Tuesday, August 19, 2014

The Sun Still Rises

Today marked three years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It is always a strange anniversary--I can never figure out if I am supposed to celebrate or mourn the day.

It was a day filled with dichotomies like that.

I mourned. The world saw the news of journalist James Foley's gruesome death at the hands of monsters. We hoped the talked-about video was a fake. I thought my chest might cave in on itself when I read Foley's mom's acknowledgment that her son was gone.

We had some dear friends over for dinner last night, an interracial couple who'd spent the summer abroad. We wanted to hear about their experiences and catch up with them over a few drinks and dinner. This morning, I read this beautiful piece that exemplified the sad state of race relations in America amidst the continuing unrest and chaos in Ferguson, Missouri. Even given Ferguson, I had no idea "racial skepticism" was still such an issue. I'd naively thought our country was better than this.

And I learned that one of my favorite teachers from high school, my first creative writing teacher, died on Monday. Bob "Mac" McAllister was relatively young, 73, and the cause of death wasn't apparent from the obituary posted by the local paper. We sat on mismatched couches in his class, a safe space in which I first learned how cathartic writing could be.

I celebrated. Quinn, who is often a total goofball during swim lessons, impressed the coach at a makeup class today by listening to her every instruction. The deck supervisor came over to where I was sitting behind the glass viewing wall to comment on how at ease he seemed in the water. My heart swelled with pride as he practiced his dives and back floats with aplomb.

Afterward, we went to the library where he spotted a book meant for older kids, a chapter book from the How to Train Your Dragon series. He grabbed it happily off the shelf, claiming it as his own. But when I took it to check it out, the librarian realized a hold had been placed on it and she couldn't let us have it. I did my best to explain to Quinn why we couldn't take this book home today. His lip quivered and he started to whine: "But I want it!"

I told him that we couldn't get it this time, but assured him we'd look for it next time (and requested our own hold on the book). Then he calmed himself down, got it together surprisingly quickly, and asked me to carry him out to the car. I was impressed.

As I buckled Quinn into his carseat, I told him how proud I was of him for how well he handled the situation. I said I knew he was probably sad, but I thought he'd been incredibly mature. Then he said, "I'm not sad. I'm disappointed," and I just about called the writers of Sesame Street then and there to thank them for my son's vocabulary.

***

Monday was my friend Brigid's thirty-eighth birthday. She spent it in the hospital, fighting an infection in her blood. She posted a photo on Facebook today; her mom was giving her a foot rub and Brigid captioned it, "One lucky girl!" Because more than eight years after her diagnosis, cancer has not broken her spirit. You cannot let it.

***

When we got home from the library, Quinn marveled at the rainstorms that were hitting Phoenix this afternoon, relieving the desert of its searing heat for a gratifying stretch of minutes.


We'd heard the band The Head and the Heart's song "Another Story" in the car earlier, and a couple of stanzas from the song have been on repeat in my head all day:

I'll tell you one thing
We ain't gonna change much 
The sun still rises 
Even with the pain 

I'll tell you one thing 
We ain't gonna change love 
The sun still rises 
Even through the rain

6 comments:

  1. Cancerversaries are complicated days. Sounds like yours was filled with the good and the bad (much like many other days). And wow, is that song appropriate. Wishing you good, sweet days ahead.

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    1. Thanks, Michele. I'm hoping for those days, too (and the bad, frustrating days, as well).

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  2. This so beautifully captures the bittersweet nature of life..and that picture of Quinn looking out at the rain is really wonderful!

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  3. Certain dates remain difficult over the years. I forgot mine (mets' 4th anniversary) last year, I hope that is a good sign. Yours was a day with mixed news.

    I love the picture of Quinn, watching the rain!

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    1. I think that's a wonderful sign that you were able to forget your mets-iversary! My favorite days are the ones I'm able to forget about cancer for a bit. And interspersed with the difficult dates are so many, many wonderful ones.

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