Month vs. year

I wanted to call this piece “Four-and-a-half years,” which is the same as fifty-four months in terms of time, but not, somehow, in meaning. With a child, we draw the line around 48 months. With death–at least with Jane’s–it appears to be different.

Jane’s life was an unequivocal success.

My father died almost a year ago. My mother died 10 months before Jane did. I lost a good friend to triple negative breast cancer just over a year ago. I have no problem talking about their deaths in terms of years. Of course I didn’t spend the last month of their lives in a hospital room holding their hands, either.

A month of deaths

The last month has been a difficult one in my corner of the carcinoid/NETs community. Half-a-dozen patients I’ve become close to–two of them significant figures in creating foundations and support groups–have killed their NET cancer the same way Jane did: by dying and taking it with them. I’ve done what little I can for their spouses and loved ones. It never seems as though it is enough.

…it appears to be different.

Nothing I do ever seems like enough. Friends tell me I can only do what I can do–that one person can only do so much. And intellectually, I can agree with them. But my heart can’t accept that. I’ve seen too much pain and too much suffering and been unable to do much to alleviate either one. My Buddhist training tells me I should take a very different lesson from that than I do. I am not a very good Buddhist.

What I wake up to

My Taoist training insists there is little constructive I can do–that waiting is. I am not a very good Taoist. The Christian part of me talks about all of this being part of the divine plan. I am a lousy Christian. If killing people with this hideous form of cancer is divinely inspired, I want no part of that divinity.

It never seems as though it is enough.

There is a sign on the wall opposite my bed. It is placed so it is the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning. It says, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” It reminds me that the failures of the day before are no reason to give up on the work of today. It refuses to let me set down the work I have adopted as my own. It refuses to let me stop striving to embody what I believe.

A month for change

I accept that suffering exists in the world–but that does not mean I don’t try to ease it for others where and when I can. I accept that there are things I may not be able to change, but I try to change them anyway because I cannot know what is impossible until I try. Divinity can want what it wants; I can only do what my heart tells me is right. I am more concerned with humanity than I am with the needs or desires of any god.

It is never too late…

People tell me constantly how pleased Jane must be with what I am doing. I do none of what I do to make her happy.  Jane is far beyond my ability to make happy or sad now. It is not that I love her less than I did when she was alive, but our work was for–and with–the living–and my work still is.

A month of frustration

I feel frustrated this month. The anniversary of Jane’s death was much more difficult this month than last. All the deaths of the last month have taken me back to Jane’s last days over and over again.

I am more concerned with humanity…

Financially, Walking with Jane is running behind last year’s numbers. In terms of raising awareness about NET cancer, our efforts seem stalled because I can’t figure out how to extend our reach. The goals I set at the beginning of the year seem to be sliding out of reach. I’m having trouble getting pieces of writing to work–and my book on grief is the worst of it. I feel mentally constipated and my usual laxatives are not working very well. Even the garden is struggling.

Judging a life

But I am too stubborn–or too stupid–to quit. It doesn’t matter which it is. Last night I had a series of dreams about individuals solving problems that improved human lives. Most of them were nameless folks who saw something that needed to be done and did it. They were frustrated at times, too. But they kept working at whatever it was. Sometimes they solved the problem. Sometimes, they created the groundwork others built on. Sometimes, they failed completely.

…our efforts seem stalled…

At the end of Oedipus, Rex, one of the characters says we should never count a person’s life as happy or sad until we have seen the end of it. Equally, we should never consider a person’s life as successful or not until we have the whole body of that life to look at. Jane’s life was an unequivocal success. But my life is not over and no one should judge it one way or the other until it is–including me.