It's that time of year again. November seems to be the month when we all forget our gripes with the world and fill our Facebook posts with things we are thankful to have in our lives. Everyone around me fills with cheer and happiness indulging in the good things in their life, but this year I find myself bathed in melancholy.
Nine years ago on November 11th, I broke free of cancer's hold. I was released from my doctors' care and began my life anew as a survivor. With each passing year, the memories of treatment's anguish and intense loneliness fade and a little more of the pain melts away. I view November the way most people do their birthday. It's when I got a second chance at life. This year, I feel like it's a glaring reminder that a series of my careless accidents are pretty much the only reason I'm here today. If not for my love of playing rough roller hockey with boys twice my size and a slippery staircase a month later, I wouldn't be here at all.
A few years into remission, I learned that one of my hometown classmates, Katie, was diagnosed with the same cancer I had. We became friends, bonding over shared experiences of how the chemo didn't give us mouth sores, but instead turned our butts into burning rings of fiery pain. Eventually our chats turned to the future and more serious things and what we hoped it was like "on the other side" of treatments. We understood each other in a way nobody else in our lives was capable. I'm not sure Matt even knew what this friendship meant to me. I don't even know where I'd begin an explanation.
Shortly after Katie got married, she relapsed. Then again a few years after that. Her cheerful disposition remained until the very end of her life in July this year, shortly after her 28th birthday. I was visiting my parents, whom also knew Katie, when we learned of her passing. "The memorial service is on Friday night," my dad explained, "Do you want to go with me?" While choking back tears, I told him I couldn't do it. Guilt washed over me. What would I say to her husband? How could I walk up to her him and finally introduce myself as the girl he only knew as "The One That Lived"? No matter the scenarios I imagined, nothing felt sincere. Every sentence seemed like it would end with a "neener neener neener, I did-n't diieeeeeeeeee". Thoughts of Katie followed me around for the rest of the trip.
While I was going through chemo treatments, thirteen in all, I imagined my life after cancer. It would be easy, carefree, and perfect. I never expected to feel so guilty. This guilt hides beneath the surface and bubbles up at the most inopportune times. With every bit of joy I take in a second chance, an ugly aftertaste of guilt lingers.
Over the years, I've come to understand where this guilt originates. I don't feel like I earned my second chance. I didn't work harder than Katie did. My faith wasn't stronger than hers. We even followed identical treatment plans. I was just lucky enough to break my arm before the tumor spread.
On the day of her death, Katie's husband made one last post to her Facebook account: "Chillin' with Jesus ;) " I'm comforted knowing that she's no longer in pain. She doesn't have to fight anymore.
And I'd like to think that on November 11th, she's up in Heaven giving me a big long-distance high five.
12 comments:
I'm so sorry about your friend. I'm glad Gab was small enough that she doesn't really remember anything that she went through - she somehow seems to have only retained the fun things about her treatment. It's confusing and hard to remember how very, very lucky we are, but I don't ever want to forget it, either.
I'm so sorry you lost your dear friend, but please don't feel guilty about surviving. I'm sure your friend would be happy that you are alive and cancer-free. Enjoy life to the fullest and be glad you got a second chance! (I'm glad you're here - I liked reading your blog posts) :)
Beautiful
I feel sad that you feel guilty, when it really seems to be the luck of the draw unfortunately. It's also very sad about your friend and just not fair. The best way to honor her is to live life as fully as you do now (like Linda said). None of us know how long we have and some of us get longer than others. I don't believe there is some cosmic reason for this-- cancer is just random and unfair.
I am so sorry for your friend and your loss, but so happy that you have that second chance.
This post made me tear up, and I don't tear up easily. What a beautifully written, heartfelt post. I am so sorry about your friend, but I am very glad you were able to experience such an important and wonderful friendship. Congratulations on NINE years of surviving!
Giraffy, As time passes, I seem to remember more of the fun things than the bad ones too. Perhaps in 50 years I'll be thinking that chemo was fun!?
Linda, Thanks, I'm glad I'm here too.
Thanks Padre.
Mary, I'm trying my best at living life as fully as possible. :) It's just sad that we don't all get that chance. Stupid cancer.
Abby, Thank you.
Rachel, I really should put a disclaimer on my Nov. 11 posts. Most of the comments last year were similar. "Don't read in public" should be my opening line. Also, Woohoo! 9 years! :)
I feel sorry for your lost friend. You absolutely dont have to feel guilty. Your friend would have wanted that you survived.
I waited a few days but I still don't know what to say. beautiful writing and I'm so sorry about your friend.
Alicia
I wish I'd read this before I came out there this week. I'm amazed by your honesty.
Coincidentally, 11/11 was the day my mom died of pancreatic cancer (2006) but her experience (and mine watching her) was almost completely different than yours.
Just as you can understand that survivor's guilt doesn't really make any sense, I can understand how you probably can't help but feel that way. Why should someone who had cancer and survived feel worse than someone who didn't have cancer? Yet there it is.
Random thoughts:
Sometimes I'll wander through an old cemetery. One tombstone says "born 1833, died 1855" and the next one says "born 1811, died 1887". One person lived more than 3X as long as the other yet they've both been gone seemingly forever. What to make of that?
If the average human lifespan was 500 years, we'd think it a horrible tragedy when someone died at age 110. Instead we say, "She lived a good long life." What do we make of that?
And without getting too spiritual on you, the Bible is pretty much all about the problem of death- where it came from, what it means, how it will be defeated. To really love others, we have to have our own internal peace first. "The joy of the Lord is our strength".
And yet, the sorrows we have known, and still feel, are what make us more compassionate and empathetic people.
Some people are born rich, some poor. Some are born athletic or smart or beautiful, some are plain, some have major impediments or wounds. Some live long, some don't.
We all get dealt a different hand, and we are only responsible for how we play the hand that we are dealt, regardless of those who have more or less to work with than we do.
Mom would have been 82 next month. Jeanie's only sibling would have been 57 last month (brain cancer). My sister turned 58 last Monday but has little hope (liver cancer) of living to be as old as I am.
I'm glad YOU are here!
Rachella, I'm not sure if it's about finding a way to not be guilty; for me, it's more about accepting and knowing that this guilt and all my feelings are perfectly okay.
Thanks, Alicia. :) I'm not sure I know what to say sometimes either.
Mark, Thanks for your thoughts. Writing about this healing process in small, yearly posts has helped me process how cancer has and continues to affect me, I don't think I'm necessarily looking for answers.
You process so eloquently it helps the rest of us process similar thoughts. We don't all get cancer, but we all deal with mortality. We all see friends and relatives die too young and wonder why- why them, why not me, why this one and not the other. We all wonder about the seeming randomness of it all. We all wonder why we are still here and whether their early demise served some greater purpose.
I've seen too many friends and neighbors and relatives- younger than myself- die in the last ten years - mostly of cancer- and I just turned 60- at this moment in time I'm almost exactly twice your age - so your post stirs up lots of thoughts even though, strangely, "survivor guilt" seems to be an issue only for those who came close to death and not for us who didn't, even though we too survived while others didn't.
Thanks again for helping us process our struggles with mortality by sharing so honestly your own journey through cancer and survival.
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