It's been a month since I've posted anything here. A month since I learned that my son has cancer — an osteosarcoma in his right medial proximal tibia (translation bone cancer in the lower leg just below and inside the right knee).
I'm not saying this because I want sympathy or pity. I'm saying this because it's my reality and his reality and his mom's reality and the reality of anyone close with him. Not speaking that reality has kept me from posting anything else here because it hasn't felt right to share another woodswalk while also not acknowledging this happening. And that backpressure has been building and needs to be cleared to feel like vibrant life continues even in the most difficult times.
I'm saying this because we all hold complex exhausting fluid lives and it's so tempting to pretend it's not happening, to put on a good face because we don't want to burden each other. We don't want to spill our mess all over. We think we have to deal with it all by ourselves, all alone. Yes... own your mess, take responsibility for your actions and inactions where and how you can. And you are not alone — never alone — how could you be when you live in worlds of energy, are worlds of energy, that our entire beings are nothing but energies moving changing transforming mixing? Share your life. Share yourself. Know that there can be people to support you or celebrate with you in the owning and the sharing.
I'm saying this because there's a ridiculous notion that we, humanity, people who evolved in small tribes where everyone knew everything about each other and ideally took care of each other, that we, now, are so different from those small tribe people, even though we still carry this humanity in our bodies, so different that we do not have that same need to be seen and cared for, cared for not necessarily directly but subtly, indirectly, in the visibility to and the awareness of others. Who does that being invisible serve? separation... isolation... hierarchy... domination.
To hell with that — we see where that is taking our world. Enough with that. We must live our truth that is the truth of reality. And I recognize and acknowledge the privileges I have in being able to be seen in all this (that I am white, that I have a remote job in technology, that I have been able to gather and nourish support). We must take in other's truth, especially those brutalized and violated by the systems of our society. Other's truth, which is our truth, which is the truth of reality, which is not other at all. We are not separate. We are all in this together, even though much of the time we exist as if we are not and don't remember that we are. And we must remake our society so everyone can live their truth fully.
I hope all y'all have your places to speak your lives and be seen in all that you are living.
I hope all y'all have the space and energy and practices to extend your seeing to as many people as possible.
(when I started this writing, I had no idea that was the direction the words were going to take me)
I am subject to aging, have not gone beyond aging.
I am subject to illness, have not gone beyond illness.
I am subject to death, have not gone beyond death.
I will grow different, separate from all that is dear and appealing to me.
I am the owner of my actions, heir to my actions, born of my actions, related through my actions, and have my actions as my arbitrator. Whatever I do, for good or for evil, to that will I fall heir.
In the past month, I have watched my son try to be still during a PET/CAT scan; stood by him as went under anesthesia before a biopsy; sat with a doctor in the hospital chapel as he gave me the diagnosis while his mom was on speakerphone (because of the pandemic, only one of us can be at the hospital with him during a visit); tried to soothe his panic and eventually held him still so the nurse could place IV lines in the mediport that's been implanted in his chest; sat by him as he slept while the fluids and medicines were pumped into him; witnessed a building full of bodhisattvas care for so many so brilliantly; watched him throw up meals and nothing but water and anti-nausea drugs that are supposed to keep him from throwing up; watched him sleep peacefully and not so peacefully; joked about death with him; seen his hair fall out (he's still quite handsome); heard him cry complain moan shout laugh crack-wise (so wise sometimes); offered what I can for perspective and guidance; driven back-and-forth to the city and to the hospital in NYC traffic more times than I care to count; been staying in his mother's apartment that was our apartment that was her aparatment long before she ever knew me and navigating our ever-changing relationship; missed him when we're apart in the times between treatments.
He and I have been talking a lot about words and the power they have. The nurse is bringing a needle. He says 'stab'. She says 'poke'. I say 'it's going to happen, has already happened, whatever you call it so just let it'. The words give energy to feelings that are already there. He's afraid. I'm afraid. I sure hope the nurse isn't afraid but she's present with our fear. And we learn to be with in that fear together so we can do what must be done.
Same thing for 'tired' or 'exhausted'. I sleep poorly most nights. Dreams are intense and wild. His mom and I wake up to give him medicines or tend to his discomfort. And yet, what is it to just be with where I'm at and not call it anything? Attend to what needs to be done the best I can and not call that anything? How can I take care of myself within 'tired' and 'exhausted' so that I can continue to take care of him?
Nobody can unmake this.
It is heartbreaking but it is not bad, not good, not a lesson (even though there's plenty of teaching here).
It just is.
This is something I wrote a few days before the biopsy when we were still exploring what was happening...
i woke because it was time
he woke from pain
the pain of a swollen knee
where the bone was
overflowing with energy
he sleeps on the couch now
the ladder to his loft bed too much to climb
i sleep in his room now
far from home in a previous home right at home
in my determination to see him through
i curl my legs into seated concentration
he lays his head on a pillow on my lap
with my hands cradling his head
i remember him as a baby totally dependent
not this becoming person
he changes position head at the other end of the couch
skinny shirtless smoothness curled in a ball
yellow and white striped sheet bunched over one hip
yellow and white striped pillow held between
the knee that hurts and the one that doesn't
tempting to venture into metaphor and story
fable parable allegory cautionary tale rationalization
energy is just energy
sometimes it works for us sometimes it doesn't
either way we have to move with it
still sitting
his dog hops up to join us
while his mother sleeps in her room
the air conditioners pulse and whir
and the light blue sky heats up