Last week on twitter, when hearing the news of Roger Eberts death, I tweeted this:
If cancer has blown your world apart, every time you hear of another death, a piece of you is cut out and trampled on.
It must have struck a chord with many others, it was “retweeted” and “favorited” and passed around many times.
It was what I was feeling, I didn’t know Roger Ebert. I used to watch Siskel and Ebert on Saturday mornings to see what movies they were bashing and sometimes praising and often I’d argue with the TV screen. But hearing of his death, like hearing of the death of Nora Ephron, or that girl I went to high school with, or the grocery checker who was always so nice… it affected me, they all affected me.
Cancer has blown my world apart, so often that I’m not sure if it was all one big explosion or several smaller ones linked together, like a mega roll of firecrackers rolled out and lit… the bangs go on forever — I hate firecrackers.
The aftermath of cancer, the picking up of the pieces, the stringing reality back together, the return to a normal existence… those are the things that take longer than it did for the cancer to take over a body and destroy it — cancer lingers. When someone dies of cancer, it doesn’t end there, because cancer has invaded you, your life, your world is now a world that contains cancer. It has you in its grips forever, you are never free of it — death does not destroy cancer.
It is the constant background noise to your life, the ceaseless ringing in your ears. I am not brave before it, I cower, I lower my head, I try not to be seen by it. But, it makes sure I know it sees me, there is no corner dark enough to conceal me from it.
I forget, briefly, in those periods in between hearing how its taken over another persons body. I forget. But, never for long. The periods of forgetfulness become shorter each day. Each day I hear of a friend who has been diagnosed, a spouse of a co-worker, a favorite professor, a screenwriter who made me laugh. When cancer has blown your world apart, every time you hear of another death, a piece of you is cut out and trampled on.
Pieces of me are scattered around — pieces from my father, pieces from my mother, pieces from my brother-in-law, pieces from my dog, pieces from friends and co-workers and friends of friends and complete strangers… I have been trampled on by cancer.
I wish I could tie these thoughts up like a beautiful package under the tree on Christmas morning — when you open it, out pops bravery and triumph and fearlessness. But, that’s not the case. There are no ornate pink bows big enough to cover up cancer… it’s ugly and ruthless and cunning.
Often now, my fear and cowering is accompanied by an over-bearing hatred. Maybe that’s what we should hope for, that we become so pissed off at this monster that we are moved to action, not just reaction.
After all, if you believe they put a man on the moon, the ability to stop this creature shouldn’t be far off.
Please visit the following sites:
Lisa Bonchek Adams Giving Page
Lisa Adams
Lisa Bonchek Adams Blog
St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital
Vanderbilt-Ingram Cancer Center
Monroe Carell Jr. Children’s Hospital at Vanderbilt
Thank you for sharing my blog and donation page. That tweet of course struck a special, jagged chord with me. I am sorry for all of those you have lost to this insidious disease.
Lisa, you are such a special friend, teaching me and the world every day.
xoxo <~~~ As I've told you on occasion, sometimes, that's all I know to say.
I have a lump in my throat the size of the sun. You capture so well thoughts and feelings I’ve had. Thank you for putting into eloquent words the feelings I think many of us share.
Thank you Sue, for being here to offer your voice. I think so many of us have similar experiences, it’s good to connect.
Becky, it is so nice to read your words, again.
This a powerful, raw piece that shakes me up, and opens parts of me, that need to be opened.
Thank you for this,
Thank you Jo, you always are so kind and giving to me. It makes me enormously happy to know something I thought and wrote has connected us even more.
i feel you…my dad has had over 100 skin cancer surgeries…my uncle throat cancer, my cousin testicular…its the men in my family…i remember when i first learned of my dads it was such a scary thing…cancer, such a scary word…reality….
True.
I can’t imagine being in a room full of people and no one being affected, somehow, by cancer.
Often fear keeps our heads buried in the sand, hopefully, we can resolve to take action.
I’m sorry for your losse and hear you. Grandparents, parents, friends. It’s indeed a merciless beast.
Thanks you for stopping by. It is, sadly, something that connects us as strangers. A shared experience with others from all over the world that none of us wanted to share.
Oh, yes. Cancer is all over my family like stripes on a tiger…but as if that’s not enough, it has come for friends, too.
Sorry for your losses. You’re not alone in having a dismal chord struck in your heart every time you hear about someone dying of cancer. <3
Exactly Pam.
It’s so much better to be connected through our triumphs than our sadnesses.
i have been fortunate in my life that no close relative or friend has been taken by cancer, but i know the guilt i will forever carry that 17 years of smoking took the life of my precious Jazz who got cancer from my second-hand smoke. no, it’s not the same as a person, but i did love him like a child. unbelievably, it took years more for me to stop smoking.
you would think a cure could be found. you would think cancer could be eradicated in our lifetime. you would think…..
as always, your words touch me in my heart. i love you, Becky. *BIG HUGS*
Thank you Dani, for all of your support.
I was just as angry and sad and confused when my dog got cancer just after my mother died — it seemed it would never end.
I meant “loss” up there. Was typing from husband’s cell phone … all thumbs.
I have an “ignore any and all typos” here. (Especially since most of them are mine) :-)
I haven’t known too many with cancer so I appreciate your sharing this. Sending you supportive thoughts. – Mosk
Thank you Mosk. I think it’s a side to cancer that we often forget about.
This is beautiful. Keep writing.
Thank you Kathleen. I greatly appreciate you and your thoughts and YOU telling me to keep writing… yes, that’s amazing.