Life Lessons – I Am Barb Lee

Apparently, I’m A Quitter

What a weird week I had last week. Ups and downs and ins and outs and upside downs. I guess that’s every week for most people, and for me too, but last week everything was even more pronounced than usual. It finally ended with a colleague referring to me as a “quitter.” And this is a colleague who knows enough about me to know that this is a pretty ridiculous claim. So here I am to refute it.

Before I can do that I have to explain a few things.

First of all, let’s agree that conflicts usually begin over really stupid things. I know this firsthand, because I’m estranged from a couple of members of my family due to of a lot of nonsense that could have been avoided, but eventually snowballed into situations that ended up hurting a lot of beautiful and decent individuals. We’ve all read that wars begin over small disagreements between parties. That dictators end up hating certain groups because of avoidable disputes. That grudges over miniscule differences can last a lifetime. What I’m going to relate here is similar. Here goes.

The colleague in question asked me to assist her with taking some decorations off a large piece of paper on her wall, with a plan that we would reuse them. Everything was taped, and when I tried to remove something the piece of background paper ripped about two inches. She FREAKED OUT on me, then quickly tried to justify why she did. My response: “It’s PAPER. I’ll tape it. I’ll get another piece. It’s not someone’s LIFE.” We got around it, but while I was pulling more tape off the same paper it started to rip again and she FREAKED OUT a second time. At this point I told her to do it herself. And these words fell from her condescending lips: “You quit at everything!” Students, taking their final, were staring at us. How embarrassing!

For a little bit of background: this same person has repeatedly shushed me in front of students when I try to respond to conversations that she starts, and is always quick to one-up me whenever I reveal some small victory in my sometimes challenging and multi-faceted life. Some of the things I’ve heard her say to students are questionable, at best. A lot of unnecessary comments that are clearly not well thought out are spoken. She is not a bad person by any means, just very sheltered, from what I have gathered. Like a lot of coworkers I’ve encountered, she has some major power issues. In spite of all this, our working relationship has been pretty good. Hard to believe, right?

Here’s the kicker: the day before this incident we had gone out to eat with a mutual friend, and had a great time. You’d think it would make a difference? Apparently not.

Although I woke up this morning just about “over it” and ready to move on without her in my sphere, I still think I should defend myself against her utter misstep. I’ll try not to be as self-absorbed as my buddy.

WHY I’M NOT A QUITTER:

You know this is coming. Check the statistics on Stage IV Lung Cancer. I’m not going to post a link, because I don’t look at them anymore. I’m over them. They aren’t me. But they could have been me. Only, I didn’t quit. Point made.

I’ve lost more people who truly loved me than I have left in this world. And yet, I still find joy in life. I could have quit, but chose not to.

I never had the comfort of having someone pay for my education. The only reason I got a master’s degree is because I tapped every resource I could find, including my own bank account. Furthermore, I worked full time jobs the entire time. I may have been exhausted, but I never quit.

My traveling life has, for the most part, been self-funded. Been doing this stuff for nearly 40 years, including three and a half of them with cancer. This sucky disease could have stopped me from doing something I love, but I didn’t quit.

Another thing I didn’t quit at is hiking. I’ve hiked thousands of miles since my diagnosis. In fact, I log more on foot miles in a day, a week, a month, and a year than most humans.

I could go on and on and on, but I won’t, because here’s an alternate thought.

My dear colleague might just have a point. I long ago quit losing my shit over pieces of ripped paper, over “spilt milk.” I’ve quit letting power-hungry colleagues and family members effect my life in any major way. I’ve learned to quit letting cancer decide how I live, what I live for, how long I live. I’ve quit having to “win” every battle and aim to conquer only the really important ones.

Perhaps I am a quitter after all.

Marie, I Get It

Did you ever lose someone in your life and realize that you didn’t really understand them while they were here? I lost my eldest sister Marie in May of 2022, and I understand her better and better every day that goes by. I wish I could talk to her and tell her, “I get it now. I know how you felt.” Of course, I do talk to her, but it isn’t like having her sitting across from me at the kitchen table, something that happened on a weekly basis the last year of her life. I’m so thankful that I had that time with her, even though our talks weren’t always happy or enlightening. Sometimes, it could be tough to get her to open up. But when she did, so much was revealed.

Our conversations would inevitably wind up on our family. Herein lies the biggest hurt of Marie’s life, one that I totally get now. When she was alive I always had her to fall back on, so the backlash from the remaining members of our immediate family didn’t matter as much to me. I tried to ease her pain by reminding her that she and I had each other and our sister Jeanne, and nothing else was all that important. We had to leave the past behind and count on one another. Now that she’s gone, the loneliness of not having anyone to talk to about the inner workings of our shattered brood is deep, and likewise, not having someone of my own flesh and blood that I can trust without question is disheartening. Though we didn’t always agree, Marie was the only one in my family that really kept on top of my medical concerns, and dealt with the ups and downs of our sister Jeanne, who is disabled and has nonstop health issues. Other than our parents, I have likely never met anyone that could be counted on unconditionally to keep her mouth shut and be a support system, even when the chips were down, like Marie could be. And in the final years of Marie’s life, the chips were usually down. I get it why she wanted to fade away, and did.

Don’t take this post the wrong way. I’m not suicidal. I’m not looking to check out, or to elicit sympathy. But my heart has been broken so many times by people I love and who are supposed to love me that I’ve lost count and I just keep moving further away from them. Marie’s heartbreak was tenfold to mine. So I have that to live with. I’m shattered for my parents too, who were the best people in the world, and deserve a better legacy than the one still playing out. We should have all been success stories. They gave us everything. We have no excuses. Yet we are unfixable at this point. There isn’t even a “we” anymore.

I’m also not jealous of anyone’s family. I don’t want yours. I want mine, the way it used to be before some poor examples of human beings were invited in and came between us. I want family members that, instead of celebrating those who trample them, celebrate those who celebrate them. But I know that this is impossible; the damage has already been done.

So, what is there to do?

Marie was never able to build a circle of friends outside of our family, and I haven’t done so well either. We were both born introverts. And with six girls, we didn’t so much need friends, because we had each other. I realized long ago, when we started to crumble, that a lot of my failure to have long-term friendships is because my sisters were my best friends. Now that they have either moved on to the next life, or have stayed stuck in place in this life and I’ve moved on, I’m at a terrible loss. Instead, for years I’ve been removing myself from situations that simply hurt too much, and counting on friends, and traveling, and writing, to get me through. Marie couldn’t find ways to cope the way I have. But she has found the peace she wished for. Whenever I miss her too much I have to remind myself of that.

I want to find mine while I’m still alive.

New family wanted. Apply here.

Don’t Rush Me

The eye of the storm. That’s where I was for decade upon decade. Life was seemingly calm, but in reality I was surrounded by thunder and lightning and high winds and debris, all ready to take me down unexpectedly at any moment. I was a moving target. The butt of sick jokes and harassment. The subject on everyone’s lips. Running running, running. And trying to hide from prying eyes.

That’s all over now. I’ve found peace, and silence. But the real world is never far enough away.

My cocoon is the retirement community I recently moved to. It’s located off a busy state highway. I’m way up in the back, away from it all, with a farm behind me and wildlife trotting and winging through my yard. Yet I only have to leave the premises in order to get a quick reminder that the uncivilized world awaits, and that the inhabitants are in a tremendous rush to go absolutely nowhere. Well, world, I will not be rushed by you anymore. I’ve earned my slow stripes. Please, pass me by as fast as you wish, and go along your silly, speedy ways. Put away your middle fingers, switch your low beams back on, and just GO.

My feelings about humanity’s need for speed is well documented, no big secret. What I don’t quite get, and never will, is what the gain is, and why people have to jeopardize the safety of others in order to satisfy their own stupidity.

Case in point: I left the retirement community the other day, and within thirty seconds, even though I looked both ways before I pulled out, I had a speeding white car on my back bumper. This, in total disregard of the fact that the speed limit falls ten digits where I pull onto the state highway, and it goes from a two lane divided raceway to a one lane regular road. A messy road construction job with barrels and lane shifts is right up ahead, with a greatly reduced speed limit. No way I’m driving through that too fast. Mr. White Car had no such qualms. On a solid line, he blew past me effortlessly and ploughed through the road construction without applying the brakes once.

Not far up the road and I’m minding my business driving forty-five in a forty-five. Someone cuts me off from a side road and proceeds to drive thirty-five. Before I’m driving for ten minutes I’ve been cut off three more times. But here’s the kicker: Mr. White Car Wanna Be Race Care Driver? Mr. Tailgater? I end up right behind him at the next stop light. What has he gained? Answer: nothing. Except for endangering his life and those around him.

Don’t rush me.

Next, I pull up to the ATM and start getting my card out of my wallet. I’m ready to open my car door and step up to the machine when a man pulls into the lot next to me, jumps out of his car, and strides toward the glass door ahead of me. Too bad for him that he has to fumble through his wallet to open the damn thing because in his rush to beat me to the money he didn’t have his card ready. Is it terrible for me to wish that he’s one of those people who has no money to take out in the first place, and that he will stomp out saying that the machine is “broken?”

And hey, what ever happened to “ladies first?”

My favorite is when someone is blinding me with their headlights only to pull into Dunkin Donuts and into a snaking line in the drive through. (And no one is inside!) Enjoy your coffee, dummy.

It’s not all about the way we drive. There are the shoppers in the supermarket sighing because I don’t put my food on the belt fast enough, or swipe my debit card skillfully enough, or move my cart out of the aisle exactly when they want me to. They start getting testy, I start making eye contact. And I am the queen of eye contact. I’m a teacher by trade. I can stare anyone down. Don’t tempt me.

Or rush me.

Believe it or not folks, not everyone feels the need to save thirty seconds to get to a stop light before someone else. Listen to John Lennon’s song “Watching the Wheels.” If a Beatle can stop playing the game, can’t just about anyone?

The bigger picture is that so many of us have stopped being polite, have stopped caring about anyone but number one, have stopped caring about much of anything, including safety and common sense and life.

No wonder I like my little retirement community so much. I’m thankful to have an escape from the nonsense.

And remember, if we ever meet, you can do anything as quickly as you want, but DON’T RUSH ME.

Can I Start Fresh?

By now it’s common knowledge that I have a deadly disease. Almost daily I hear of another person who succumbs to Stage IV Lung Cancer. Almost daily I wonder when it will be my turn. And yet, thanks to modern medicine and my own sheer will to live and even thrive, I’ve survived for three years and am currently feeling pretty good and living my life much the way I always have. Still, questions loom whenever I think too hard about the future, and the biggest one is, do I even have a future to think about?

Many people reading this have no real idea what this feels like, and good for you, I used to be like you. Others will believe that they know what it’s like when they really don’t. Still others will just tell me to “get over it” and live my life, which I am, perhaps better than they are, but which they have no right to say. There will, however, be a handful of folks who will think, “I know exactly what she’s talking about.” They know that the “not knowing” makes planning for the future a weird thing. Suddenly, everything you do has a “twist,” perhaps even an expiration date.

I’m currently in the throes of making some major changes, particularly to my home and work life. In fact, I’m planning to change so much that I’ve been referring to it as a “fresh start,” which then triggers the inevitable inquiry: can I start fresh with a terminal illness? If the answer is “no” I guess that answer doesn’t really matter, because I’m moving ahead anyway! And if the answer is “yes” there is always that nagging feeling that I’ll end up really happy in my new life, then the rug will be pulled out from beneath me (again) by cancer and it will be all for nothing. Or I’ll die happy? Worse could happen; I could die miserable. But the point is that I don’t want to make all sorts of improvements only to end up on my last leg. Nor do I want to die with regrets. I have few if any as of now. Which only leads to another bit of confusion, because if I don’t move forward on my dreams and goals and I end up living for many more years (which isn’t impossible) it will be time wasted. Sounds like a recipe for regret to me. Who needs that?

Do you see my dilemma?

Admittedly, I’m not as ambitious as I once was. Is that all because of cancer? I can’t really answer that for certain. Perhaps it is, but I think that the changes in the world that COVID19 brought about have to be considered, and well, I’m not as young and idealistic that I used to be. Last post I revealed my personal Bucket List. Much of it is riddled with travel goals, but even those have changed, have become more focused. At one time I planned to get a PhD, travel the globe for two or three years nonstop, own a Victorian home, be a millionaire, write a bestselling novel. And a lot of other stuff that has long since disappeared from thought. Maybe I never really wanted those things, or maybe they were unrealistic. Now, I have six things on my goals list and just about all of them are right in front of me. In fact, one of them was basically offered to me today unexpectedly, once again proving that you just never know what is going to come your way, good, bad, or ugly. So I guess I will have to raise the bar a little. Or maybe, like John Lennon once said, I’m just watching the wheels go ’round and ’round. I’m damn tired, and maybe it’s just time to have a break. Is that giving up? No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just a fresh start as a me that is a little older and wiser than the one before.

A few months ago I lost my dear sister Marie, leaving me with just a couple of people that I love and trust and whom truly love and trust me. My mother, who loved only one man her whole life (my dad!) once told me, “He gave me enough love to last me the rest of my life.” I’ll never forget her words, and I remember thinking, “I hope I feel that way someday.” Now, I believe I do. Not the same kind of love that Mom was talking about, but love from her and my dad, my sister Marie, my sister Jeanne, my niece Amanda. Why do I bring this up? Because my fresh start ties in with this. I’m not searching any longer, I’m no longer interested in being in the line of anyone’s fire, I won’t be subjected to conditional love. I’ve received enough love, and can live with what I still get. I’m okay, and I’ll take care of the people who take care of me.

Can I make a fresh start? I already am. Only time, if it is on my side, will tell how well I do.

I Am Not Your Warrior

Okay, it’s truth time (again).

Here’s a natural fact: I’m quite adept at pissing people off. Yeah, like everyone else on Earth I’m totally guilty of flipping switches once in a while. But then there are those times when I’m not trying, and my words get twisted into something not intended. Through texts, blogs, and conversations, I’m totally guilty of raising pulses with a single bound. I have the gift of offending. Then again, maybe some folks are just always looking for something wrong? (Always the best way to find it.) Well, I’m about to piss off a whole legion of humanity with the following discussion. So if you’re easily piqued, come back when I’m talking about road trips, or something else less controversial.

Here goes…

Do you know what R-E-A-L-L-Y irks me? When someone with cancer is referred to as a “warrior.” Wait, it’s just women, isn’t it? Men are “fighting it with everything they’ve got,” and we women, well, we’re your warrior. Over and over and over again I see women with cancer being called warriors. “My best friend succumbed to cancer yesterday. She was such a warrior.” Or, “Be a warrior! Kick cancer’s ass!” I can’t tell you how many times this has been said or implied to me in the past nearly three years since my diagnosis. Here’s the kicker, folks. Hold your breath!!

I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR WARRIOR!!!

Who started this shit anyway???

A tough question to answer, because when I put the term into a search engine I keep coming up with a PBS documentary by that name about a doctor named Judah Folkman who was a cancer researcher in Boston. Just reading a little about Dr. Folkman makes it obvious that it was not he who coined this overused moniker to label any and all women who are unfortunate enough to get the disease. Susan G. Komen seems like a much likelier source. Bless her heart, may she rest in eternal peace, and I hope she was and always will be a shining example of a cancer warrior, if that is what she wanted, if that was her intended legacy.

BUT I STILL DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR WARRIOR.

Back in September of 2019, when I had a weird bump growing out of my sternum and I knew a cancer diagnosis was coming, as unlikely and unfathomable as that seemed, I tried to head off the outpouring of emotions of others by requesting that I receive no sympathy, no questions, no assumptions, no sad faced emojis. I got all that anyway, and more: for some, I’ve become a figurehead of bravery and heroism. For others, a figurehead of pity, puppy dog eyes, and head shakes. I’m so sorry. Aww, you poor thing. But wait, you’re my hero. When all along, the only person I want to be is me. I’ve said this time and again: the struggle to be normal is real, and that struggle is exacerbated by the labels that have been hefted on me. Most are well-meaning. But for heaven’s sake, don’t label me to make yourself feel better about my “condition.” (Heard that before, too.) And don’t label me because you think that I somehow want to be a warrior. I accepted cancer as part of my life a long time ago, because I don’t have a choice. But I don’t accept the need for others to make me feel like an outcast, for better or for worse, because of an illness you wouldn’t even know I have if I didn’t tell you.

Herein lies the catch: even if the label is meant to be somehow complimentary, it still places me in a different sphere than you. Do me a favor, and let me still breathe that rarefied air of those without cancer. And please, for others walking this Earth with this shitty disease, (and have you noticed that there are more of us than ever?) be damn sure they want to be warriors before you adhere the label to them. Here’s a novel idea: ask how someone feels before you assume that they want to be warriors or heroes. Perhaps they just want to be who they used to be before cancer. Or as close to that as they can get.

Meanwhile, I will continue to wield a hiking pole in place of a sword.

Cursed, But Blessed!

I know, I know, it’s been a while since my last post. But if you’ve read enough of them you know that I love my summer road trips, and they keep me pretty busy. Not busy enough, however, to stop me from thinking about things that I’d like to blog about. Here’s one that popped into my mind as I toured California again for nearly three weeks. And if you don’t mind, I’m including snaps from my trip!

I don’t know how many times I’ve declared myself a “lucky girl.” The term just seemed appropriate, and it illustrated that I didn’t take the life I had (and the life that I still have) for granted. A good paying teaching gig, friends to travel the globe with, a few people who really, truly love me.

And then, cancer struck in the autumn of 2019, and just about the worst case scenario I could ask for was mine: Stage IV lung cancer. A curse for the rest of my life, which probably wouldn’t be much longer anyway. After a pretty good run of being a “lucky girl,” my time would wind down and I’d fade away, into the sunset. In like a lion, out like a lamb.

But wait. After seeking top tier medical care, things started to look considerably brighter. Nearly three years later, I’m still here. Not only that, I continue to do what I love to do. So the question looms: am I still a lucky girl? Am I luckier than lucky? Or am I truly cursed?

I think that all apply. Let’s talk about being “cursed” first and get it out of the way. That’s how I like to do things in life: saving the better stuff for last.

Because of the life that I’ve lead, that, by the way, I made for myself through sound decisions and hard work, I’ve been the target of what the world now appropriately calls “haters.” A perfect term! And regardless of how the world coaches you to handle “haters,” there’s only so much vitriol you can take before is starts to stick. When “haters” touch on every aspect of your life, from your body, to the way you travel, even to what you have in your freezer, the hurt sinks in deep. When these individuals not only hurt you, but also the people you love most in the world, the sorrow becomes unbearable. You would hope that the hatred has stopped since I got cancer? It has not, and in some ways it has only gotten worse, since I not only have to deal with this disease, I have to deal with them too. Between cancer and them, I would honestly rather deal with cancer. At least cancer can be controlled for periods of time. The nasty humans that I’m talking about don’t ever stop the abuse and the pain. On top of all this, I’m dealing with the death of the only person I could really talk to about my illness, and about their sickening way of treating me. The past few months have been incredibly trying, and sometimes I’m not sure that I can go on, or that I want to go on, or that I want to keep doing well.

But then…I think of all the things that I’ve done in this life and how there are so many other things I want to experience before I leave this world. And in spite of this disease, I can still do them! Herein lies the blessing. I may have the deadliest cancer at the deadliest stage, but lung cancer has treatment options that other cancers don’t have, treatments that sometimes allow patients to live normal lives for many years. Thus far, I fall into this category. I’ve maintained my lifestyle of hiking, biking, and traveling, something that my oncologist has said has contributed greatly to saving and extending my life.

The past three years have not been easy. Radiation, scans, medication changes, progression, side effects, haters. But I’ve had a lot of fun too. I can’t say that I haven’t. And as always, I’m not seeking sympathy. I’m just putting my feelings out there, trying to write on topics of interest, and hoping that maybe I’m helping someone who has the same issues.

So you see the confusing life that I lead now. Then again, I have lead that same confusing life for decades. Great love, crushing adversity. Loss, and luck. Extreme sadness, extreme joy. Sometimes, all at once.

Some days I wake up feeling like crap and I tell myself, “I can’t do this anymore.” But then I think of the two family members who still love and need me, I think of some of the great friends I have, I think of my sweet bunny Muffin, and my traveling and writing and hiking, and I say, “Okay, I’ll keep trying to get through this.” These days, I’m looking for a fresh start. Have to keep moving forward for that.

Cursed perhaps, but blessed more.

No Fake News: A Week with COVID19

Ahhh, what a date with disaster it has been! The one I’ve avoided for over two years. It has lasted all week, but I’m told I got off rather easy (so far), because for some people it just drags on and on and on…

I’ve walked hand in hand with cancer for several months now, have made peace with it in my own way, have learned to live and thrive even as it tries to hold me down. But I avoided “the other one” like the damn plague. Walking the other way, wearing a variety of unfashionable face coverings long after the style had gone out for most, scheduling four brief sessions of preventative acupuncture to try and keep it at bay. But it got me anyway.

Where was it? At graduation downtown, where several hundred folks went maskless indoors? Or the next evening at the Paul McCartney concert, where several thousand went maskless with the Green Giant behind? Maybe it was even at my place of employment, where many children and adults were able to make their own decisions about masking over a month ago, and the lion’s share chose to bid adieu to the pesky virus-catchers.

I kept wearing protection when and where I had to. So it’s tough for me to pinpoint where I stumbled. But stumble I did, and ended up with the dreaded COVID19. The misunderstood COVID19. The fake COVID19? Oh please, folks. If you can somehow still believe this, let me tell you beyond the shadow of a doubt, the global pandemic is not just some charade created to make some guy with orange hair and a mouth that needs to be permanently silenced actually shut it. Don’t put yourself in danger of being unvaccinated and getting sick just to perpetuate that lie. Believe me, a four times vaxxed sickie, I get it now how dangerous this virus really is.

Perhaps I got it because of all the unvaccinated Americans buying into conspiracy theories and other political nonsense drifting around. I’m trying not to be angry that I now have this to sort through in addition to cancer and the sudden death of my dear sister Marie, whose love and support would be much appreciated right now. But let me tell you, it’s damn hard not to think about “what could have been,” had we all not just gotten our shots and achieved herd immunity.

Now, instead of posting hiking pictures of beautiful landscapes, I can post fabulous telltale images of trying to live through another health scare.

I was probably in a pretty good position to get the menace. Not only have I been exhausted and moving at a pace too quickly for a human being with my health background to move (guilty!) I’ve also been under extra stress as well as mourning for Marie. So when I got the sniffles last Friday I took special note and made sure I got a good night of sleep with my fingers crossed that I’d sleep the symptoms away.

No such luck.

Saturday, and I gave myself a home test. From the very beginning I knew that I would get my first positive result. That little line next to the “T” has never come close to rearing its ugly little head at me. But it was loud and clear that day. Now it won’t go away. I was recently told that after infection, someone can test positive for up to ninety days. Yay, more stuff I never wanted to know. As if cancer didn’t already give me lots of unwanted knowledge.

My symptoms never really got worse, because I arrested them before they could, or that’s at least the way I’m thinking of it. I made calls to my medical team in Boston and got on Paxlovid, the latest wonder drug that seeks to stop the virus from becoming life threatening. No ventilators for this girl! Unfortunately, the drug, or perhaps the virus itself, caused some horrible side effects for me that have left me dizzy, unsteady, and exhausted. I’ve spent five days in bed, cursing the New England sunshine and listening to the traffic of those who are blessed enough to still stand up and walk, something that has become a major challenge for me. After combating some serious pain over the past six months, I’m aching again. I had to stop taking Paxlovid because of the side effects, and spend my Tuesday afternoon and evening in the ER to be sure the virus drug wasn’t having a drug interaction with the pill that is killing my cancer. My active life has ground to a halt.

All because of a virus that is supposed to be fake.

Honestly, I don’t know how many times I can “start over,” only to come up against another setback. Please send positive thoughts.

And I never turn down a good prayer.

In Memory of Marie

It’s been a while since I posted. I’d like to say that it’s because I was having the time of my life, but that would be as far from the truth as I could get. More accurately, I was remembering and celebrating the life of my beloved sister Marie, who passed suddenly and unexpectedly, but peacefully and without struggle, on May 17, 2022.

I would like to share some pictures of Marie, as well as the eulogy I wrote about her that I read at her service. Please read a little about the life of my eldest sister:

Marie was a complex person. Intensely private, brilliant, and with a photographic memory. But the most important and sometimes overlooked aspect of Marie’s person was the breadth and quality of her heart. Today, it’s cliché to say that our loved one always put others before themselves, but in Marie’s case, this is the absolute truth.

Marie dedicated her professional life and a large portion of her personal life to taking care of others. When those she loved were ill or hurt, she was ill and hurt too. Yet she did her best to find escape and contentment in her books, music, and foreign language studies, and on frequent trips to Boston, the city she loved.

Gaining Marie’s love and trust was a tough thing, but if you got it, it meant something. She would never betray you and would be your staunchest supporter. She had an undying belief in what was right and would carry it out, even when it wasn’t in her favor.

Marie was never a lover of animals or nature until later in life, when she took particular joy in our niece Amanda’s flowers and dog children, as well as photos from my frequent globetrotting. She also became a stellar bunny babysitter while I was away, another example of her willingness to help others, even if it was out of her comfort zone.

I was diagnosed with the deadliest cancer at the deadliest stage two and a half years ago. Marie was with me every step of the way, always ready and waiting a text away for scan and blood test results, even when she couldn’t be right there with me due to aggravations like worldwide pandemics. Thanks to her love, medical miracles, sheer will, and intense love of life, I am still here today. But back in 2019, Marie once said to me, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” Now, it’s me that has to live without her, and I don’t know what I’ll do. We took care of each other in life. In many ways, we will take care of each other in death too.

Marie was extremely modest and would not want me to go on and on about her. I can see her sitting sheepish and uncomfortable while I sing her praises. So rather than make her blush, let me finish by speaking directly to her:

Marie, I am sick, lost, and lonely without you, more than you will ever know. But I’m at peace too, knowing that you’re now free from pain, sorrow and worry. Your heart was immense, and like our beloved mother you were too good for this world and how it treated you. I love you and will love you and miss you forever, until we meet again.

SLEEP PEACEFULLY, DEAR SISTER!

About Traveling

Hey, this will be my last post for a few weeks. Vacation time is nearly here, and I’m heading back out on the road again. Which makes this the perfect time to write about one of my favorite subjects, for the first time in a while: Traveling!

I always find it so weird when people make it sound like there is some “right” way to travel. That you, as the subject, have to travel in some certain way to be a “traveler” and not a “tourist.” That there is some time frame that you have to spend in a place to make it worth your while and to satisfy others that you successfully “saw” something or somewhere. That one person’s way of traveling is superior to another person’s way of traveling. Last thing I knew, travel was supposed to be fun, like an ice cream sundae, with a learning experience on top, like a shiny red cherry, if you so choose to have one. Then again, maybe a trip is simply an escape from the rat race.

Social media is full of “influencers” who will have you believe that their way of traveling is not only better than yours, but that it’s easy and they’ll show you how to be like them, for a price. You can trot the globe while taking odd jobs like bartending and teaching English as a Second Language. Thanks, I got over working in bars when I was twenty-five, and I teach people’s kids every day and love sending them home at 2:15pm, no questions asked. I like my good paying job with paid vacations. I’d pay to see pictures of those “influencers” doing one of their real jobs in between the glossy shots from the pristine mountain top in New Zealand and the beach in Mexico. I want to see the “influencer” mixing a White Russian and looking picture perfect. Really.

Thank goodness for the unfollow button! I recently had to use it on one of the better known globe trotters that I had been following for a couple of years, because she was being pretty insulting to someone else’s way of life. What the heck happened to live and let live?

The other thought that I don’t agree with is that in order to travel in a worthwhile way you have to go to a foreign country. Make no mistake, I love exploring places outside the United States. I’ve done more than my fair share. But in a pinch, and let’s face it, we’ve been in quite a pinch since March of 2020, I’d take a road trip to the American West above all other traveling. I’ve ticked off forty plus countries thus far and have every intention of ticking off more in my own fashion once I deem it safe for me, but give me that road trip every time. It should come as no surprise that I’m heading to the American West this next trip too! I can’t WAIT!!

Here’s a secret about me that makes me different than the garden variety social media travel giant: I love coming home and I love being home, too. The pandemic gave me an excuse to stick close to home and explore my own backyard more. I always said that “someday” I’d do that more and, well, I didn’t expect cancer and COVID19 to give me the opportunity, but I’ve had a heck of a good time! I’ve always scoured New England in between bigger trips, but not like I have in the past two years. In my favorite movie of all time, Dorothy Gale went to great lengths to find out that her heart was in her own backyard. My heart is still and always will be in the American West, but New England is pretty cool too.

Before my cancer diagnosis I spent the better part of twenty years earning my keep as a special education teacher and traveling on school vacations. Maybe taking an extra day or two on either side to make my time away longer, or even escaping on a long weekend. Now that I haven’t done it for a couple of years I realize that it was exactly the way I wanted to travel. Make my money, pay for a trip, enjoy where I was without having to worry about work, and come home to earn money for more fun. After my diagnosis and through the COVID19 storm I continued my exploration as best as I could. Slowly, I’m getting my travel life back on track, though I’ve decided I want to do things and see places that I didn’t take the time to do and see before. Cruises and islands are of high interest, while twenty hour flights to the other side of the world are not really a priority. Oh, and more road trips, of course! Always more road trips!

In short, the Bucket List is officially made. It was time.

And so, I continue to explore as I see fit, and I am unapologetic.

Travel and let travel.

The Value of Extending Life

Recently, I was dealing with the very real possibility that my beautiful sister Jeanne, who has been battling health issues for more than a decade now, was going to lose the fight. Jeanne is the strongest lady I know, and is one of three people in my family that has had to overcome great odds to continue to draw breath. (My niece Amanda and I are the other two, in case you wondered!) Her struggles brought up a wide array of issues, as any health struggle does, but even more for her because Jeanne is disabled. As her sister, co-guardian, and staunchest supporter, I have to be her loudest voice. I also have to be very tuned into whether she’s getting a fair shake or not. More often than not, I am relieved to report that Jeanne does get a fair shake. I’m even more relieved to report that Jeanne pulled through her ordeal and is steadily working her way back to being herself. But it was oh, so close.

So close, in fact, that talk of DNR (do not resuscitate) orders and extending life beyond Jeanne’s comfort was at a maximum. The conversations got me thinking about the value of life and extending it, something I know a little bit about, considering I’ve been living on borrowed time for two and a half years after my lung cancer diagnosis. In those two plus years I’ve traveled and hiked and continued my teaching career and experienced life as fully as possible while also dealing with my illness and a worldwide pandemic. Are those valuable accomplishments? Is my life worth extending? Is anyone’s life worth extending? How about Jeanne’s? Who’s to decide this?

I’ve never been in the position to “pull the plug” on the life of a loved one. I don’t know what I would do. I’m neither fully for or against life support or abortion, but form an opinion based on specific circumstances. No one was making a value judgement about Jeanne continuing on, but some of the things being said struck me as leaning toward her not being able to regain her former status. Jeanne was a different person for months, with few observable signs of deterioration other than somber mood and exhaustion. Because she’s nonverbal, knowing what is going on inside of her can be a mystery. At one time she would make gestures and other outward indications that she was not well, but this time she didn’t. So a major issue festered until it was nearly too late to help her. Several days went by with her life hanging in the balance, major decisions being made, and opinions being shared. Much of what was being said made me uncomfortable, not to mention hollow and grief stricken. Life without my dearest earthly angel was unfathomable, empty. I didn’t and don’t want Jeanne to suffer. But I also wanted her life to matter, to be sure that it did and does, and for her to be able to continue the fight, if that was what she chose to do.

I spoke to my personal guardian angels and put a message out into this plain of the universe: the real decision belonged to Jeanne. If she wanted to fight, she would fight. And Jeanne wanted to fight.

I never stopped believing in her and the value of her life.

Jeanne will never be able to do the things I can do. Nor will she invent electric cars or send rockets to Mars. She isn’t going to end racial discrimination or cure cancer. Most of us aren’t either. Jeanne will help with household tasks, listen to oldies on her stereo, get her nails done, go for haircuts and for rides to look at bodies of water. She’ll take part in simple activities but will revel more in the attention she’s getting. Most importantly, she will be cherished by a few dedicated family and staff members that adore her.

When I saw her in the hospital, where she lay for nearly a month, the “old Jeanne” seemed lost forever. She was unresponsive, far away, so often on the brink of leaving us. I feared for her and for us, feared that we would cross the line of making her stay when she wanted to go, of dragging her through yet another ordeal that she had no chance of making it through. But the thought of seeing the “old Jeanne” kept me praying for her safe passage back to life.

Jeanne may never do any of what I wrote above, but damn, she’s a survivor in the most incredible sense, and has offered more miracles than most people walking the planet.

Jeanne made it. Jeanne taught a lot of people a lesson about survival and the human spirit. Jeanne is quickly becoming the “old Jeanne” again. Just the way we love her.

I’m in awe of this woman!!