An earnest acupuncture practioner inquired as she prepared to treat me, “Are you feeling stressed with the holidays?” I laughed at the thought. “Not at all”, I said, “this feels like such a precious moment for my family – no one assumes we will get another chance. It’s all just lovely.”
For the past two years, my sweetie and I have traveled to Dubuque, Iowa for Christmas as my mother contends with decreased mobility. There was little point in getting a tree. This year I wanted a tree, lights, and all the small things that give the darkest days joy. My husband offered to cut down a hedge top always beyond my reach – it blocks views and juts up in isolation. He brought it in, surprising us with its actual size. It curls at the ceiling. It is homely and quite perfect, adorned with cheer.
I used to dread the shortest days of the year but as a sick person I embrace them and feel loss as the days start lengthening. The short days suit my diminished capacities. They seem to bring the world more to my level. Life slows as days shorten and people cozy up – or, perhaps, they should.
The other day I got the lovely story below in my in-box. Prior to being diagnosed a baby had come into my life courtesy of a colleague and dear friend, Amy. Cora joined our workforce at the age of three months as her mom returned from maternity leave. We already had several office dogs (our days with ducks and hamsters behind us)
but babies can be needy so we had made certain commitments to swap time attending to Cora with after hour completion of tasks – our existing norm. I spent many a work hour with her in my arms.
In the chaotic April of 2010, multiple surgeries and wacky efforts to diagnose me left me increasingly scared. I borrowed Cora at every turn. She spent the afternoon with me as I counted down to my big, “yes, I have ovarian cancer” surgery. She would frequently visit me in bed as I recovered. Her mom emailed me this story and photo a few days ago.
May all of our holidays be meaningful and caring. (And yes, I do owe us a medical update – suffice it to say that it has been an intense month of trying to build medical consensus on my next steps. Consensus may be here just as I disengage from all medical thoughts — cancer, what is that? — for the next week. So stay tuned. And enjoy a little holiday tale.)
Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah and Carol brought a menorah over to light with us. Cora has learned some of the story of Hanukkah this year and chimed in as Carol narrated what we were doing.
We don’t really know the blessing you say when you light the candles so after Carol said the prayer in Hebrew and translated some for us, I asked the kids to share something they were hopeful for.
Cora piped up, “I hope Marcy doesn’t die.” Then she explained to Carol about your bad cancer.
Leo then shared, “And I hope her other person doesn’t die.”
“Mike?” I asked. “Yep.” he said.
We all agreed.
So you our our Hanukkah hope this year.
Holding you both dearly in our hearts.