Recommended Reading

My friend whose words I borrowed last week recommended a book called "Dying To Be Me" by Anita Moorjani.  The second time she recommended it to me, months apart, I thought I'd better just go ahead and read the book because it obviously left a strong impression on her.

The author was dying of cancer and had a Near Death Experience but then came back and now tells everyone how she beat cancer by changing her attitude and outlook.  At least, that's the gist I've got so far, but I'm not quite half way through.

I did find a passage on page 43 to be speaking straight to me though and because of that connection I am more into the book.

Mrs. Moorjani had a friend and a brother-in-law die of cancer within a few months of each other.  She says, "This news instilled a deep fear in me because both of them were close to my age.  I began researching everything I could about cancer and its causes.  Initially, I started doing this in the hope of helping, because I wanted to be there for Soni, to help her fight.  But I found that the more I read about the disease, the more I was afraid of everything that could potentially cause it.  I started to believe that everything created cancer - pesticides, microwaves, preservatives, genetically modified foods, sunshine, air pollution, plastic food containers, mobile phones, and so on.  This progressed until eventually, I started to fear life itself."

Over the past year or so I have done internet "research" regarding a liver condition I have (Gilbert's syndrome) and, unrelated, autism - among other things.  I have found reason to blame pesticides, preservatives, GMOs, antibiotics in meat, the combination of plastic food containers and microwaves, and other random toxins.  So I could really relate to the author - which always makes a book more enjoyable (not that the subject is enjoyable, but relatable is good nonetheless).

Thankfully I am not yet scared of life and don't think I'll get to that point.  But I have changed a lot of the ways I do life.  I've changed the meat I eat, the way I use the microwave, the way I store food, the way I look at soaps and food and beverages.  Yes, I'll still eat at McDonald's and enjoy a Dr. Pepper, but not with the frequency that I used to.

Back to the reading...

I Share the Sentiment

A friend of mine is Fighting Like a Girl against cancer.  She has a facebook page Fight Like A Girl and she blogs on it a bit.  A few days ago I read one of her posts and she very eloquently put to words some of the feelings and thoughts I have had since the dream one and a half years ago that told me 7/12/17 might be the day I die.  I've had these thoughts and all I've had is a dream.  She's got a diagnosis so I can only imagine how much more intense they are for her.  For me it is an inward struggle to think I've grown up a Christian, knowing I'll go to Heaven, but yet feeling like I'm not ready yet.  I don't enjoy that conflict within.  

With her permission, I share some of her words here:

 But when things get a little serious (and it only takes a little), I can immediately feel the weight of what's happening.
Our friend was here for a short meeting to talk about me switching my insurance to John's and a couple other things. And I'm not sure what was said, maybe it was the urgency of taking care of things before my insurance period ended, maybe it was getting a bone density scan or talk of wills and powers of attorney, maybe it was talk of not going back to teaching this Fall?
It's all important. And we need to talk about those things.
But I couldn't fight back the tears. And I still can't even as I write this.
It's taken me a long time to realize my worth, and how much I truly want to live.
And, darn it, I want to live!
I'm strong, and so blessed, and the Lord's grace is all over me. So, honestly, I'm at peace with it all most of the time.
But sometimes, like now, I remember that I've been officially deemed "terminal." Yes, we're all terminal. But for all my efforts, this thing could still grow, and I may not be here next month.
I'm simply too young to miss all there is.
I'm sad.
You know, I think it's ok to be in this place sometimes. And just let myself feel. I spent a lot of years suppressing my feelings, not thinking I was worthy to have them. So now there's something almost joyful about being sad, because I'm just being me with no apologies. And that feels kind of good. 

What's the Big Secret?

The other thing I often wonder as I read the obits is - what's the big secret?  I find myself often wondering what took the life of these people.  Some die so young.  Others leave children behind and certainly it must have been something really strong and powerful to rip them away from their children.  Every now and then you'll see the cause of death listed.  Usually in a nicely worded fashion like lost their battle with cancer or something along those lines.   Or you can make a guess based on the charity they request donations for.

Is there some social stigma I'm missing that contra-indicates mentioning the cause of death?  NOTE TO WHOEVER WRITES MY OBIT:  Just tell people how I died - there's really no shame in it.  Not that this would happen to me but with the right words anything could sound good:  Heroin, the king of evil took over your life and brought it to an end, but now you rest in the arms of the King of Heaven.

I can speak from personal experience.  My first husband committed suicide.  I definitely did NOT write that into his obituary.  Partly because it seemed so horrendous and also, at the time, I wasn't sure I wanted the children to know.  Truth be told we didn't make it through the viewing before one of them overheard it in the bathroom.  Looking back on it now with perspective it would have been just fine to write it in.  Surely there was more whispering about whether it was or wasn't than if I'd just come out and said it.

And when my mom passed away a little over a year ago from complications of Dementia, I didn't write the cause then either.  But now that I've given it some thought, I would definitely write both of them differently.

Opining on Obituaries

Two or three times a month I flip through the obituary section of the Sunday paper.  Especially now that they have moved it into the "Faith" section.

Why do I look?  Many reasons:
- I'm writing a book inspired by a man who is in his late 70s or early 80s.  I hope to finish the book before he dies but I'm not in regular contact with him so mainly I check to see if he's still alive
- I'm vaguely curious about people I used to know in other versions of my life
- It seems like good practice not to assume nobody I know would be in there
- Occasionally I see a relative of someone I know and can offer the appropriate condolences
- My grandmother used to joke that she read them to make sure she wasn't in there
- I have been called on to write several obituaries so maybe I'm keeping up with trends

So one Sunday as I was flipping through I thought to myself - maybe I should start writing my own obituary and leave it where my family can find it.  When I wrote my mom's obituary it was much harder than I thought it would be and I got some things wrong.  Things I never thought to ask her or confirm.  I'd heard bits and pieces of her early life but trying to string it all together in a chronological coherent fashion was a challenge.  If I could take that frustration from the family I leave behind - why not.

Then I turned the page and saw a man who had done just that.  It was a large spread.  I had not heard of the man but apparently he achieved some success in his field (something related to oil).  He did not write it to be pompous but because he wanted to encourage others in how to live well.

Sadly though, what I took from it was that as successful as this man supposedly was - he wrote a crap obituary.  It alternated between an "I went to this school" first person to speaking about himself in the third person.  It was probably 20 or 30 paragraphs and every couple of paragraphs switched back to the other voice.

So that's definitely one thing to keep in mind if I write my own - edit well.  If I don't, I imagine my daughter would write it.  She has a knack for writing too so I'm sure it will be in good hands.

Nail Polish

During my time off this summer I have been cleaning out closets and cabinets and trying to purge stuff that is unnecessary.  Such as the 18 pairs of Size 4 pants that have hung in my closet literally collecting dust for more years than I care to divulge.  Honestly, I'm never going to fit back in them and if I did then I probably would deserve a new wardrobe.  So they are out.

I also found a ridiculous amount of nail polish.  Some I received as gifts, some free with coupons.  More than I will ever use at the rate I only paint my toenails a few times during the summer.  So, last night I painted my fingernails.  Wow, is it weird!  I have only painted my fingernails once that I can remember in the past 25 years. 

It is surprising how much my body registers the presence of that coat of stuff when I just use my hands around the kitchen.  Apparently I frequently bang the larger surface area of my nails and now that the coat of polish is there I feel the resistance.

I'm thinking positive that I'm going to get a teaching job and if I do, maybe I'll paint my nails on a regular basis.  Most of my most recent jobs have used my hands so much that it just didn't make sense. 

Here's to using up all my nail polish and having fabulous hands as they float across the white board!

Missed It

As I start to write a post today it occurs to me that the date is 7/21/17.  21 is the reverse order of 12.  Which means 7/12/15 came and went and I didn't even think about it.  7/12/14 was a day of lots of thoughts for me -but nothing this year, hmmh.  I haven't forgotten entirely, it still crosses my mind frequently, probably daily.  But for now life is progressing mostly normally until I get further instruction.

iPod + Dirty Pool = Therapy

We have a pool in our back yard and the majority of the maintenance is my responsibility.  Once or twice a week I grab my iPod and spend almost an hour or so vacuuming the pool.  Sometimes it frustrates me because there are other things I need to be doing, but usually I'm okay with it.

When I first started using my iPod while I vacuumed I thought I would dance a bit and turn it into a sort of exercise time.  Sometimes I do that but it has actually become very therapeutic.

With my earbuds in I go into a whole different world through any of the 1300 songs that may come up.  Some are Brazilian, some are eclectic, some are from my youth, some remind me of past lives.  Many have Christian lyrics that I find inspirational and redeeming.

The songs take me through a wealth of emotions as I work out solutions to problems, contemplate regrets, and attempt to face fears about the future.  I've learned to keep a tissue in my pocket because I usually wind up crying.  I cry for relief at hearing how much God loves me in spite of..., I cry for frustration of regrets I can never change, and I cry in response to fear of things to come and probably I cry for 199 other reasons which I am not psychologically adept enough to identify.

All I know is, it feels like therapy and it's a lot cheaper.  (Well, total pool operation budget not included, just hour for hour.)  When I go back inside I feel refreshed and renewed.  When I have the summer off it is easy to attend these therapy sessions.  Once I go back to work it becomes a little more challenging, but even still when I use precious weekend time for this activity I often feel an impending loss at the thought that soon we will cover the pool up for the winter.