Life Happens

 

Life Happens.  

The lovely white rose bushes that used to live along the public path in my neighbourhood and would brighten my daily walks no longer exist.  I don't know why, but for years they were there, then one year...they were not.

And life is a lot like those bushes.  Sometimes there are things we take for granted and enjoy, until they are gone.

My functioning body is a lot like that.  The last year I was able to do my daily walk was 2020 but by 2021, I was having more and more difficulty walking.  If I walked, it made weaving difficult, so I stopped walking daily so that I could keep weaving.

But things got progressively 'worse' and my event activity horizon started to get smaller and the few times I walked in 2022, I noticed the rose bushes along the path were gone.  Cut down, then dug up.

The past two years I have been struggling to keep functional, as best I can.  Life has roller coastered along, some days better than others, but I remember my functional body.  I remember having energy to burn.  I remember being able to juggle a full schedule, hit the floor running in the morning and keep going all day.

Now?  Not so much.

Now it is 2024, I'm heading towards another birthday, and continuing to try to find more comfort, more function than I currently have.  I have little patience for things going 'wrong'.  And gnash my teeth at what I can no longer do - like squat down and stand up again.  Never mind being able to sit up without having to do a 'log roll' and push myself up with my hands/arms.

Yesterday I listened to a CD by Bette Midlar who sang songs from my childhood.  I found myself reacting to one of them in a way I never had before.  

"Is that all there is?" the lyric goes.  Is that all there is?  "If that's all there is, my friend, then let's keep dancing..."

I realized that the song was not meant for the young me, other than a gentle head's up.  But the lyrics struck me completely differently, yesterday.  

Maybe it was partly because I had my six month cancer clinic appointment Thursday, and my Covid vax yesterday and I was feeling, well, I had feelings.  

The news was 'good', actually.  The type of cancer I have is still not considered 'curable'.  It is also a complete surprise to everyone involved that I have gone into remission because hardly anyone with this type of cancer, does.

My new doctor commented that they didn't know why I was in remission and therefore could not make any kind of guess about when it might end.  Since I am considered 'stable' (after being in this remission since Feb. of 2019) I will continue to be monitored by a special 'group' that oversees people with stable blood cancers, until such time as the cancer starts growing again.

And so, I am cut loose for another six months.  To continue this 'dance', not knowing when the music will stop, the dance will end.  And when I will be asking myself...'is that all there is?'

In the meantime, I will keep weaving, even if I can't 'dance' anymore...

The Dance

Watch the feet
as they step and slide
in perfect time,
they find their place
and never miss a beat.

Watch the hands,
sure and deft,
no wasted motion
as they sweep
on their appointed path.

Watch the eyes
watching:
they observe the placement
of the hands,
the threads, the tools.
They watch and help
to dance the dance.

And when the music ends
the dance is done
the cloth is cut
the loom left bare
then, yes, then
the dance lives on
a static record left
to prove the dance begun.

This solitary dance goes on
unseen, a private act
seen only from within.

And if one other sees
within the cloth
one half the joy
felt in the dance,
then I have danced
for them as well...   -Laura Fry