I remember in my high school science class, the teacher saying this: matter is neither created nor destroyed. It merely changes shape or form, becoming something more desirable to the scientist.
I wish I could say that I made zero mistakes during the five years my husband fought cancer and following his death. I can’t. I made a bunch. Some small, some pretty huge, and a good smattering in between.
Getting a terminal cancer diagnosis on our anniversary wasn’t the best present, nor was watching him suffer and our five children miss out on a healthy father. Our oldest was 9 years old and my littlest had just turned one when the surgeon said the cancer had metastasized. His report stated that given his circumstances, he’d do his best to “buy him as much time as possible.”
I was angry. I was sad. I was in disbelief that an upstanding man was stricken with the worst form of this type of cancer in existence. And the other cancers that came after it.
His etching away, the trips to the store at 10:30 at night to get him whatever he could keep down, the flushing of his port following completion of the third drug on one of his many lines of treatment – it wasn’t for the faint of heart.
And it tore my heart in two.
Living under the cloud of death made it such that at times I’d wish death upon myself to make it just a little bit easier. But I knew I couldn’t, because my children needed one living parent.
So I lived. And some of my living was as ugly as the cancer that took my husband’s life. I held an ice cube in both hands for as long as I could before I felt the sting of the cold and then I felt numb before the pain returned.
I’ve faced the things I wished I’d never done.
I’ve faced the things I wish I would have done.
And I wish I did better.
Only recently have I been able to look back and acknowledge that what I created wasn’t destroyed, but rather took another shape. The shape of me, now.
I may recognize the face in the mirror, but that’s all. Everything but that has changed. All of the mistakes I’ve made – even ones prior to cancer – had changed me. Made the old Melissa into a new Melissa.
What I thought might destroy me, ended up making me. I’m still here, just in an entirely different form.
I’ve learned that caregiving and cancer doesn’t entitle you to a mistake-free life anymore than living entitles you to a death-free life. It’s a welcome realization that just like the shape-shifting matter in this universe, we shift our shape as we choose one over the other. Even terrible decisions – we’ve all made them – have the amazing capacity to shift you, change you, and make you.
There’s a beauty in our mistakes. The opportunity to become better comes from those choices we would not have made. It gives us an opportunity to reflect, search our souls, devise new methods for coping with stress, and learn to listen when our bodies, minds, and hearts speak.
As difficult as it was to own my mistakes was as beautiful as the chance to become more sensitive, loving, forgiving, and patient because of them. The freezing ice I held in my hand and my heart has shifted to a cool drink of water for a thirsty soul.
I’ve made more mistakes and missteps than I care to admit, but I’m glad for the chance to look back, learn, and do better. I’d rather not be perfect. I’d rather be me.
And I’d rather be the me I am now, than the me I once was. 💙
#laughterafterdeath #lookingintherearviewmirror #itsme #lifebeginsnow