This has been a slow blogging year for me. I normally blog about whatever gripping issue I can’t get off my mind, but this year, I haven’t really been able to talk about what has been on my mind.
In February, my mom was diagnosed with glioblastoma, which is stage 4 brain cancer. I’ve had so much to say about it. I’ve wanted to write so many things. I’m not sure if not talking about it here has been the right thing to do. Either way, it’s been hard to not synthesize my thoughts and send them out into the world.
I normally talk about general issues that kind of and sort of apply to potentially everyone. Am I vague enough? My point- I don’t feel like anyone is very invested in anything I have to say . This topic is very different. I don’t want to upset people. Especially not my family. It’s not that I might say anything cruel or untrue, but, to be supremely euphemistic, it is a sensitive topic.
There is so much I could say. So mush I will say eventually.
Stake conference rolled around several weeks after my mom was diagnosed, and it was a struggle to get there. I remember laying in bed and thinking to myself, “nothing they are going to talk about has anything to do with me.” I was wrong. A young woman whose cancer was in remission had been asked to speak. Now the fact that she had cancer, while coincidental, is not the point of this story. The point is that she said words similar to these, describing how she reacted to her diagnosis: “I had just been going about my young single adult life, having fun, when I was hit with this. I had had no idea that the sadness I subsequently experienced even existed in the world.”
That is it. I had no idea that this kind of sadness even existed. That is really what this post is about- sadness.
This has been a weepy week for me in particular. I’m not sure why, nor do I care. I don’t owe anyone an explanation and neither do my emotions. It’s so funny though, the times it hits you. In the bathroom at a dinner party, in your chemistry lab, getting out of the shower, listening to a friend talk about their new car. It sometimes stays for hours, or minutes, or sometimes it’s just a twinge, hardly even present enough to be noticed.
It wanders around my life like a spoiled and independent house cat. It can’t be summoned- strangely enough, I have tried. There have been moments when I didn’t feel like I felt sad enough, especially when having to listen to the lamenting of others. It also is not easily shooed away. It just lifts its head, stares you in the face for a few moments, and then settles back into it place.
It also usually hides when company comes over. Most people wouldn’t even know that you had a cat.
Lately my life has been really great. I have a job that I enjoy and where I feel appreciated. I am maintaining my 4.0 and actually am having fun in my labs. I’ve been camping 6 times in the last five months. I’ve decided to train for a half marathon and that is coming along slowly, but surely. I love my ward and feel more comfortable at church than I have in years. I have a number of true, close friends who I feel like I can be completely genuine and even vulnerable with. So things are going great, and I think that that’s how it probably looks to others. What in the world do I have to be sad about?
And I even allowed to be sad? Sometimes I feel like I’m not.
Tonight after my institute class I did my regular socializing and mingling. I was happy to be there, but as I found myself staring into people’s eyes as they spoke to me about their surgery, or their boyfriend, or their classes, or whatever, and thinking, “I wish you knew how I felt right now. I wish you knew that I am on the verge of weeping.” It’s like half of my brain is there with them, laughing, flirting, talking about nothing, and the other half only experiences hurt. I want people to know, but I’m not going to tell people, because then what? What can be said? Nothing.
Now, I do appreciate people’s kind and supportive words. I feel their love and love them for it.
But love and grief can coexist.
And so can joy and grief. Maybe not in anyone else, but they can, and do, in me. I will never let sadness feel welcome in my heart, but, while it is here, I am willing to acknowledge its contribution. It is the greatest educator I have ever had. It is the most refining fire I have ever endured. It is the most fruitful field I have ever been forced to reap.
Grief has made me calmer, kinder, and more gentle. It has made me more grateful and less expectant. It has opened my eyes to the good of this world, and has shown me how pathetic a negative outlook is. I feel like this is where I am supposed to say that I am grateful for my trials- that they make me stronger. I’m not grateful- as a matter of fact, this trial can go die in a fire. I will never thank my circumstance, because it is horrible.
But I will be thankful for the fruits of my trial. I am contained to be so, I feel like I have no choice in the matter. My thanks is to God.
Life is beautiful, and also sometimes horrible. One single moment can be both grand and devastating. We do need to know the bitter to know the sweet, but the bitter will never be sweet to us.
Just as a P.S., we keep a blog for my mom called Marcia the Outlier, which we share to keep people informed on her condition, and also as a form of outreach to other GBM patients and their families.