You Feel Great?...Seriously?

There are lots of things I love about Anthony...like everything. Then, there are the things I really love about him. Don’t worry... I’m not going to share all of them with you. You’ll be reading for hours. But, there are a couple of things about Anthony...the way he is, how he thinks...that make coping with his diagnosis a little bit easier for him. Now that I’ve put things in their proper perspective, I understand why.

One thing I really love about Anthony is his big heart and good natured spirit. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying he never gets upset or grumpy. If you spend enough time around Anthony, I’m sure you’ll eventually see him have one of his hissy fits. Oh, boy, he can go from zero to ten quicker than I can blink an eye. But, the thing is, he can have a blow-up, get his feelings out, and then he’s fine. Really fine...like five minutes later fine...and right back at zero. What’s even more amazing is that he seriously forgets about whatever it was that upset him. 

Another thing I really love about him is how he deals with adversity. Again, I’m not saying he never, ever feels down or gets worried, but he always manages to find at least one positive in a sea of negatives. Sure, there are times when he’s needed an encouraging word from me to point him back in the right direction, but Anthony usually finds the silver lining all on his own...and then he rejoices in it with such conviction and certainty that I eventually end up believing things will be OK, too. Even now. 

These are great qualities Anthony has, but isn’t it funny how sometimes a person’s good qualities can become irritating? For example, we’ve all encountered that overly helpful person who just doesn’t know when enough is enough. Or, how about that exceptionally nice person who is always smiling, cheerful and positive? You know the type. That overly sugary sweet disposition gives you the same kind of queasy stomach ache you get from eating a huge hot fudge sundae with way too much hot fudge. Well, Anthony’s good qualities are not over the top like that. They are perfectly within the realm of healthy, good behavior; but, I have to admit it...lately (like since he’s been sick), on occasion, I have found myself becoming a little irritated.

Now wait a minute...Give me a chance to explain before you take what I’m saying the wrong way. First of all, my irritation is not really caused by anything he is doing...Far from it. At least I’m able to figure out that my irritation must be about me...maybe about my fear and frustration. The truth is, Anthony’s attitude and approach to his illness is pretty amazing. And incredibly courageous. 

So, what’s my problem? Well, if anyone knows the truth about how Anthony is really feeling, I do. I’m with him 24/7. I don’t think I’ve been away from him more than a few hours since all this began...and that was months ago. So, when he talks to someone and says, “I feel really good. I don’t even feel sick. My appetite is good. No, I really don’t have a lot of pain,” I want to hit him. Sometimes, I just look at him and wonder if he’s lost his mind. I also wonder why I’m putting forth so much energy, getting upset, and worrying about him if he feels so great! Does that mean I can go back to work and focus my energies on teaching kids music, as long as he is feeling so fantastic?

Why does Anthony say he feels so wonderful when I know darn well that's not true? After giving this some serious thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that Anthony is not making this stuff up...When he tells people he feels great, he means it. He’s being true to himself, to who he is. It’s just like when he gets really upset about something and blows up for a minute. He gets it out of his system, lets it go, and totally forgets about it. I think when he’s telling people how great he feels, it’s because, at that moment in time, he’s probably feeling pretty good. He doesn’t remember that he had a bad stomach ache for a few hours the night before or that he spent half the day icing his back. All he’s thinking about when he’s talking on the phone or visiting with someone is the good stuff. He’s thinking about the conversation he’s having and the time he’s spending with that friend or family member right then and there. He lives in the moment and lets what is done be done. He looks for the positive, and he finds it in whatever he is doing. 

Anthony teaches me by example. I’ve already learned a lifetime of lessons from him, yet I continue to learn something new every day just by being with him and seeing the way he lives and loves. I am so proud to be married to such a strong and courageous man. When I call him my husband, I feel as though I automatically stand a little taller and speak more assertively. I realize my frustration with him telling people how great he feels is my problem. He does have good moments, and when he’s having those good moments, he forgets about the pain and discomfort and fatigue he experienced...even if it was only ten minutes ago, because when it’s over, it's over, and it's time to move on.

So, from now on, when I hear Anthony telling someone how great he feels, I’m going to believe him and smile. Instead of getting frustrated and wanting to smack him, I’ll remember who he is and go hug him as tightly as I can.

Love Hurts

This may sound a little weird, but ever since Sunday afternoon, three things keep making their way into my conscious thoughts...  the message of Sunday’s Gospel reading, various scenes from the movie Moonstruck, and the way Anthony and I love each other.  I’m not surprised if my musings appear random or disjointed to you; but, believe it or not, I did find the common thread weaving my tapestry of thoughts together. And I can’t stop thinking about it...LOVE. 

In Sunday’s Gospel, from Matthew 22, we heard Jesus talk about the greatest commandment. The bulk of the homily was a reflection upon these verses:

"You shall love the Lord, your God,

with all your heart,

with all your soul,

and with all your mind.

This is the greatest and the first commandment.

The second is like it:

You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

                                                              MATTHEW 22: 37-39

A few things Father said during his homily really struck me, and I’ve continued to ponder them. Allow me to share....First, he said that love is the source of our greatest joys in life, as well as the source of our deepest sorrows. Second, when we open ourselves to love, we become vulnerable. Jesus, hanging on the cross with arms stretched wide, is the perfect example of complete vulnerability. His outstretched arms were wide open to not only give and receive love, but to also receive the angry blows and the painful rejection of those who beat and crucified Him. Lastly, in order for us to love in the true Christ Spirit, we must also be willing to sacrifice ourselves as Jesus did. When we let go of our selfishness, we open ourselves to others in the Spirit of sacrificial love. 

They say laughter is good for the soul, so Anthony and I try to indulge ourselves frequently. We enjoy watching comedies, and one of our favorites is Moonstruck (1987). Remember that classic scene where Loretta (played by Cher) slaps Ronny (Nicholas Cage) across the face and yells, “Snap out of it!” when he says he loves her? Then, there's the scene where Ronnie tells Loretta, “But love don't make things nice, it ruins everything, it breaks your heart, it makes things a mess.” And, one of my favorites is an exchange between Loretta and her mom (Olympia Dukakis): “Do you love him, Loretta?” “Yeah, Ma, I love him awful.”  “Oh God, that's too bad.”  So, what does Moonstruck have to do with the Gospel of Matthew? Honestly, not a whole lot...But, I do think something about love is revealed, if you look hard enough. You see, beneath the humor, lies the truth...Love is inherently risky. Love requires vulnerability and that leaves us open to be hurt. The characters in this film know the flip side of love is pain, yet they are willing to go to the depths, to risk it all...all for love. 

Anthony and I love each other very deeply...and our love takes us to the depths. We have the kind of love that isn’t always easy. It’s a love that requires comittment, risk taking, and sacrifice. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t always feel happy and warm and fuzzy...It’s a love that breaks our hearts. When Anthony was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, my heart broke in a million pieces. It breaks over and over again when I see him sick or in pain. His heart breaks when he looks into my eyes and sees the worry I try to hide behind my smile. But, we wouldn’t have it any other way. We will continue to risk it all by opening our hearts to each other, the way Jesus opened Himself to us...completely vulnerable. It’s the only way to know the fullness and the beauty and the immense joy of love. Even though it hurts sometimes.

Can We Sleep With the Light On?

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth... 

and the earth was without form or shape, with darkness over the abyss 

and a mighty wind sweeping over the waters...

Then God said: Let there be light, and there was light.

God saw that the light was good. God then separated the light from the darkness.

                                                                                                                                                                    GENESIS 1: 1-4

Have you ever been afraid of the dark? You know...like when you were a little kid? You remember...You’re lying in your bed, eyelids heavy with sleep, and a sweet dream no further than a goodnight kiss away, when you hear it. Wait. There it is again...A noise. A creaky, creepy, barely audible noise that starts your imagination running at full speed...Who’s under my bed? Is there someone outside my window? What’s hiding in my closet? What or who is lurking in the darkness, just waiting to get me? In the darkness, anyone...anything...could be as close as your teddy bear and you wouldn’t know because you can’t see without the light on. One flip of the switch is all it takes to silence the noises and send the boogie man away. Once that light goes on, the fear is extinguished.

In Genesis, God speaks light into existence. Wow...Imagine the voice of God, bellowing through the darkness, creating light. Just like that! I find it kind of interesting that the first thing a little kid (or anyone, for that matter) does when he’s scared of the dark is scream...A voice bellowing in the dark, calling for the light. I remember crying out for my mom and dad when I was afraid of the dark. All I needed to feel safe was one of them to come in and turn the light on. Hearing their footsteps approaching my room was enough to start chasing some of my fear away. But, the flip of the light-switch...now, that was a comforting sound because, with it, came the light that drove the monsters away. 

Being in the dark, literally or metaphorically, can be scary at any age. These days, Anthony and I have our little bouts of fear. If he has a new twinge of pain, it’s like hearing a creepy noise in the dark. Any new symptom or change in how he feels is enough to send me looking under the bed or checking inside the closet with every light in the house turned on.  The truth is, no matter how old we are, every single one of us still has fears. Sure, most of the time we walk around acting all big and brave and grown up, but at the end of the day, when the lights go out and we are alone with our thoughts, sometimes those fears surface and set off our internal panic buttons and, in an instant, we are five years old again. 

Well, I’ve decided that Anthony and I shouldn’t have to apologize for our occasional panic attacks. I’m also not going to be ashamed to admit that, sometimes, the cancer scares me. My fears are always greater at night, when sleep and stillness begin to settle down upon the house. When the lights are off and it’s dark, the cancer seems bigger and scarier...like a monster hiding under my bed...waiting to tighten its grip upon Anthony as soon as I close my eyes. When I feel that way, I stay with what’s familiar and I cry out. Well, maybe not out loud, but in my heart. I cry out to my Father in Heaven and say, “Abba! Papa! I’m scared! Please come and turn on the light.” And He does. He comes and opens the door of my heart, fills it with His love and peace, and that drives the darkness away.

Oh, one more thing...I’m also not (too) embarassed to admit that some nights just feel darker than others. I’m not sure why. Maybe I have a tougher than usual day. Maybe I’m overly tired...as my mom used to say. It doesn’t really matter why, but when the night seems especially dark, I just get up and turn on the light in our bathroom. Then, I go back to bed and imagine God smiling and slowly shaking his head. 

There's No Crying In Baseball

There’s no crying in baseball, right? Like hell there isn’t. I was crying just last night when my CARDS lost the second game of the World Series to the Rangers. I bet there were a lot of Cardinals fans crying right along with me. If you didn’t see the game, too bad for you. There were some definite nail biting moments...kind of like in the Big Game...you know, the game of life.

Now, I’m no sports reporter, by any means, so please forgive any mistakes I may make with the terminology as I give my brief overview of the game... 

For the first six innings, the score stayed an even zero to zero. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, though. Both teams had their strike outs, ground outs, line outs, and fly outs. It wasn’t until the bottom of the third that anyone got a hit that actually put a man on base, although someone did walk in the second inning. Finally, in the bottom of the seventh, the Cardinals scored the first run. 

The Cardinals held the lead until the Rangers stole it (literally) in the top of the ninth. First, the Rangers got a single, then the pace suddenly picked up after a steal to second. An error turned the next single into a double which put the tying run on third and the winning run on second. Then, wouldn’t you know it? The next two batters sacrificed to get both men home. With the Cardinals at bat, in the bottom of the ninth, the score was Rangers -2, Cardinals - 1.  Molina got a walk, giving the Cardinals a brief moment of hope for at least tying it up, but two strike outs and a fly out later, it was all over.

Even though my boys lost, it was a great game. I kept thinking about how things changed so quickly at the very end. I was sure the Cardinals were going to win. It was strange how, in that ninth inning, when the Rangers took the lead, I felt my spirits suddenly drooping. It wasn’t until later, after I was in bed and unable to fall asleep, that I figured it out.

Life is kind of like the game last night. You try your best, you have your ups and downs, but for the most part, you go about the business of daily life on a fairly even keel. Sometimes, you have a little cushion, and you feel like you’re on top. I guess everyone has their own idea of what that cushion is, but for Anthony and me, we’ve always been happiest when the kids are all doing well, everyone is happy and healthy and life is normal. Sorry if that sounds boring. We don’t need a lot of extraneous stuff to make us happy. Kind of like the Cardinals having that one point lead. It’s not a lot, but it was all they needed to feel on top.

Then, one event starts a whole chain of events, and suddenly everything is upside down. You find yourself wondering what the heck happened and how it all happened so fast. You start looking at what you could have done differently, where you may have slipped up, dropped the ball, missed a play. If you could just go back and try it over again, maybe you could hold on to the little edge you had, that extra little slice of happiness. 

Well, I certainly don’t want to start my day being a sore loser. That’s no fun at all. Besides, it was only one game, and there is still a good chance my Cardinals can win the Series. I’ll call my 92-year-old Aunt Mame in St. Louis and we’ll give each other a little pep talk. And, as far as Anthony and I go, we’re going to be fine. We’re still very much in the game, too, and we’re not giving up any time soon. We’re hoping and praying and believing that Anthony’s going to come sliding into home base with that big winning run. And let me tell you...There will be plenty of joyful tears. Who said there’s no crying in baseball?

What I Care About

One of the cool things about having cancer in the house is that you can blame a bunch of stuff on it. OK, I know that sounds kind of bad...like a cop out. Well, right now, I don’t really care. That’s right, today, I just don’t care.

I’ll tell you what else I don’t care about today. I don’t care that the dog found something to eat...God knows what...on the kitchen floor a minute ago. Geez, I remember staying up until all hours mopping my floors and cleaning baseboards. Crazy, huh? Well, I had little kids crawling around and playing with my Tupperware on the kitchen floor while I cooked every day. That was their favorite stomping ground. They made some pretty cool stuff stacking all those containers. I wouldn’t let anyone put their kid on my kitchen floor today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today. 

Here’s another thing I don’t care about today...I don’t care that Anthony left a bandana, an ice pack, an empty glass, and a bunch of old newspapers on the table beside his chair in the family room. His mess is not hurting anyone. As a matter of fact, it all looks quite comfortable where it is, so I think I’ll leave it there for a little while longer.

I also don’t care that somebody left their sweatshirt hanging on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Oh, and Davey left his guitar in the middle of the family room and a baseball glove on top of his amp that’s sitting practically in the entryway at the front door. He had a gig (or played guitar at a baseball game?) and was probably tired when he got home. Cancer in the house seems to make everyone really tired these days.

I also don’t care that the mail has piled up. That’s always been Anthony’s thing....opening the mail immediately and taking care of everything that arrives via our wonderful postal service. Well, I wish our friendly mail carrier would skip our house for a few days...just until we get caught up sorting through and opening what we already have. Or better yet...maybe he could just deliver the nice get well cards and other correspondence we get from family and friends that makes us smile. Now, that would be awesome.

I don’t care that the carpets could use a vacuuming, the bathroom could use a scrubbing, the porch could use a sweeping, and the laundry could use a laundering. About the only thing that doesn’t need doing is the dog getting a bath. Ha! That, I did this morning. And she looks and smells wonderful, by the way. Probably better than I do, since I look pretty much the same as I did when I rolled out of bed. Maybe next time, I’ll just hop in the tub with her and kill two birds with one stone. Um...maybe not.

You know, all the things that need to be done...the picking up and cleaning, the mail, and God knows how many other things... everything is exactly the way it is because there are people living in this house. All the things that need tending are signs of life. Maybe the messier part of living, but still, they are visible signs that people are living here. The crumbs on the kitchen floor are the happy reminders of Davey and his girlfriend laughing as they cooked dinner last night. Anthony’s little mess in his favorite corner, next to his favorite chair, lets me know he is here...and still very much alive. Maybe that’s why I’m in no big hurry to pick it all up. 

I’ll tell you something else...I’ve spent way too much time worrying about things that don’t really matter a whole hell of a lot. I’ve spent too much energy caring about what others might think or say. I don’t have time for that today. Today, I don’t care about what anything looks like on the outside. 

Today, when I look around the house and start thinking about all the things I should do, all the things that need to get done, I’m going to stop myself and say, “I don’t care about any of it, today.” Then, I’m going to look over at Anthony, who is quietly napping on the living room couch, with a very clean dog lying at his feet, and I’m going to smile. Anthony, and the people, (including the dog) who live in this house, are all in a good place right now... and all very much alive.

Now, that is something I care about.

My Cave

I have not blogged for a while. But you already know that. I didn’t mean to just disappear. I guess everything finally caught up with me because I feel as though I fell asleep one night and woke up in “my cave” the next morning. Since we’re being so forthright here, I can tell you that my cave has been around for a long  time...at least as long as I can remember. Sometimes, I find myself in it, and it takes me a while to find my way out. Sometimes, it takes me a little longer than I’d like. Over the years, I’ve learned that I can even get a little too comfortable there...in the silence and solitude of my cave. I know. It sounds a little creepy.

Well, I’ll tell you what's a little creepy for me...this blogging thing...where I pour out my guts, and all my feelings somehow make their way into words that suddenly appear on my screen. And then, I send them all off to the great internet cloud in the sky! I realize I’m taking a big chance, risking a lot, by being so open. It’s not really my style. (I’m not sure I even have a style.) As a matter of fact, Anthony, who understands me better than anyone on the planet (maybe even better than I understand myself!), was surprised when I told him I was going to start a blog about my journey with him through this cancer thing. I admitted that I was surprised, too...actually, more like shocked and terrified at the same time. Yet, I felt compelled to do it. I didn’t know why back then, and I’m not sure I know a whole lot more today. But, that’s OK, because I have found that the whys of what God asks of us are usually incomprehensible at the moment. But, He inevitably helps us figure it all out later. So, I’m staring my fear in the face and I'm doing it...I’m blogging...and I’m bearing (and baring) it all, and I’m hoping, from my limited scope of vision, that someone will be touched by the words I write. Of course, only God knows how far these words will go, who will ultimately read them, and who may actually need to hear them. That’s all up to Him.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to sound nobly altruistic because, honestly, I’m not that good. I am more than willing to consider that my call to blog is as much for my benefit as anyone’s. I need all the help I can get right now. My emotions are all over the place. You know what that’s like. Sometimes, we feel so many different things, we wonder if we’re normal or if anyone else has ever felt the same way. Then, we start judging ourselves or finding shame in what we feel. The shoulds and should nots start worming their ways into our thinking and, before we know it, we're wading in the muck and mire of mental flagellation. We get ourselves into a whole lot of trouble second guessing our thoughts and emotions...and we can also end up feeling very alone. Even with my entire committee of very colorful characters in my head, all fighting over my (our?) feelings, I feel very alone at times. Like when I spend too much time in my cave. Well, I’ve decided that this is not a good time for me to feel isolated and alone. It’s not a good time for any of us to feel that way because we need each other. I need you. Anthony needs us. 

Call it an artist’s temperament, a musician’s soul, or the deep and brooding side of my spirit...it’s all the same to me...it’s my cave, and I can’t promise that I won’t end up there again. I know better than to make promises like that. Sometimes, it’s just where I am, where I have to be...in order to still be me. But, I will promise you this...I will let you know that all is as well as can be the next time I find myself there, because I don’t want you to think I’ve disappeared or that I don’t care or that I don’t need you. Because I do care very much. And, because, the next time I go to my cave, I’ll eventually have to come out again...and I’ll need you to be there. Yes, when I poke my head out and can finally open my eyes to the light, I hope the first thing I see is you.

My Shadow Side vs. Cancer

(This post is not for those with weak stomachs! After a particularly difficult night, I'm angry and tired today...Angry that Anthony's cancer causes him pain, disrupts his sleep (and mine), and robs us of quality time together. This is written, definitely from my shadow side... Nevertheless, I told you I would share my journey with you, in the spirit of honesty and truth. Today, anger and frustration has come forth to speak, and so I share, and trust you'll understand.)

OK. Enough is enough.  I’m really angry and I’m sick of this cancer thing. I’m so sick of it that I want to reach inside Anthony and pull it out. Just pull every last piece of it out of him. I want to gather it all up, form it into a ball that fits in my hands and then I want to beat the living hell out of it. 

I can think of lots of things I could do with that ball of cancer. I could throw it on the floor, just slam it down, then stomp on it. Jump up and down on it...like I’m hitting the keys on my keyboard...fast and hard. I imagine it would fight back and resist being squashed, but that’s OK by me. That would just give me more time to figure out how to destroy it.

I could pick it up and throw it against the wall. Just twirl it around and then fling it, hard, against the wall. Throw it with all the force I could muster. I picture it sticking to the wall, little bits of its guts dripping down. Now, it looks like I’m making some progress...it finally looks like I’m hurting it.  Wait...Do I hear it whimpering a little?

Next, I could scoop it up and place it on a cutting board and take out the Chinese chopping knife that Anthony loves so much. I’d push it all together in a mound, then start chopping in one direction, turn it and chop across in the other direction, pushing that knife down with as much force as I could...no matter how hard it resisted. I’d chop it into manageable pieces and turn a deaf ear to its crying and wailing. Why shouldn’t I? It goes about its business boring into Anthony and hurting him as I cry and wail and beg it to stop.

Then, I could pick up all the pieces and throw it into my food processor and hold the top down so none of it could escape and find its way back to Anthony or anyone else. I’d hold a dish towel over it, too...just in case. Then I’d turn on the processor and let the blades pulverize every last bit of it. I imagine its screams crying out over the sound of the running food processor. But, I won’t feel sorry for it. Why should I? Even so, I imagine its sickening pleas getting to me after a while, so I’d be ready with a pair of ear plugs. The good kind...like the ones I use when I go hear Davey play in one of those small venues where the amps are cranked and the music is so loud the walls of the building shake. With the plugs stuffed into my ear canals, I’d sing myself a song, just to be sure I drowned out every last sound.

With all of its power torn apart, I’d look at the bowlful of cancer mess I made and then I’d pour it into a pot and cook it over a high flame and boil it for a long time to make sure every single cell was destroyed, once and for all. I’d cook it down until all the moisture evaporated and the remaining bulk of it was nothing more than a thick paste of harmless mush.

After that, I’d let it cool and form it into a little brick....you know, like an adobe brick...and I’d dry it in the hot sun until it was hard. And then, with one final burst of energy, I’d take a sledge hammer to it and pound it into dust, very fine dust that is as dead as dead can be. And then, I’d bury it, but I wouldn’t adorn its grave with flowers or a cross or a picture or some other token of remembrance. No, I’d just turn and walk away.  I would say goodbye to Anthony’s cancer, forever, and never look back, not even once.