you and made you feel whole tastes like a bad penny. So many things change. You also get to live for a brief and honest moment when it is clear - every moment - clear what matters.
My friend Meta amazes me. OK that seem obvious. I have come to expect to be amazed by people who are moving courageously through life - but Meta does this "thing" in the same way that she delivered that speech. Meta laughs, she lets other people laugh, she takes her time, she is audacious - she will not let cancer define who she is. Just like my Mike, Meta seems to say with her very life - cancer may claim more than I ever want - but it will NOT claim the me of me that is me to my core. Meta will now be someone who has survived cancer, but that will not always be the thing with which she leads a conversation. Because of this, when she reaches for the mic and turns and smiles I will not think solely of her as someone who once lost her hair to survive.
OK cancer sucks, and it is a reality that we live with. This week my friend is tired. So if you pray - I am going to ask you to pray. Pray that she sees her balding head as beautiful, pray that she claims her way (not mine not yours), pray that food tastes good, pray that her bones carry her, pray that the walk to her friends is not too long, pray that she laughs, and finally pray what you know she might need.
That night with the microphone, well later, sitting around in the after glow, I asked her about that thing she did to make people laugh and wait and lean in, that thing that she does so well. Meta said that she has learned that she can take her time. That people will wait to laugh, to be together, to be seen, acknowledged, drawn out, drawn upon, and will wait because ultimately we trust.
Hmm a microphone might be the best teacher for how to sit with cancer - who knew.
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