the cancer lens
This beautiful purple tulip was taken at Descanso Gardens after a rainstorm. The water drops cling to the outside of the burgeoning petals as they reflect the sunlight. The drops are like tears, trying to drown the bud, but it will emerge triumphant with a full bloom reaching to the sky.
Today is Rosh Hashanah, and if you’re Jewish, it means we’re celebrating a new year, 5783. The 10 days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah culminating with Yom Kippur, a Day of Mourning, gives us a chance to reflect, repent, and redeem our transgressions. We start the new year cleansed, feeling a closer connection to G-d, and hopefully inscribed in the Book of Life.
Miraculously, I am in remission, after being told in April I had 4-6 months to live and so I didn’t expect to be here this fall. Miraculously, my death sentence from lymphoma has been extended. After 4 1/2 years of fighting this disease, I view everything through my cancer lens, which has changed how I think and feel and forces me to be more intentional about what I practice. The challenge is how to live each day with meaning and purpose without looking ahead or behind. Looking ahead creates a sense of urgency that speeds up anxiety; and looking behind makes me regretful and dwell on lost opportunities.
Rabbi Simon Jacobson, who heads the Meaningful Life Center, wrote a guide for the High Holidays. He describes how the day of Rosh Hashanah is the anniversary of the day the Divine soul was created in humans:
“On this day G-d breathed the soul of life into man.
And now every Rosh Hashanah
man blows his breath—the breath that G-d breathed into him—
through a ram’s horn [shofar]
in order to hear the sound of his soul reverberate”
I’ve faithfully read this guide every day these past few weeks, along with other guides to help me along the way. I am using the Rabbi’s words and my daily readings to help me remain grateful and appreciate every day. It’s challenging but rewarding to be positive, especially with other people; in private I can retreat and rejuvenate to begin again.
Being in remission is tricky. Has God given me more so I must work harder to dig even deeper and find a better way to connect with him? I am lucky to have this time to reflect and repurpose my sacred mission, yet I sense that G-d is pushing me to be more, to do more. It’s exhausting.
I ask Him, “How much deeper can I go to reveal myself to you? I am tired and compromised and trying to outrun cancer for the 5th time. Don’t I get a reprieve? Haven’t I learned lessons through the greatest fight for my life? Through my cancer lens I view a richer perspective on how people navigate through life threatening diseases, and how they approach their friends and family who’ve been afflicted. Sometimes I’m astounded by the ignorant things people say, and sometimes I’m deeply moved. I can’t shut out the ignorance or I’ll miss the treasured words I’ve been given. So haven’t I been present and transparent through my suffering? Don’t you understand that in spite of my suffering I’m trying to be better and communicate with patience and grace?”
When I continue the reading in Jacobson’s guide for the day of Rosh Hashanah I am struck by these words:
“The pressures and challenges of life that force us into a “narrow place”
—a place of difficulty, pain, frustration, regret, or sorrow—are meant
to be catalysts that compel us to cry out to G-d for something more than our
earthbound materialistic reality.”
The text goes on to say that when we cry out from “those constraints in our lives” G-d hears us and “opens up the channel of all blessings”.
This cancer lens may be narrow but the end is still wide enough so G-d can hear my cries. They are pure and without vanity. And I am reminded that others suffer too and when they cry out from the place that is almost closed off change can happen.
G-d isn’t asking me to change my perspective, only to cry out and reveal a deeper soul so he can listen and carry me along with him.
**********************************************
These words ease my frustration and will help me forge my path these next 10 days.
— I must find faith to understand what blessings He’ll grant me.
— Faith that my cancer lens allows for a clearer vision and can still find goodness and acceptance.
— Faith in whatever I don’t accomplish in this tangible realm is good enough.
— Faith in knowing that I’ll leave a legacy to my children, even if I’m not here to experience their milestones.
— Faith that people will look to a Higher Power to help them along the way.
— Faith can be lost—and found—and each time it will feel different, look different, and reflect differently to those around you. You will discover a new meaning each day.
—Faith gives you strength to dig deep and cry out.
— Faith can be satisfying, if you have the faith.
L’Shana Tovah
For musical inspiration, I turn to Morrissey, who fronted the band The Smiths. This is from his 1988 debut solo album, “Viva Hate.”
I’ve copied the lyrics here as the song is short.
Angel, angel
Don't take your life tonight
I know they take and that they take in turn
And they give you nothing real for yourself in return
But when they've used you and they've broken you
And wasted all your money
And cast your shell aside
And when they've bought you and they've sold you
And they've billed you for the pleasure
And they've made your parents cry
I will be here, oh, believe me
I will be here, believe me
Angel, don't take your life
Some people have got no pride
They do not understand the urgency of life
But I love you more than life
I love you more than life
I love you more than life
I love you more than life