With the recent loss of our fellow breast cancer friend and blogger Ann, I stopped my usual visits to my other blogger friends. That is my frequent, but temporary, response when I feel overwhelmed by the sorrow that besieges me in losing another member of our cancer community. At times like that I want only to run fast and hard from this misery monger. But, of course, living with it inside your body makes it hard to escape.
Sometimes I start writing letters to my online friends, and I begin to sob. I want to comfort them in their pain, their discomfort, their loss, their fear, their need, but I feel inadequate. Often I cannot write even a paragraph before I break down, thinking of the suffering these women have endured in the face of this gnawing disease. I wonder what I can possibly offer to women who are so brave, bright charming and witty.
Then I feel guilty. I want to reach out, and yet my own emotional and physical demands are more selfish than I want to admit. The time has passed when I could and would accomplish the ambitious goals I would set for myself. It would take a force of nature to keep me from finishing a goal on time. Now, my time is fluid. Many days require that I take naps, a concept of which I knew nothing in my former life. Other days the fatigue plagues me, but I manage to lie on the sofa with my iPad, at least, attempting to read in between dozing and bouts of fractured thinking. At times like that writing or even sitting at the computer takes a toll, and I find it impossible to write those fun letters or even to post some nonsense on FaceBook.
I wish I could gather all of my friends out here who have never met but who follow each other through our shared stories and blogs and with whom we claim an unspoken bond. Despite—or maybe because of— the silence, we understand one another on so many levels. During the many months when I was recuperating from the back surgery and coping with the radiation and then the chemo, I had many days when I barely could lift myself out of bed or off the sofa. Now, enjoying a kinder treatment, I feel the desire to do as much as I can while I can.
Yet, even now, with my physical limitations, my intensity is internal. I cannot pack the punch into a day like I once did. I cannot write every last note and letter to everyone on the list or even reply to a FB comment. So I do what I can, hoping you will understand that my lack of response is never indicative of a lack of interest, and trying to forgive myself for my tardy catch-ups.
5 6 7 8
© 2004–2011 Donna Peach. All rights reserved.