Yes, it’s almost the end of January. Yes, I know that Christmas is over. Yes, I’ve heard all of the old wives tales about Christmas trees being up after New Year’s Day. But, this year, I’m not listening. I’ve watched the way that mama has enjoyed the lights of the tree as they yield a soft glow to my living room at night. I’ve selfishly enjoyed the quiet mornings when all the world is asleep but the gentle glow lets the whole room sparkle. If extending the spirit of the season brings a little joy, what is the harm?
Joy is what we need right now. Joy and prayers. Mama’s PET scan was this past Friday and we got the results yesterday. The mystery mass has it’s first name — carcinoma. The Greek physician Hippocrates is credited with first using the words that eventually came to be known as carcinoma. It comes from the Greek words karkinos, meaning “crab” and -oma meaning “tumor.” It sounds so much better when you call it a crab tumor, like something from a sci-fi movie. Rumor has it that the karkinos usage was because the veins surrounding a tumor resemble the limbs of a crab. Eventually, it evolved into canker and then finally, the word as we know it today, cancer.
Nobody wants a hug from a crab. Nobody wants cancer. But sometimes, we don’t get a choice of either. If you’ve ever accidentally stepped on a crab, you quickly realize why a hug from a crab is not a welcome feeling. Knowing you or someone you love has cancer is definitely not a welcome feeling.
Cancer has taken a first row seat in my life for so many years. First with two different bouts of cancer with my dad and now with my mom. I didn’t invite it, and certainly didn’t want to expect it. One of my very best friends lost her fiance to cancer. My sweet aunt fought a rare breast cancer with a double mastectomy and treatment, and won. One of my other best friends fought cancer as a child and won. One of my other very best friends fights an on and off battle with a cancer that we know is not curable, only containable. I see the legs of the crab tip toeing through people I know and I really want to have a crab boil.
Am I stronger because of all of these experiences? That should go without saying. But, did I want to be stronger? Not like this. Cancer can go to hell. That’s the thing about life. We can’t choose our battles. We can’t always understand why things happen, only that they do and we have to get through them the best way we can. There is no manual for going through cancer or being a caregiver for someone going through cancer.
But there is one thing that I am solid on and you can take this one to the bank. I will do whatever I can to support my sweet mama in whatever she decides to do with her treatment plan. I will give her the best memories that I can so that, selfishly, I will have the best memories that I can. I don’t remember the last, somber days of my dad’s life. I remember the commitment he made us make the day he knew cancer was making a return appearance. He made us promise that we would live it up and do everything that he felt like doing. We extended his original 6-months-to-live prediction by 12 months. The battle in the mind, whether his or mine, was the most important part of his treatment plan.
For me, it starts with my Christmas tree. We don’t know the exact details of what kind of cancer or what kind of prognosis mama will have. We don’t know if any of us are promised any more time than the seconds that are ticking by as we speak. What I do know is that the Christmas tree is bringing joy into my house. Sometimes, it isn’t about going through the motions of societal norms of cleaning up any evidence of the holidays. It doesn’t have to sit in a closet or attic or garage or storage building for 11 months out of the year. Nothing is normal about cancer, so nothing is really normal for me or my family right now. Those of you who know me well can admit there’s nothing really normal about me any other time either.
I’ve always been such a vocal proponent of living life to the fullest. While some may call it irresponsible or immature, I call it no regrets. If you don’t like the life you are living, and you want to keep that Christmas tree up until Jesus comes back, do it. (Or, insert any positive life altering activity that suits you.) Nobody is going to remember you for your pristine baseboards or how tidy your car was. They are going to remember you for the boldness in which you lived your life. Live it, dammit. Live it and love it, whatever it is. Somewhere out there, there are people who are going to hate you no matter what. They are going to judge you if you change the part in your hair. Dye it pink. Shave it off. Don’t spend unnecessary time on the things that don’t matter. While we do need to be mindful about our futures, we don’t have to let the fear of judgement or the fear of the unknown put us into joy paralysis.
Today, the Christmas tree lights glow just as brightly as they did on December 24. I have a cold, I have a headache, and I have a mama with cancer. But, joy is what I seek. And, joy is what I will find. Praise is what I do because the Lord is my shepherd. No matter what the future holds, I won’t fear. I won’t tremble in the “what if’s.” I will take joy one day at a time, even if it begins with just a simple Christmas tree. And, a crab boil.
Messpot Diaries 