I have enjoyed Mary Elizabeth Williams' writing over at Salon.com and other places for a long time. Yesterday, her column heading read "The Upside to Cancer." You see, on Friday, August 13, she announced in her column that she had just been diagnosed with malignant melanoma and yesterday's oddly titled piece was the follow-up. I encourage everyone to read it because it's poignant and uplifting while still maintaining her trademark "don't f#@* with me" attitude. It concludes with the statement (spoiler alert for those about to check out the link) "I'm so lucky, I wouldn't trade places with anybody in the world right now."
Since her diagnosis, Ms. Williams had been so overwhelmed by the out-pouring of support that she genuinely felt like the luckiest person in the world. She had the privilege of being reminded that she has strong and enduring relationships with people that she cares about and that's what really matters. She also had the opportunity to confront the kindness of strangers head-on and feel that power. People have a way of reaching out when they know something is wrong. It is universally true as there is evidence of it every day. I have rarely met someone who will dispute it. But for some reason, many of us put on a brave face each morning and pretend there is nothing we need.
When we face something truly dire, we tend to have a small inner circle of people we share it with and count on for support. That's great. And it works most of the time. But imagine how much more support we would get if we were just honest with everyone. And imagine how many other people we could help by allowing them to see that they are not alone in whatever sickness or sorrow they face.
There is a "Like" button on Facebook for the statement, "Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle." It's so true. I am the first to admit that I have made presumptions in the past about people who appear to have it so easy, only to find out later what was really going on behind the scenes. I've realized that just because someone is perfectly put together everyday and always on time and drives a clean car and wears lipstick and earrings even to the gym, that there isn't something horrendous going on at home. They or someone they love could be sick or afflicted, or addicted or violent or on the brink of bankruptcy. The worry and concern over those things could consume every ounce of their energy and mental prowess and yet they still put on the brave, normal face for the outside world. I don't know what drives us to do this, but we all have.
A man who comes into my office for various things from time to time stopped in to chat a few weeks back. Turns out he had just started training with a group of 12 guys to participate in an endurance event to raise money for cancer research. (Small world) We got to talking about cancer in general terms and he said that he believes that "everyone has cancer." I believe that means he ascribes to the theory that we all have cells that mutate and replicate but most of the time, the bizarro cells die or our bodies fight them off before they can spread as cancer and make us sick.
I didn't discuss this with him at the time, but I assigned a second level of meaning to his comment. I equated it with the Facebook "Like" button. We are all struggling with something; we all have some burden to carry; some battle to fight or atrocity to endure. Whatever it is that is weighing you down, making you feel tired or angry, sapping your emotion and understanding, requiring you to put on your brave and normal outfit every day, that's your clump of mutated cells whether it's "cancer" or not.
A very wise friend said to me once (and you know who you are) that if we all stuffed our problems in a box and lined them up along the wall, we'd go up and pick our own. Of course that's true. When we really consider what others are facing, our situation tends to take on a new, more manageable perspective. If M.E. Williams could be perfectly healthy but be completely devoid of the countless friends and family members who are there to provide "whatever she needs," I believe her when she implies she would opt for her current situation.
I'm pretty lucky. My box is a shoe-box alongside some of you with the one the fridge was delivered in. I'd like to suggest that we consolidate some stuff into one giant box that we share. We can start by being a little more open and honest. I'm not saying that when someone asks, "How's it going?" we should all respond with "Suckish at the moment actually. . . . ." But we shouldn't be so obsessed with keeping up appearances either.
About a year and a half ago, I had the opportunity to meet the Bishop of the Diocese of Providence. As we concluded our conversation, he said to me, "Well, I'll be praying for you. And I hope you'll pray for me, too." It was a revelation for me. Just because you're a Priest or a Bishop doesn't mean you're all set with that. You still need strength and resolve and well-wishes and health and solace and all those things that all humans need. It's just not safe to ever assume that anyone is all set; that they have everything they need; that there's nothing you can do for them. Because there's almost always something you can and should do. Even if it's so simple as just being kinder than necessary.
Since her diagnosis, Ms. Williams had been so overwhelmed by the out-pouring of support that she genuinely felt like the luckiest person in the world. She had the privilege of being reminded that she has strong and enduring relationships with people that she cares about and that's what really matters. She also had the opportunity to confront the kindness of strangers head-on and feel that power. People have a way of reaching out when they know something is wrong. It is universally true as there is evidence of it every day. I have rarely met someone who will dispute it. But for some reason, many of us put on a brave face each morning and pretend there is nothing we need.
When we face something truly dire, we tend to have a small inner circle of people we share it with and count on for support. That's great. And it works most of the time. But imagine how much more support we would get if we were just honest with everyone. And imagine how many other people we could help by allowing them to see that they are not alone in whatever sickness or sorrow they face.
There is a "Like" button on Facebook for the statement, "Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle." It's so true. I am the first to admit that I have made presumptions in the past about people who appear to have it so easy, only to find out later what was really going on behind the scenes. I've realized that just because someone is perfectly put together everyday and always on time and drives a clean car and wears lipstick and earrings even to the gym, that there isn't something horrendous going on at home. They or someone they love could be sick or afflicted, or addicted or violent or on the brink of bankruptcy. The worry and concern over those things could consume every ounce of their energy and mental prowess and yet they still put on the brave, normal face for the outside world. I don't know what drives us to do this, but we all have.
A man who comes into my office for various things from time to time stopped in to chat a few weeks back. Turns out he had just started training with a group of 12 guys to participate in an endurance event to raise money for cancer research. (Small world) We got to talking about cancer in general terms and he said that he believes that "everyone has cancer." I believe that means he ascribes to the theory that we all have cells that mutate and replicate but most of the time, the bizarro cells die or our bodies fight them off before they can spread as cancer and make us sick.
I didn't discuss this with him at the time, but I assigned a second level of meaning to his comment. I equated it with the Facebook "Like" button. We are all struggling with something; we all have some burden to carry; some battle to fight or atrocity to endure. Whatever it is that is weighing you down, making you feel tired or angry, sapping your emotion and understanding, requiring you to put on your brave and normal outfit every day, that's your clump of mutated cells whether it's "cancer" or not.
A very wise friend said to me once (and you know who you are) that if we all stuffed our problems in a box and lined them up along the wall, we'd go up and pick our own. Of course that's true. When we really consider what others are facing, our situation tends to take on a new, more manageable perspective. If M.E. Williams could be perfectly healthy but be completely devoid of the countless friends and family members who are there to provide "whatever she needs," I believe her when she implies she would opt for her current situation.
I'm pretty lucky. My box is a shoe-box alongside some of you with the one the fridge was delivered in. I'd like to suggest that we consolidate some stuff into one giant box that we share. We can start by being a little more open and honest. I'm not saying that when someone asks, "How's it going?" we should all respond with "Suckish at the moment actually. . . . ." But we shouldn't be so obsessed with keeping up appearances either.
About a year and a half ago, I had the opportunity to meet the Bishop of the Diocese of Providence. As we concluded our conversation, he said to me, "Well, I'll be praying for you. And I hope you'll pray for me, too." It was a revelation for me. Just because you're a Priest or a Bishop doesn't mean you're all set with that. You still need strength and resolve and well-wishes and health and solace and all those things that all humans need. It's just not safe to ever assume that anyone is all set; that they have everything they need; that there's nothing you can do for them. Because there's almost always something you can and should do. Even if it's so simple as just being kinder than necessary.
Beautiful post Lisa!
ReplyDelete~ Kristen
Thanks Kristen! (I loved your "mugshots" by the way - moleskin on Mug's blisters cracked me up - It really IS all about the giggling!. . . .)
ReplyDelete