Extraordinary journeys

There are pieces of this journey I do not understand. I do not feel I am doing anything special or out of the ordinary. Yet people constantly tell me they do not know how I do what I do; that Jane is very proud of me; and that what I do here and elsewhere to raise funds for this disease and increase awareness of it is extraordinary.

…a means of hiding my own cowardice.

People tell me this is not how widowers–or widows–act. They tell me most turn away from the relationship that was and at least walk, if not sprint, away from the disease or accident that has ended their couple-hood. I will admit to hearing both Jane and my mother chiding me periodically for not having moved on by now.

 Extraordinary vows

In fact, Jane told me the day before she went into the hospital that she did not want me to mourn her long if she died–that she expected to move on with my life–that she expected me–and wanted me–to “find a younger model.” I said to her that afternoon that the only “model” I was interested in was her.

People tell me this is not how widowers–or widows–act.

I took vows the day I married her. They are vows I took seriously all the years of our marriage. The vows we both took that day ended on the day she died. But while she was sick, I took other vows, made her other promises. So did she. We both vowed we would kill this disease. She killed the disease within her, ultimately, in the only way she could. She died and took it with her.

Extraordinary disease

But my vow did not die with her death. It could not. Jane and I were never satisfied with doing something only for ourselves. Jane’s death did not kill carcinoid/NETs for others. It merely added fuel to a fire that, I hope, will lead to the death of this disease for everyone. I tend that fire now, as do many others. Only my own death or the death of carcinoid/NETs can release me from that vow.

…she expected me–and wanted me–to “find a younger model.”

But even were that not true, I would continue to fight this battle. I have seen this cancer. I have seen what it does to the body. I have seen what it does to the mind. I have seen too much to let it live if I can help to kill it.

Extraordinary things

What I do is not, to me, extraordinary. It is what one does when one sees others suffering. It is what one does when one sees sickness or injury. It is what a human being does to help and to heal others. It is what we are, each of us, called to do.

But my vow did not die with her death.

I know that many people do not see the world as I see it. I know that the pain of loss is a crippling thing. I know that the simple act of remembering can drive any of us mad to the point that we run away and hide from those memories. We all succumb periodically to those moments.

Extraordinary courage

But it takes just as much bravery for a widow or widower to embrace another relationship as it does to face the disease that killed the one you love–and perhaps more. I know how much joy there is in love–and how much pain there is when death takes the beloved away. Every widowed person understands that agony.

It is what we are, each of us, called to do.

So, to embrace that kind of love again, knowing you will either face that pain again–or give that pain you know so well to another on your own death–takes an equal, though different, kind of courage and strength.

 Time for contemplation

There are times I wonder if all my work on this disease is a means of hiding my own cowardice. I suspect those who embrace another love ask the same question about their actions: are they using love to avoid dealing with the issues of what killed their spouse?

Every widowed person understands that agony.

And I suspect there is a bit of avoidance in both circumstances–no matter how altruistic we want to believe we are. These are among the things I plan to think on during the next week while I stare at the waves in both the ocean and the trees. I hope to discover some extraordinary things there as I recharge my mind and body for the next chapters in my life.