A New Perspective on Hope

I didn’t think much about the concept of Hope during the ten weeks my dad was sick; rather, my family and I clung to it like a lifeline, as if it was the medicine that we needed to make it through each day and each night.  After he died, whenever I thought about Hope and the way we had had so much of it during those tumultuous weeks, I felt like a kid who’d been lured into a kidnapper’s vehicle through promises of puppies and candy.  I felt so incredibly disheartened and disappointed in myself for having had such complete belief that my dad (and thus my family) was going to beat the odds. Afterwards, after the rug had been pulled out from under us, I felt like I should have at least suspected that it might have been about to happen.

Here I am three years from the month in which my dad was diagnosed, still shocked and confused that the whole thing happened.  One thing that has changed for me lately though is my view on Hope:

A child I know was recently diagnosed with cancer.  His mom, a good friend of mine, and I have been talking about the injustice of it all, her fresh shock and fury easily unearthing some of mine.  I have felt especially at a loss as to what to say to her since her son’s diagnosis, mainly because I know how empty certain standard platitudes can sound to someone who is on the inside of the tragedy and who is struggling to survive in the midst of such unbelievable turmoil.  “Hang in there”??  What else would she do?  “Be strong"??  As in, don’t cry – or don’t run away?  “Let me know what you need”??  Maybe she can work on making a list and then call all of us to delegate in her “spare” time.  And then there’s the thing that I thought to be the worst form of banality when my dad was sick: “I know just what you’re going through.”  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: that statement will never be true for any two people, even if those individuals are in the same family, are taking care of someone with the same type of cancer, or have some other type of parallel.  It’s always different.  

I did come across a quote that I thought might be something to consider as other words continued to fail me, though:

I came across a story about a child with cancer that was posted on a blog a few weeks ago with respect to Childhood Cancer Awareness Month in September, and some of the words from that story stuck with me: every family battling cancer needs hope.  I like the way the author used the term "family" in that statement as the battle is fought by entire families, and the truth of her words really hit home for me.  People need Hope, especially in the midst of the most difficult things they must endure, like the catastrophic illness of a loved one. That Hope can be for varying things depending on the circumstances - Hope for a cure, for comfort over pain, for more time together, for a solid treatment plan, for a trustworthy medical team, whatever is chosen by each person and by each family.  Sometimes that Hope is nothing more than the knot in the end of the rope that we've tied in desperation and to which we cling so fiercely.  Hope has such value, though, as it is what keeps us from giving in or giving up; it's not that we're heroic or tough or even smart and that's why we keep going in the midst of tragedy - it's that we have to believe so that we are able to persevere, to make it to the next corner, where there just may be something that will change the course of things.  It's stubbornness, it's strategy for survival, and it's love; it's what we do because it's sometimes all that we can do.

In that light, Hope seems brilliant instead of foolish to me, and, for that change in perspective, I am grateful.

Childhood Cancer - How We Can Help

Did you know that, despite that fact that over 13,500 children will be diagnosed with cancer and about 2,500 kids in the U.S. alone will die from this disease this year, only about 4% percent of the annual budget of the taxpayer-funded National Cancer Institute (NCI) is dedicated to childhood cancer?  

Hearing that makes we want to do something about it.  All cancers are devastating; childhood cancers are the worst in that the smallest, most vulnerable amongst us are affected, not just by the disease but by the ravages of the often brutal treatment.  Obviously the children who have been diagnosed with cancer who have not survived have had a great deal stolen from them, as have their families.  But here's another point to consider:  even children with cancer who do survive are being robbed of those months and years of their childhood and are often left with secondary effects of the cancers and/or the treatments that they had to endure to make it to adulthood.

Through reading about cancer in general and then about childhood cancer specifically, I found out about a campaign called The Truth 365, which is an organized effort to educate the public and generate action to help fight childhood cancer through film and social media.  Through the group behind this campaign, individuals like you and me are able to DO SOMETHING to help, through taking just a few minutes of our time.  It isn't a telethon or a fundraiser; it's an awareness campaign, and it's something that has never been done before in this way.

If you are interested in helping in the effort to protect children from this terrible disease, post a link to this blog entry on your social media accounts like Facebook and Twitter and share it with people you know. Then take some time (about an hour, but well worth it) to watch the powerful documentary film produced for The Truth 365 to find out some simple things that you can do to help battle this terrible beast:

The organizers of this group are trying to raise awareness to increase funding for research and treatment of childhood cancers, not just so that more children who are diagnosed with cancer live but also so that those who do survive are not left with a lifetime of detrimental side effects of treatment.  They want people to understand that the statistics that we hear - that up to 75-80% of children who are diagnosed with cancer survive - paint a picture that is not all together accurate.  That statistic, for example, is only based on a five year survival rate, and many of the children who make it to that point do not go on to survive longer term.  They want everyone to be aware that the increase in survival rates that we hear about in kids with cancer over the past few decades have mostly come from these children being given greater and stronger amounts of drugs that were developed for use in adults and that very often no one knows exactly what the effects of these treatments in children will be.  They want us to see that doctors and other health care professionals who are trained to treat these very sick kids and to research the treatments that can save them are having to spend time fighting for funding instead.  They want us to know that with no money and with just a few minutes of our time, we can do something to help in this cause.

The film will enlighten you to the facts that we all need to know, whether we personally know a child who has cancer or not.  Through the film and through viewing the group's website, you will find out about action steps that need to be taken to further increase awareness and support and to secure the funding needed.  You will learn in viewing the film is that each of our Congressmen have been asked to sign a pledge which affirms his or her support for children with cancer.  

A listing of those U.S. Representatives and Senators who have signed the pledge has been posted here -  

http://www.thetruth365.org/pledge/  

by state, so that we can see who still needs to be encouraged to sign this pledge.  For example, in Tennessee, two members of Congress have yet to commit: 

They are asking us to contact members of Congress who have not signed the pledge to ask them to do so.  Most of the contact info you need is right there on the site; if you live in Tennessee, you can click here for Bob Corker's contact info and here to contact Chuck Fleischmann to let them know the importance of their commitment to this issue.

When you get to the website, bookmark and check back as often as possible to find out about the latest iniative of the group  and how you can help, often with just the click of a mouse button.  

There are lots of causes and organizations that ask for donations of money and items, especially during this time of year, but this one is unique in that all they are asking for is a few minutes of our time.  The greatest reflection on us as a society and in my opinion as individuals is the way we treat those who are less fortunate than we, and I can't think of an easier way to do that than to participate in this effort.

Run The Mile You're In

When I was training to run my first half-marathon many years ago, I asked my dad if he would run ten miles with me so I could work on pacing before the race.  He agreed, and so my husband, my daughters, and I went for a weekend visit to the town where my parents lived.

On the morning after we got there, my brother-in-law drove Dad and me out into the country and dropped us off ten miles out of town so that we could run mostly farm roads with limited traffic, a course that Dad had run many times before.

I remember I was wearing a running shirt that said "Run the mile you're in." After we got out of the car and started on the run, Dad looked at my shirt and said, "I don't get it - what else would you do?"  That turned into a Who's On First-type of conversation that lasted for over a mile: "I think it's referring to how people should be happy with what they have," I explained, and Dad replied, "Why wouldn't somebody do that?"  "You know, Dad - some people aren't grateful for what they have; they always think that the grass is greener somewhere else or that somebody else is luckier than they are," I told him, to which he responded, "I just don't get that.  I mean, if you think you're lucky, then you are!"

And that's where the quote that has carried me through the time since Dad was diagnosed, two years ago this week, and up to this point, came from.  

Growing up, I knew that I was lucky, but not nearly to the degree that I knew it as an adult.  And these days, I'm finding it more and more bothersome that the more I look around, the more it seems that the feeling of gratitude is becoming a rarity in people in general.  It almost shocks me when I hear a person talking about how good they have it, how much they love their job, how grateful they are for things they have and for the opportunities they have been given.  People much more often seem to want more ... more money, more stuff, more power, more whatever ... and one thing I've learned over the past two years is this: none of us knows when the buzzer at the end of our game is going to go off, and, if we live with gratitude in our hearts instead of always wanting more, we are much more likely to feel fulfilled, not only at the end of the road, but all along the way as well.  A big part of living the lives we are meant to live comes from making the choice to see our lives as complete, to be happy, and not to dwell on the sadness that is bound to befall us at some point in our lives.

As a parent, I know what I want for my children when they grow up: happiness.  And I'm sure my dad's parents wanted the same for him, and my parents for me.  And really, happiness is nothing but a choice.  It's one that my dad made every day, whether he was doing something he truly loved, doing something out of necessity, or just having an average kind of day.  That's something I have really thought about a lot since he went on ahead, and that's where the irony comes in:  I know what he wanted for me was for me to be happy, and I know that's what I should make the choice to do, as part of how I want to honor him.  But, at the same time, I sometimes see being happy without him as too lofty of a goal, and other times I see it as even disrespectful, as if I am over him, or as disingenuous, as if this loss didn't change who I am to my very core.  The paradox comes from the fact that I know it's what he would want for me, and yet it's his absence that makes it so very challenging.  For me, at this point, realizing that I'm lucky - running the mile I'm in - isn't the same as feeling complete.  

"Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out."

~Oliver Wendell Holmes