One bad lemon

Today I learned from a friend that the cancer she was being treated for had spread. This was I'm sure a shock to her as she'd been told her prognosis was better than most with pancreatic cancer as she had been a candidate for a special surgery only done when people had a good prognosis. Since the surgery in the Spring she has been through chemo and was undergoing radiation. She was about halfway through it I think and now this. As I write about this I can't really find words to describe not only how I felt when hearing this (no matter how bad it was undoubtedly a shadow of how bad she felt) but how impressed I was with her acceptance, grace and strength in the face of this. She says she has no intention of being anyone's lab rat now that the cards are on the table. She has no intention of prolonging her life if that life is spent sick to her stomach and unable to enjoy the company of family and friends. We all say this, but how often does that resolve fade away when faced with the unambiguous, real end of one's existence?

This person is very dear to me despite the fact that I hadn't seen her often in the last decade or so. I want to go back in time and make up for that; to spend time with her that isn't available. She taught me much in the 31 years I've known her, not the least of which was how to make lemonade when life handed you lemons. But this time by her own admission, she can't do it. No more lemonade. This is one really bad lemon. And one more lesson she's taught: the ultimate in blooming with grace and strength exactly where she is.

(As a note, this is not the same person I wrote about last month.)

Long time no post

For someone who has always turned to writing (and has been told that she writes well) it's very, very hard to write regularly. There are always other things to do that seem more important. Like cleaning out years of "stuff" that's accumulated. Yet, when I do, I always find my writing - in the reports and memos from work long done, in the papers from my masters program, in the notes from the classes I've taught or designed but have yet to ever teach, and in little scraps and pages of ideas.

For a long time I've wondered exactly what it is that I'm here for; what exactly is my purpose? Today I came to a conclusion. If for no other reason, I'm here to write and to learn about things that interest me. I've long confused those things with the apparent higher purpose of the need to "do," as in "do a job." Er....like cleaning out the years of "stuff." Writing and learning are my purpose. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure out how to make a living at that. So it goes....