Goodbyes
Goodbyes are hard for me these days. ANY goodbyes. Mostly because I don't know if I will see the person again.
Having terminal cancer is tough. Mine, in particular, is strange. When I was diagnosed, I was told that the survival rate was, in general, 22 months. Since then, I have learned that it varies wildly with each person. Some people die in a couple of months. Another woman who has the exact same kind of cancer that I have has had it for eight years.
So, hard to say when I'll kick it. That bucket. At the rate that I am plowing through treatments that do not work, I suspect that I am not going to be around much longer. But, I dunno. I still have a couple of options. What if one of them works like a charm? You never know.
All I know is that quality of life means more to me that quantity. What good am I to my loved ones if I am laying comatose in a bed, out of my mind? None. That is not a usable, viable life. Once my quality of life is no longer there, I do not want to be here either.
Or more to the point.....if I can no longer read, no longer communicate, and/or I am uncontrollably shitting my own pants and unable to clean up after myself, I am out of here. T knows this.
So, goodbyes to those who don't live in my city are particularly difficult for me.
I had to say goodbye to Lucy today. She left for France on an airplane at 2:30. We had seen a lot of each other. She came home from her Summer intern job in Boston two weeks ago. She spent a LOT of time hanging with friends, saying goodbye to them. She spent more time with me. We talked and talked.
Once, I told her that I no longer knew simple things about her that I used to know when she was a child and for some reason, I needed to know urgently now.
Her favorite color: Red.
Her favorite pie: Strawberry rhubarb. (When did THAT happen?)
And various others. For some reason, it seemed important that I know these things before she left and she gently allowed me to question her.
She is spending the next several months in France, studying and learning all she can about the country's political system, currency standings, and language. She will need it for her major in college: international relations with a second major in French. She has always wanted to live abroad.
And now she is taking her first real steps. She has visited several times. This time, she will be living with an elderly couple who has taken in students for decades. She will be living in a centuries old building with cobblestone streets and taking most of her classes at the Sorbonne. We have photos of everywhere she will be and she has promised to send us more: photos of her bedroom, her new home, her classrooms.
Bo-Bo, her teddy bear will be traveling with her. He accompanies her everywhere, most recently in the bottom of a house that she shared with two friends in Boston. I suspect that he will do just fine.
Lucy and I have said all that we have needed to say. We love each other deeply. We will miss each other. It started to veer into bawling territory this morning and we both tried valiantly to head it off at the pass but finally just gave into it.
Lucy: I am terrified that you will die while I am gone. PLEASE don't die while I am gone.
Me: I won't. I swear.
I figure that if this turns out to be a lie, I'll be dead and she can't hold me accountable. T already knows that Lucy is NOT to be called to come home if things are looking dicey. If I die, I die, but I will not have her wringing her hands over me when she should be studying. If it comes to that, she and I have already talked. She knows that I wouldn't leave unless there was no other way.
And as she pointed out, we DO have communication. We will talk frequently, face to face.
Still, every goodbye is hard. This one, in particular, nearly wrenched my heart out of my chest.
But, I am smiling now, thinking of her flying in that jet plane, away from me, to France. Getting off the plane, sleepy with jet lag and deep plane fatigue. I picture her patrons meeting her at the airport, a sign with her name on it on a piece of cardboard. Smiling warmly at her. Taking her home for a quick meal of fruit, a baguette of bread and a warm latte. And then showing her the room that will be hers. She will unpack Bo-Bo and tuck in for some much needed rest.
And then plunge into all those great times that will be memories one day. Classes. Speaking fluent french. Meeting new friends. Going to new places; experiencing new things.
Coming home for Christmas to tell me all about them. Me, with my chin in my hand, listening intently. So very proud that I raised this traveling soul with her curious mind and ready feet.
Oh, we'll have a good time........
Having terminal cancer is tough. Mine, in particular, is strange. When I was diagnosed, I was told that the survival rate was, in general, 22 months. Since then, I have learned that it varies wildly with each person. Some people die in a couple of months. Another woman who has the exact same kind of cancer that I have has had it for eight years.
So, hard to say when I'll kick it. That bucket. At the rate that I am plowing through treatments that do not work, I suspect that I am not going to be around much longer. But, I dunno. I still have a couple of options. What if one of them works like a charm? You never know.
All I know is that quality of life means more to me that quantity. What good am I to my loved ones if I am laying comatose in a bed, out of my mind? None. That is not a usable, viable life. Once my quality of life is no longer there, I do not want to be here either.
Or more to the point.....if I can no longer read, no longer communicate, and/or I am uncontrollably shitting my own pants and unable to clean up after myself, I am out of here. T knows this.
So, goodbyes to those who don't live in my city are particularly difficult for me.
I had to say goodbye to Lucy today. She left for France on an airplane at 2:30. We had seen a lot of each other. She came home from her Summer intern job in Boston two weeks ago. She spent a LOT of time hanging with friends, saying goodbye to them. She spent more time with me. We talked and talked.
Once, I told her that I no longer knew simple things about her that I used to know when she was a child and for some reason, I needed to know urgently now.
Her favorite color: Red.
Her favorite pie: Strawberry rhubarb. (When did THAT happen?)
And various others. For some reason, it seemed important that I know these things before she left and she gently allowed me to question her.
She is spending the next several months in France, studying and learning all she can about the country's political system, currency standings, and language. She will need it for her major in college: international relations with a second major in French. She has always wanted to live abroad.
And now she is taking her first real steps. She has visited several times. This time, she will be living with an elderly couple who has taken in students for decades. She will be living in a centuries old building with cobblestone streets and taking most of her classes at the Sorbonne. We have photos of everywhere she will be and she has promised to send us more: photos of her bedroom, her new home, her classrooms.
Bo-Bo, her teddy bear will be traveling with her. He accompanies her everywhere, most recently in the bottom of a house that she shared with two friends in Boston. I suspect that he will do just fine.
Lucy and I have said all that we have needed to say. We love each other deeply. We will miss each other. It started to veer into bawling territory this morning and we both tried valiantly to head it off at the pass but finally just gave into it.
Lucy: I am terrified that you will die while I am gone. PLEASE don't die while I am gone.
Me: I won't. I swear.
I figure that if this turns out to be a lie, I'll be dead and she can't hold me accountable. T already knows that Lucy is NOT to be called to come home if things are looking dicey. If I die, I die, but I will not have her wringing her hands over me when she should be studying. If it comes to that, she and I have already talked. She knows that I wouldn't leave unless there was no other way.
And as she pointed out, we DO have communication. We will talk frequently, face to face.
Still, every goodbye is hard. This one, in particular, nearly wrenched my heart out of my chest.
But, I am smiling now, thinking of her flying in that jet plane, away from me, to France. Getting off the plane, sleepy with jet lag and deep plane fatigue. I picture her patrons meeting her at the airport, a sign with her name on it on a piece of cardboard. Smiling warmly at her. Taking her home for a quick meal of fruit, a baguette of bread and a warm latte. And then showing her the room that will be hers. She will unpack Bo-Bo and tuck in for some much needed rest.
And then plunge into all those great times that will be memories one day. Classes. Speaking fluent french. Meeting new friends. Going to new places; experiencing new things.
Coming home for Christmas to tell me all about them. Me, with my chin in my hand, listening intently. So very proud that I raised this traveling soul with her curious mind and ready feet.
Oh, we'll have a good time........
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