I will, however, edit certain parts of the email and omit identifying names other than my own, to respect some level of privacy, and since I also didn't ask for his/her permission to post this-- though I don't think s/he'd mind. Maybe?
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Jani:
I have been wanting to write you since I saw
your FB post about your blog and absence from the [Hume-Fogg H.S.] reunion. First, I want to
extend my ... something to you. I don't know what, but my heart goes out to
you; not as an expression of pity but of empathy.
I lost my husband, truly my soulmate, last
year to prostate cancer. He was diagnosed with stage IV. He endured surgery,
radiation, and chemo, all in the first year to reap the rewards of 8 completely
blissful years. We were married 13 years.
I say that to let you know that I understand
what you're going through, at least as intimately as one can without being
personally diagnosed. Also, I wanted to tell you that many of the treatments my
husband underwent weren't available when he was diagnosed. In fact, we became
friends with the urologist who diagnosed him and gave him 5-10 years. It was
years later that he told us he didn't expect to know us for a year.
I was actually prompted to write after reading
your first blog post and "Days You Wonder Why." Of course I had no
idea of your situation, but I'm glad you're sharing it. I don't think you
realize the impact your story has on folks in a variety of situations.
For example, I was actually happy to read what
can only be described as a rather pessimistic sentence: "I'm not actually
starting over. If anything, I might be re-starting from behind." I was
happy to read it because it meant someone else feels like I do. I don't have
cancer, but I became a primary caregiver to my mother who passed on. I quit my
job to become a primary caregiver to my father. He passed in [...]; my husband
passed 6 months later.
For the first time in life, I realized I was
completely alone. If I was able, I could start over, completely from scratch.
Not many people get that "opportunity" (a word I hate to use in that
context). Nevertheless, I also realized I'm [... now] single, still grieving, and I
haven't worked in years. Um, can someone give me a hand? Maybe some
direction? What the hell am I supposed to do now?
[From a previous blog post:] "I wonder why I'm going through this miserable existence, half awake and conscious to 'where the hell am I?' Real to surreal and back again. It's a bad trip. How do I keep track of priorities when it's hard to tell what they are?"
[From a previous blog post:] "I wonder why I'm going through this miserable existence, half awake and conscious to 'where the hell am I?' Real to surreal and back again. It's a bad trip. How do I keep track of priorities when it's hard to tell what they are?"
I imagine that paragraph has a totally
different meaning for you than it does me, but every word of it hits home for me,
so again, thanks.
I'm going to stop rambling. I just wanted to
reach out and share my story and tell you to keep doing what you're doing. It
makes a difference.
Feel free to reach out
anytime...--------
Dear B,
Your words brought tears to my
eyes. I feel and know that pain, the enduring pain of loss and, then,
pointlessly questioning a God who must be indifferent. Goes beyond "Life
sucks!" But childish fits don't help.
What you took the time to write me was
important enough for me to sit at my desk and write you back on my computer.
Smartphone keyboards make me feel like those writers who never learned to type
properly. Better to keep up with the thoughts that form in my head, by typing
the way I was taught. Still pretty darn fast on a keyboard... Btw, you didn't
ramble; rambling is when you digress so much (e.g. Trump), you go off on that
tangent of, say, typing, and you talk about how you miss old typewriters and
the tak, tak, ding sound they make. See? Now, that's rambling ;-) Believe you
me, I know how to ramble.
Well, I've always been a smart-ass. A coping
technique, a form of avoidance, but sometimes the best way to address the harsh
realities of life. Because what are you gonna do? Beat up every kid who picks
on you? Get back at everybody who's ever slighted you? Just does more harm to
you in the long run.
Being a smart-ass (still) helps me see the
humor in life and lets me laugh at myself, which is very comforting. That this
insignificant grain of sand would dare stick his chin out and mock the Creator.
If I can do that, ain't nobody got a chance of touching me or hurting me.
Hope you found peace along the way. Hope you
realized you were never really alone. Even when you felt so all alone (I've
been there and so have many others I know), you were not truly alone. You
could've reached out to friends you didn't even know you had, whose hearts are
filled with love and kindness and understanding.
My battle with cancer made me more dependent than
I cared to admit or acknowledge. But the good thing was that my stubborn pride
was squashed by my feeling so vulnerable. No place for pride amidst relentless
and agonizing personal suffering. I can see that you discovered, yes, very
intimately that you don't have to have cancer to know what it feels like. You
live the battle, too. In the same way, you don't need to be the cared for, the
patient, to know what he or she is going through. A loving caregiver feels the
loved one's pain and confusion and suffering, and even the drifting off into
death. A piece of you really does die as well.
B, you and I are kindred spirits in many
ways. I can tell you that cancer isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to
me. The worst is the loss of my little boy Noah who I held in my arms as he
left me, as his body became lifeless in my embrace, and I couldn't let go. I
wouldn't. I pleaded for him to come back. It took me a while to accept that
that's also a part of life: "to love what death can touch." (It was his
time. Born with multiple disabilities, Noah required round-the-clock attention
and a private duty nurse during the day. I was his caretaker on weekends and
evenings. Quit working full-time to care for him full-time. Sure, the grief
doesn't ever go away completely. But it consoles me to know that he's no longer
in pain.) Then, as if the flood-gates had opened wide, one of my dear and
closest friends died in a car accident only months afterwards; my wife and I
separated for over a year (we're now back together); and I was diagnosed with
cancer-- not to mention the succession of friends whose fathers died all in one
month. 2015 ('16 to half of '17) sucked! Never been to so many goddamn funerals
in so short a time. And yet, life goes on...
I'm glad my words are relatable to you and
others. Yup, I don't realize the impact they have on people. But it's nice to
share and, if some folks find comfort or connection in my stories, I feel very
flattered and honored.
Mrs. C suggested I publish some of it. My
reaction? I was aghast! Frankly, I don't like all the bitching I do in the
blog. Let me rephrase that. It's not about liking or disliking the bitching
since it's rather a good form of therapy. I can't imagine not cursing and
venting out loud in my writing, serious or not. I guess I can't really find a
place for it in my overall body of work. I know, sounds kinda snobbish of me.
Guilty as charged. Sometimes, I feel that being an academic actually gets in
the way of good writing. Yeah, I have to learn to get out of my own damn way,
and just let the words flow. D was good at getting us to do that. Sure do
miss those old HFA days, the good parts anyway. (See? More rambling. I make it
an art ;-)
Hey, I don't have your number. If you ever
want to talk, feel free to reach out: 00-0. Text me or
leave a voicemail. Like most folks these days, I don't usually answer if I
don't recognize the number. (I absolutely abhor unsolicited sales calls.)
Please know that you're surrounded by people
who can relate, who love you for the strong person you are.
Jani
