Cancer Happens

Living Happy Extra

Photo by Bao Menglong on Unsplash

This week we had a bit of an emergency cancer surgery (again) on Shaun. This time it was on his arm. This time it was melanoma. But hopefully everything will be chill and clean and clear and not deep.

Fingers crossed.

And we also had a cat emergency.

And Sparty dog has surgery next week for his own bit of probably cancer.

So, it’s been a little wild.

Last night, I saw someone at our town’s village tree lighting, someone cool and lovely with a giant heart. Santa was coming to town to stand in the gazebo and take the microphone and read a Christmas poem. Kids were scurrying about, frolicking, climbing trees. People were hanging out together, gossiping and catching up.

It was pretty beautiful.

I was trying to take some photos during the event and it was so dark, but it was a challenge, you know? Challenges make you better. And soon there would be light—the Christmas tree would turn on and the light would touch all those kids’ faces, illuminating them.

This person had heard about Shaun and they said, “How are you happy? You’re still smiling.”

And it felt like a bit of a condemnation, right? Like the way I am isn’t the right way to be. I know they didn’t mean it that way. They meant to be supportive, which is another lovely thing to be.

I told them, quickly because I was trying to get photos, that I’d been sad this week and stressed out and worried, but I couldn’t live there in only those emotions. That’s no good for me or the people and animals that I love.

There is so much beauty everywhere and it breaks through the darkness, lights it up, makes the world better. I don’t want to ignore the goodness of children laughing or the smiles when Santa strides onto the Village Green or the fun of petting a cool, giant dog. And I don’t want to ignore how amazing it is to still be alive, to still breathe air, to still have a husband trying to help me take photos, to be committed to living.

When my mom was dying and in the ICU in a hospital in New Hampshire, we all knew that it was probably one of her last hospital visits. We still teased her. We still got sad, too. But we also still laughed when she wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh a lot.

One of the nurses pulled me over and said, “Your family is so lovely. Your mom—what a nice woman.” She said they had a lot of lovely people there right before they die, but she was stunned by how much she still wanted to laugh, to find joy in things, to have those moments of life that meant things to her, that meant joy to her.

That’s why I let myself be sad and overwhelmed, but not always sad and overwhelmed. I want to enjoy those moments too—every single one that I can. I’m greedy that way. That’s what I thought when I watched Santa step into the light of the town’s little gazebo. That’s what I thought when the sun came up today. That’s what I need to think to survive without crumpling.

There isn’t one way that we are always supposed to be, not one emotion that we’re always supposed to have. It’s okay to be angry or sad or joyous or grateful. It’s okay to be you even when other people don’t understand it.

---