I’M SO SORRY

Looking at the camera, Janene rests comfortably all dressed in black, on a light colored sofa. Colorful square painting with positive phrases on them create a grid on the walk alongside two soft green velvet chairs and an overhead woven lampshade

I'm not quite dead yet.* In fact, on this other side of life with cancer there is so much life ahead. This is where the art of living reveals itself, not in the obvious but covered-over brushstroke— I am living more now than I ever did.

I used to say, "I’m just so sorry," when I would hear of a difficult diagnosis. Recently I’ve been paying close attention to the visceral response when someone says it to me.

Here’s what I want—

For your heart to swell and soar when you hear where I’m headed and where I’ve been.

Because I know what it feels like to battle back,

I’ve learned how to praise even when my mind says no,

I’ve seen evidence that my opinion doesn’t matter when it comes to hard news.

You won’t believe me but I’m telling you it’s true—

These last three years have been an extraordinary surprise.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the fortunate one who was created to not only endure but lean in when life doesn't go exactly as planned. But thinking there’s something special about my response is a lie—

We all have within us the ability to not simply go through the unexpected moment but to stop and look it square in the eye,

until the staring reveals tiny glimmers of magnificence there in the dust.

To be curious about every tiny aspect of life,

To be unafraid of  things defined as scary,

better yet, to redefine.

To welcome the unfamiliar,

to embrace a little help.

To harness wild feelings,

To gather oneself.

Why is it we scatter the best of us like blown weeds in the wind?

Why do we entertain the chaos in our minds?

There is something breathtaking, even unearthly about having the ability to steady.

Shouldn’t we revere this human quality, recognize it as Divine?

All of what we go through is for us, not against.

What shakes us, transforms us, enlightens us, awakens us.

Isn’t it ironic that when we are on our knees we are grounded most—

When we turn to something other than our limited selves,

When we cry out in a vulnerability we too often hide.

Do not be sorry for me. Instead, celebrate the work that is being done.

That work is being done in all of us, whether there is evidence or none.

NOTES: There are times when our reply to difficult news is, “I’m so sorry,” when we don’t know what else to say. It’s a meaningful sentiment when it comes from deep connection and empathy but sometimes it can impart a message of perceived weakness when all that is really needed is a rally of confidence and strength. I thought it might be useful, maybe even a little bit interesting and fun, to explore other options for a response that pours hope into the ones you love. Some of these responses will require a healthy dose of listening and leaning in. They may even require you to invest in the conversation [even the situation] for more than a minute or two—Wow, I never would have known. You look so strong and vibrant. Tell me what you need. How can I help? I’ve got you. What specifically can I pray for? Tell me more. Tell me exactly how you need it cooked and I’ll tell the chef. Thank you for sharing this. It means so much you trusted me with this news. How are you feeling right now? What is your game plan? What have you discovered that I should know? What is the hardest thing about this for you? *Some of you may remember the words, "I'm not quite dead yet," spoken in the perfect English accent in the cult favorite, Monty Python. Since the movie's debut in 1975, not a year has gone by that I haven't repeated that line as a sort of personal mantra, reminding me to laugh during agonizing seasons...never more than now.

Looking at the camera, Janene rests comfortably all dressed in black, on a light colored sofa. Colorful square painting with positive phrases on them create a grid on the walk alongside two soft green velvet chairs and an overhead woven lampshade
Colorful square paintings with positive phrases on them create a grid on the wall

Twice a week I visit this beautiful space to receive my high dose Vitamin C and Artemisinin. I designed the clinic for https://ivnv-cda.com/ in the midst of my chemo, proof that we can do hard things in the midst of difficult circumstances. If you look closely at the second image you'll notice the two words, "Health Is..."—enlarge the image and you will see the inspiring answers given by clients who are part of my health-seeking tribe. Sometimes it's the very things that scare us the most that bring out our very best. I guess you could say I was designed for this. All of it. 

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