I am grateful that my world has changed so much that B now comes back from Sydney bearing a gift of an apron …. but the fact that it is a marimekko apron shows how little my world has changed. I am grateful that we share, always have and always will, a love for the aesthetic.
Today I had eyelash extensions. I have tried a little botox and I have implants. Just so that you know I have no problem with any of them. In fact, I’m loving my lashes, and I love my implants, because else I wouldn’t have a breast. I wasn’t sure about the botox, mostly to get rid of my number eleven, because I was so adamant it should be very natural so no-one ever noticed. Although B hasn’t called me number eleven for a while, and Sandy who makes my morning coffee, hasn’t asked me why I’m frowning (even when I’m not). The thing that bothers me about it though, is how addictive I can see it all becomes. I can see I’m going to hate my own stubby, sparse, never grew back properly after chemo eyelashes, when these extensions fall off. Just like I’ll hate it when people start asking me why I’m so irritated when I’m not. I get that it makes you feel better, because you look better, so you feel more confident, are more confident, and how wonderful is that. But the thing that sparked this off, was not my lashes, but the form I had to fill in at the salon. When it got to date of birth, it said optional. When I queried, the therapist laughingly advised how many women don’t want to share their age. So, for me the thing is, how can we not celebrate our years and our wisdom and our experiences, our scars and our wrinkles, because they tell our stories. Why do we deny our age? Are we not then denying our lives? Denying what is? I love that we can make ourselves look better, and feel better, but my plea to all my friends is, just know when to stop. You are beautiful just as you are. And those who love you, will love you no matter how saggy, scarred and wrinkled you are. And those who won’t, never did.
I am grateful that at this stage of my life I have been blessed to meet a lifetime friend. We are all supposed to count ourselves lucky if at the end of our lifetime we can consider ourselves to have had three true friends. True friends. Friends no matter what. Friends who last the distance. “One friend in a lifetime is much; two are many; three are hardly possible”. I know Arienne will be one of them. I love that we are so different yet so alike. She is so supremely private and it appears I am not. She is so much better than me at knowing when to say no to more. I love more. But the two things I value above all else in relationships, trust and respect, we have. We have pissed each other off in the past, and we will in the future, because thats just life. But we can talk about it and we can laugh about it. She celebrates my good times, and shares my bad times. She shares my life. As do I hers. I know there is nothing too much to ask of her. Or to share with her. And I know she knows that too. I love that I see her most days, yet we still can find something to debate and discuss. At length. And always over a cup of coffee. Or a glass of wine. Or more.
I am grateful for the gift of an unexpectedly perfect rainy morning today. A parking at the surf club (not an easy score these days), glimpses of sunshine at the right moments, a 5km nonstopshuffle (not an easy target for me these days) in the exquisite National park with special friends, a perfect le Monde coffee with lots of laughs, and a few perfectly extravagant purchases at Askew on Hastings. I am grateful for unexpectedly indulgent mornings. Just perfect.
And so it continues. Only now at my age and stage and no doubt because of all the wonder and all the crap I have experienced thus far in my life’s journey, am I able to let go. Of some of my body issues. Only some. Crap like losing a breast and every single hair on my body. Don’t judge me too harshly when I tell you I was more fearful of losing my hair, than I was of dying. I do know that’s my avoidance strategy again. Focusing on the things I think I can control. And my vanity. I’ve always just taken it all for granted. The worst was the eyebrows and the lashes. Because then you can’t hide from the cancer label. And from people looking at you with pity because they just don’t know how to be with you. But … I was not intending to go on about cancer, but about learning that the size of your breasts, the length of your hair doesn’t change who you are. Or even if you don’t have any. The gift of losing something makes you realise how you still are you without it. Sometimes even a better you. But, as a teenager it all matters so much. I was thinking about this all this morning as Katie needs a new bra. But she refuses to accept that she could possibly be a bigger size. In bra and or in dress. Because then she would be bigger. And in this world, bigger is not better. She will not be liked as much is implied. She will not like herself as much. It is irrelevant how often I explain she is simply growing. She knows that, but irrationally she can’t accept it. I remember this age so well. And no matter what I say, it is what it is in her world. And my experience is too far removed to have any bearing. Yet. I get her. And she will learn, quicker than me. And then she will get me. But still, how do I guide her in a world that is so externally focussed. When even her mother, despite all she’s learnt, is getting eyelash extensions to make her lashes lusher. It’s all gone a bit mad.
I am grateful for big girls who are still my precious little girls. The sight of Kate coming in to the lounge to tell me something clutching her iphone in one hand and Tem, her first ever teddy in the other, is just too precious. The teddy was a gift from B’s parents, shortly before his dad,Tem passed away. Tem is who both Kate and Jem choose to cuddle when either are feeling sick or sad. I am grateful for the love my children have for the grandfather they never really knew. But clearly do.
I was given so many books to read during my initial cancer treatment, mostly very uplifting and motivational. It will give you some insight into my feelings at the time that the only one I related to was titled … “It’s not like that, actually“. By Kate Carr. As in, it’s not the best thing that ever happened to me. It was not a blessing as it forced me to re-evaluate things. It was not my aha moment. It’s not something you want to chat to your kids about. And if another person or book told me that I think I would scream. I wasn’t feeling it. And I felt guilty that I wasn’t feeling it. This lady was the only one who seemed to really get it, get me. It’s not like that actually. It’s bloody awful, bloody unfair, bloody lonely, bloody scary, bloody confronting, bloody terrible for children, family and friends…. it just is. Well. It just was for me. And for Kate Carr. But writing why me? a few days ago, I realised that now, 4 ish years later I’m finally getting what they meant. By the blessing. But I’m also getting how much of a strategy for living, avoidance is for me. I thought about this a lot at tennis today. We were talking about mortality and how unexpected tragedies, especially involving loved ones, suddenly makes you face your own. And how most of us would rather never have to. And how being forced to can actually be a blessing. Because you have to acknowledge the impermanence of it all. The reality of what is and what will be. The beauty of what we have right now. And not to take it for granted. To hug a little tighter, to love that much more, to tell everyone how you feel more often, to be kinder, to be more grateful. To stop playing avoidance. And to find the time to discuss that will.
I am grateful for boiled eggs. On rainy days. Perfectly soft boiled eggs with white toast fingers. And the warmth of moments past. And also for beautiful Alessi egg cup holders. I am trying not to be so attached to stuff but nice stuff really does make even a perfectly soft boiled egg taste better. And sometimes makes life seem a little better. Even if just for that little moment.
I’ve been a bit of a grump the past couple of days. I think it’s because our trip home is now only a week away. And whilst I know that should excite me, and it does, and remains one of my gratefuls, it still unnerves me. As it does every year. Because of what it holds. It means I can’t so effectively play avoidance anymore. I can’t pretend I am not fearful of what my doctors might find. I can’t pretend I’m not hopeful that they might tell me all is clear, and no further treatment required. And to be honest, I think that scares me the most of all, no, not the most, but a lot. Because then I will be on my own. Thinking about the possibility of not having someone there checking me all the time feels a little scary. No medication, no implants, no blood tests, no CT scans, no ultrasounds, no three monthly examinations and chats. I know I should be yahoo at the prospect, and I probably will be, eventually. But right now I feel unnerved. And a bit of a fraud too, because I like to believe it’s all up to me, that I am on the right path now. But suddenly, I’m feeling a lot less certain.
Today I am grateful for fun family moments. And double-takes. B went out early, leaving me in bed on my laptop. He got back a short while later, walked in and started chatting to me still in bed on my laptop. I overheard him telling me to stop using my face cream because it had taken thirty years off my life. I walked back into the room, to see Kate in bed on my laptop. In exactly the same pose I had been in when he left. Needless to say B and I were in hysterics, while Kate just looked on, as if to say, lame. It was funny, I promise.
grace and dignity 