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In pursuit of: celebration

Last night I celebrated a success in the life of a friend.  The evening made me think about the act of celebrating which may seem easy but is actually quite complicated.

Celebrating brings success into the light of scrutiny. When celebrating I must pause to reflect on the process of success. I must acknowledge the  moments I could have done better; the struggles; and the people who got me from beginning to end.  It creates an opportunity to honor, apologize and grow.

Celebrating accomplishment may also be difficult for those who watched the success.  It can be a struggle to stand beside someone as she rises from “the norm”.  When one minute, you stand shoulder-to-shoulder, then circumstances drive one of you forward; or circumstances pulls one of you backward.

Personally, I struggle with the frivolity of celebrating a moment.  To spend money and make an effort simply to bring attention to something I already know, am living, and working through.

Whatever our reasoning against celebration, we should not be deterred. Celebration should be a part of our lives.  Each season of life slides into our present and slips away into a forgotten past.  Each season is beautiful but outside of a few snapshots, there is rarely a beacon reminding us of our own history.

When weather changes come and go year after year, we have signs to look for.  There are dates on the calendar indicating an end and a beginning.  There are signs in the vegetation that trigger our memories of seasons past.  The seasons of life are subtle, but perhaps if we take a moment to acknowledge a beginning and an end; perhaps if we learn to mark them on our calendars, on our hearts, or in a celebration, we would not be quite so fearful when we find ourselves starting again.

If we embrace the changes in our own life, then we are able, to truly celebrate the life of others. The beautiful, complete success in a sister’s life may overlap with the most difficult season of mine, but there should be nothing but joy in our celebration.  Her success reminds me that my season will change.   My cold winter will slowly melt into new green blades of grass pushing up through a frozen tundra.  Then, before I know it, the fields of my life will also be vibrant.

All seasons work together and form the landscape of our life.  If we embrace each season, we will find ourselves ready, at the beginning and at the end.   My suggestion for us is: whatever season you find yourself, celebrate, for change is in the air.

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Beauty, a reflection

I have looked into the mirror and found something lacking.

I do not miss the eyebrows for the sake of brows; or a hairline for the sake of a line.

The lacking lies in a bigger search. A search for what we call beauty.

But as I have grown comfortable with my reflection, whatever that may be, I realize there is more to the word; which is something I may have forgotten for a moment or two.

There is a beauty that comes from a sense of home; from a pleasant word, or phrase spoken in a familiar tone.

There is the smell of onions in butter with a translucent garlic swirling in a copper pan.

A dark velvet pillow that draws you deeper into the couch and urges you to lean back on the one beside you.

There is a comfort in a garden, in need, that draws your fingers into the earth for a gentle touch to loosen the roots.

There is a joy that comes from a place that is forgiving and loving and learning to be kind.

There is a bravery in being needed, wanted, always sought after.

There is beauty in being favored; a confidence that rises from being accepted; a purposed stance that comes from an embrace; and confidence leads the way to re-imagining and redefining.

There is beauty in being good and fair, though this may be difficult when your strength is gone.

But remaining pleasant can sometimes be easier when you are worn, for your brain is too slow for sarcasm; your tongue too thick to hurt.  In this moment, beautifully pleasant can be an option, with a simple smile.

If you are in need of a vision of splendor, adorn yourself with embellishments of hats, crowns, and shimmering distractions.

Just remember to walk boldly in the confidence of your other beauties, or all of  the shimmering  will not do the trick.

Finally there is the beauty of finding yourself ready in the moment, in the trial, in the purpose before you.  Finding you are ready, your hour is right, and you are able to flourish;

Hair or no hair.

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Bald is a State of Mind

Written: January 2016

The day I got my hair, my head was covered.

At that moment in time, I would take my shirt off for anyone who asked me to, but my head would remain covered.  On this day, I took a friend and we drove down Highway 4 to pick me out some hair.  In the car, as the sun shone in on the passenger side, I explained that no one had seen me bald.  I didn’t even want to see it myself.  The one piece of my body that was still private.

I had birthed three girls, so I knew the routine of taking off my pants for exams and deliveries.  For the last two months, I had begun taking my shirt off for doctors and nurses and techs.  One doctor would not even close the exam room before she had me strip down in front of her.  No matter who was in the room: friend, family or acquaintance.  Bare breasts were routine.

My head was my own.  My final stand.

Yet on this trip, I knew I would have to release control.  My hat must come off in order for a wig to be put on.  My friend would know my secret.  She would witness my last moment of privacy.  I told her this, as I quietly cried.

We walked into a room of kind older women whose purpose for three hours a week was to outfit bald women, like myself, with hair.  I was by far the youngest woman in the room and my assistant had a hard time finding hair for my generation.

But we did it.  It was not my natural color or length but it worked.  I put it on and it worked.  It felt right and I felt good.

We walked out of the room and I headed to the bathroom.  Wearing my new hair for the first time.  I checked myself out in the mirror, self-conscious, but smiling.  It was a moment. I was empowered.  The gift of normalcy, of fitting in.

A woman entered the bathroom.  She probably caught me checking myself out. In my hand held a bag with a head for the wig to rest on.  We were only five feet from the room that hands out such gifts to women.

She said, “Your hair looks very nice.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“What made you lose your hair?”

“Breast cancer,” I replied.

“My hair won’t grow very long either.  This is as long as it will get.  It has been this way for almost a year now.”

I nodded and smiled.  Being visibly sick is a blessing and a curse.  People see you.  See you differently. If they have a story that in any way aligns with yours, you will hear about it.  Some stories are nice, comforting.  You walk away feeling bonded.  Many people have walked this road.  Each has a story.  Theirs can encourage you.  Surely I can be stronger than some of them!  If they can get through it than I can too.

Some stories are terrible.  Not at all what you want to hear.  Those stories seem to gush from strangers.  It is hard to hear the story from the other side.  The stranger may be saying, “Someone I loved, who was very young is gone. I had planned to spend many beautiful vacations with and share many bottles of wine watching the sunset with her.  And as I stand here and see you, I am reminded of my love for her and I want to give you a bottle of wine in her honor.”  But what I hear is, “A young mom with kids like yours, didn’t catch her cancer early either.  She was your age and died leaving young children who may not even remember their mother at all.  She never watched the sunset with them or me because we were too busy.  You REALLY need to drink a lot of wine to get through this, but, oh yeah, you aren’t allowed too.”

This woman’s story wasn’t about a loved one or cancer.  It was about a health problem that kept her hair from growing.  That was our common point.

So as I stood in the bathroom, still in front of the mirror, with a styrofoam head in my hand, she started talking to me about the empowerment of women.

“There is nothing for you to be embarrassed about.  You are a strong woman with cancer.  Your head is bald but you can be proud of who you are, and where you are in this moment.  Life is about being honest with yourself and others.  You can be boldly, baldly, beautiful.  So, don’t hide behind your wig.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I exited the bathroom, smiled at my friend and headed off to lunch.

At lunch, my hair felt strange brushing up against my face and neck.  It had only been a couple weeks since I had hair but it already felt foreign.  I felt confident at lunch in the nicest neighborhood and walking past all the high-end stores.  We had such a good time we went out for dessert after lunch.  The wig didn’t itch or hurt.  I never really thought about any discomfort.  I would check myself out in every window reflection and think how nice it is to have permanent highlights and bangs that will never need to be trimmed.

That bathroom chat, though, stole some of my joy that day.  There was no way I could have walked past shops and eaten lunch on the town, bald headed.  It wasn’t going to happen.  Men go bald gradually, and if you go bald, that is how it should be.  Instant baldness is not acceptable to the psyche.

Months later, I do acknowledge there is some truth in the bathroom chat.  Hair is a state of mind.

When I am happiest, I wear my hair.  I put on my lipstick and my hair piece.  I stand tall.  I go out for coffee.  I call my mom.  The hair doesn’t make me feel that way.  I simply want to look in the mirror and see a reflection of my heart.

When I am frustrated, and tired of feeling tired, I have absolutely no desire for hair. Nothing will make me more infuriated than the suggestion of wearing hair.  I don’t feel normal. I don’t feel healthy.  I don’t want to be associated with those who walk whole and well.  My body is broken and weak.  I wake up and it is a fight to walk downstairs and a workout to walk up the stairs. I feel bald.  I have been stripped of all that was previously taken for granted.  I look at the calendar and see an endless round of treatments.  I cannot grocery shop or even be left alone with my own children.  Bald resonates with my heart.  I am no longer who I was.  I am bald.  I am doing this, but don’t expect me to do life in the same way I did before right now.  See my head, all of me has been stripped away, I don’t want to cover it up.  I want to be real, for you to look at me and know how I feel.  I am stripped bare, inside and out.  There is no frivolity of the body or soul that remains.  Bald is who I am.

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224

224  Chasing butterflies

A gleam of light reveals something that did not exist.

Silently floating.

A swipe of the hand can stir, quicken, slipping through fingers, with every grasp, every attempt.

Sometimes monsters. Sometimes fairies.

The unknown and unrecognizable becomes a place for imagination to grow.

Do you see beauty? Do I see fear?

Do my fingers grasp at something that cannot be caught?

My efforts in vain. Or is it a process of seeing; for the first time.

The knowledge of presence revealed.

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A story of kindness

There is a book in the radiation waiting room.  It is simply a blank page and people fill it with whatever they want.  I read many stories written here. For seven years, women chose to write messages of encouragement. I did not find one entry that was negative.  Hundreds of women, in the midst of the most trying moments of their life, chose to stop and express a grateful heart.

If one thing has been magnified during this process, it is that kindness is alive and well in our lives.  If I asked you to tell me a story of kindness in your life, that might be hard. You may need to think back a week, or a month before you come upon a memorable act.

When I was sick I needed help with every daily task.  I did not have set expectation of what people should do for me.  Every action was new and so I recognized each effort.  I did not feel a guarantee that someone would show up with dinner.  I did not feel entitled to babysitters every weekend.  I did not expect cards in the mail or flowers after a hard day.  Instead I accepted each action as one of kindness.

My new situation brought new perspective. I found that kindness is alive and all around me.

I encourage you to not wait for a season of difficulty before you seek out the kindness in your life.  Let my experience change your perspective.

Set aside your expectations.  Look for kindness and you will find it.

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The End

For nine months I showed up, twice a month, then every week and then every day. I showed up, every time, to willingly hand over a piece of my identity.

I could make a list of everything I consciously submitted to this process. So many tangible sacrifices. I gave up privileges. I gave up my ability to recognize myself in a mirror and gave up days at the park with my girls. Yet at the end of the process, these aren’t the sacrifices that are leaving me raw.

On the last day of my cancer treatments I was not jumping for joy, like you might think. Instead I sat, quietly, with tears rolling down my face. Raw, is the best way I know to describe the feeling.

I expected, as my strength returned, I would find myself as I was last November. Instead I find myself changed. The landscape of my heart has been altered more than that of my skin. I feel as if I have shed an old identity. One that served me well but was not to be carried into a new era.

Here at the end, I realize I spent nine months focusing on the external changes and haven’t spent enough time acknowledging the internal.

Now that the season has passed, life looks different. I look different. I feel different.  And I am not sure how to start again.

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Setting Fear Aside

Starting a blog seems impossible.

I know I want to write.

I know I want to reflect.

Yet a commitment to something new feels like I have already failed.  I have tried something new in the past and not followed through.  But I have already declared I am not the person I was nine months ago.  I am not even the person I was yesterday.  So failure in my past does not dictate my future.

I come from a long line of people who “knew they could write” and who always were waiting for their big opportunity.  Ten years went by, then twenty, thirty.  No book, no articles, no poetry.

I have, until this moment in my life, lived without regrets.  I am confident in the decisions I made, the life I have made, the family that surrounds me.

So now I am in the process of finding something new.  A new identity.  A new purpose.  Something that feels relevant and true.  Right now, all I have is my thoughts and experiences, so I start with that.  I pray that this process of reflection will lead me to something,  I do not even have a glimmer of what that something is.  But a failure to begin, is a failure in itself.

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