Slowly, very slowly, I am feeling improvement. I proceed forward, however timidly, like a young deer setting foot out in an open field. I know I am vulnerable to another backwards spiraling. I just can’t afford that. I take two step forward, and hold my breath…
Each year, after sending my son off for a week at Camp Kesem, he emerges a little more in his own. He is unique, that young man. Sometimes he is a little quirky, clumsy, introspective, curious, or flighty. He, like all of us, embodies different qualities on different days. Now more than ever, as manhood begins to take hold of him, he is ever-changing. Although his friends have come up with their own nickname for him, rather than the sweet way he referred to himself when he forever-suffered from ear infections and couldn’t hear his name quite right, he will always be “YaYa” to me — not so little anymore but still my YaYa.
The leaders at camp, all amazing college students who really do “make magic happen.” Having created this unique experience through their own efforts, these student-leaders put their fundraising, financing, marketing and project management skills to work to create a fun, emotionally-supportive environment for kids who have a parent with cancer, or have lost a parent to cancer. These kids need to be kids, but their needs are often overshadowed by the demands of cancer treatment (or grieving). Here, they get a full week of having their needs met.
This is my son’s 6th year of this invaluable camp. He looks forward to it every year and we insure that nothing stands in his way of attending; he has only a year or two left before he is no longer eligible to attend. With 5 years of healing, YaYa is now in a good space to help the kids who are still overwhelmed by what Cancer has robbed them of. It’s quite different from his first time here, just 3 months after his dad died. The counselors continue to sing praises of YaYa’s leadership and mentoring qualities when we reunite at the end of camp. Already, my son is talking about the upcoming year where he will enter into OLP (outdoor leadership program), as well as the possibility of becoming a camp leader when he attends college. It’s a pretty cool thought.
Okay, maybe it was only a few hours; it was the spa nonetheless. Although, I’m not really the spa type, after today, I think the I might be able to find something for me in that once-avoided setting.
Today, that something was a massage. After the week of planning Dad’s funeral/memorial, I needed a bit of help kneed the knots out of my tense muscles. Thanks to my ever thoughtful son’s (namely DD), I had a yet-to-be-used gift card to a very plush spa they gave me for my birthday.
Yes, my birthday was way back in the month of December, but I was waiting for the right moment to take advantage of not only the massage but the use of the rest of the spa’s (included) facilities as well. I didn’t just want to rush in and rush out.
Before we got started, I informed the massage therapist of my ailments: my left low back “kink” and my right butt “tweak.” I left off the fact that I had another fresh wound: the death of my father. It wasn’t that I thought it insignificant for it was the reason I’d finally been able to make the appointment at all. I guess I figured I’d let her tend to the physical manifestations of my emotions wounds while I attended to the spiritual aspects.
And so, she did her work as I did mine. Which meant that she worked out the accumulation of knots in my shoulders while I took deep breaths in and out. Moments later, or seemly so, it was over.
So I made my way to the sauna for a little meditation before going home.
Lately, I’ve been craving twists and heart opening poses in my yoga practice. Fortunately for me, the yoga studio is serving these up in super-sized portions. When the invitation comes, I latch onto it, take the pose as far as I am physically able, and bask in the moment. It feels as luxurious as a hot summer day, and the sweat rolls off of my skin as if it were.
They say that these twists have a way of wringing out “toxins,” and that the heart opening poses work to fill you up so-to-speak. Toxins, in my current reality, means this sickness that my body has been fighting and the pent up emotions that have been buried deep within. As I move towards the coming of Spring, the hurts of years past comes bubbling up — as it does every year at this time. It seems that I am more neutral to it this year, but the season has just begun.
I’ve done a lot of grief work in these past 5 years. The therapy, writing, sifting through years and years of medical records, and everything else has been quite a process. There is only one thing left for consideration. This one remaining thing is to write a letter to the oncologist to ask why, when the hospital records clearly noted less than 6 months, he told us that we had a year to prepare for the inevitable.
Death is never easy. I’m not sure that 11+ more months would’ve helped. Nor am sure that Tom wanted the suffering to go on that long. Why would he? But the truth most certainly would have been better, if only so the kids did not feel like we lied to them. Obviously, that was not our intent.
Although this letter has been on my list of things-to-do for quite some time, I wonder if writing this letter give me the closure I am seeking. I do not expect he will even remember us. If he does, it is doubtful that he will even know what he was thinking back then. As I consider this last task, I wonder what I want to say — today. It is different than the message I had a little as one year ago. I grateful for all the healing.
When someone dies, people focus all of their energy on remembering all the goodness that person brought to their lives. In the initial period of loss, it makes sense; it helps lesson the pain.
For me, there came a point where I needed to acknowledge the wrongs so that I could move on in my life. I had to examine my relationship (good and bad) to make decisions on what I wanted and perhaps more importantly, what I didn’t want if I was to even consider a future with someone else.
That process stimulated a lot of ill feelings which I fought back for a time. It’s okay to be mad at yourself for your wrong doings, but people don’t like you being angry with the dead. You’re only supposed to think good thoughts of them.
After a bit, I discounted that idea on only-happy-thoughts as another one of the fallacies of loss. Just like how people think you’ll just get over it in a year or two, it is a misconception. It does no good to consider only bits and pieces of the whole person – whether alive or dead. “For better or for worse,” right?