Oct. 11, Part 2 - Confronting with Courage

In the name of honest writing -

It has been a hell of a week. One hell of a week. I've tried so hard to be upbeat, looking back and seeing the blessings of this past year, learning from them, moving forward, but I ain't gonna lie - tough.

Today I finally broke down and sobbed, hard tears, ugly cry -

I'm sad, I'm mad, I'm mournful, I'm just lost, lost, lost in so many ways. The past 2 years have been very difficult. I've never put myself in front of any physical danger; I'm safe. I can push myself physically, but I'm not going to para-sail or even snow-board anytime soon. I am comfortable pushing myself intellectually, spiritually, emotionally - that's "safe." Until the past 2 years. And I made it through my back stuff, and I was on the road to recovery, and then cancer and this year, and with this week's anniversaries, and looking back, acknowledging them, has been hard.

I don't get it - I don't know why I have had cancer (particularly breast), and I don't know why I "chose" chemotherapy and radiation, and with that the short and long-term consequences of the treatments including osteoporosis and PTS, and TBI, but I guess I did. And being on this side of half of the "treatments" and in the receiving end of recovering and the after-affects is a lot of work. I survived those 9 months, survived, and now - with recovery - day in and day out - it's tough.

What came easy a year ago - physically, intellectually, socially - is hard now. Hard - takes energy, concentration, focus, coordination. Getting up in the morning and choosing to have a good attitude, choosing to go to the gym, choosing to work, to teach, to interact with others, to write, to love me, is tough, and it's a conscientious action every day to choose joy and hope. And there are days when I don't want to choose joy and hope, but I do, because I will not, will not, go elsewhere.

But this week, I have chosen to dip my toes (thank heavens I didn't stub my toes) into the sorrow that a year of loss and pain and anguish and sadness and horror and fear and the most unbearable unexplainable physical and mental pain I have ever experienced has brought with it. How does one deal with anniversaries of loss, of survival, of "whew"? Acknowledge and move on? Walk around and ignore? Celebrate survival?

"Self-acceptance comes from meeting life's challenges vigorously. Don't numb yourself to your trials and difficulties, nor build mental walls to exclude pain from your life. You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems, but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial, but in victory." (Swami Sivananda)

I cried to a friend as I walked in the sun this afternoon. And then I stopped by my son's home. And once we got the kids settled into a movie, I cried to Tyler and Meili. Sobbed. Poured out these same fears. Interestingly, Meili said, "Tyler hasn't known what to do for you. He's felt lost as to how to help you." I mulled that over as I walked home (who else is so blessed to have a son and his wife and their beautiful children live 2 blocks away). And the answer to Meili's pondering came - I need him now. I need them now. I need his family to help me in my recovery. In my moving forward. That's what he can do for me - help me move forward, in hope, in joy, in peace, in victory.

Happy weekend ya'll - thank you for your love these past 2 years. Thank you for your love moving forward, and I hope that I can in some way, begin the payback -