Carpe Diem

My once strong, fun and beautiful mother sits up in her peach nightgown and declares "I think that the best years of my life were at the lake." 

My parents came home one 1980 s weekend and announced that they had purchased a house on a lake near Middlebury, VT.  I grew up in a town with a beach and I did not understand the value of a lake.   This house was a wonderfully exciting way to learn. 

It was an annex to an inn, so it had six bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms overlooking the biggest lake within Vermont's borders.  We each had our own rooms and when we walked into that house all of the stress generated by city life evaporated.   

The centerpiece of the lake, that looks and feels very much like Lake Como to me, is Neshobe Island, the summer camp of the literati of the 1920s Algonquin Round Table.  Rumors of Dorothy Parker,  Robert Benchley, George S. Kaufman, and Edna Ferber running naked on the island made adults laugh and children cringe.  The swim to the island took about 45 minutes.  It was 90 minutes of peace and quiet and beauty and clear, clean water.  

It was thrilling for me and my young family, too.  The kids could swim and play on the dock freely.  They could watch movies that I would not allow them to watch at home.  They could eat whatever grandma made for them and it was always more delicious, rich, colorful and exciting than anything I would ever give them.  Dominique and her cousin Liam would put on plays.  Cameron would swim and go sailing with my dad and Nicole would play with her cousin Sierra.  I could put my feet up and read and Andrew could slip out for a two hour bike ride, unnoticed.  Pure heaven. 

I'm not sure I realized it then.

"We loved having you and your brothers and all of your families to visit in the summer."  

"Most of the time, Dad and I would just travel around and visit gardens when we were alone.  We had so much fun."  

So what does this have to do with Multiple Myeloma?  

I am slipping down to spend time between chemo shots with my mom who now lives in an assisted living facility in Charlotte, NC.  She is only 21 1/2 years older than I am.  I look at her subsisting on 4 liters of oxygen and an occasional chocolate Ensure.  She weighs 85 pounds and sleeps 22 hours a day.  I look at her with envy.  I hope that I will live to be 83.   

Every day is a privilege.  As the French say, "make sure each day is worth the pain."  There is a lot of pain in life.  But there is beauty and humor everywhere, too.  

There is nothing good about having the incurable blood cancer except that it makes the color in each day a little more vivid.  In the words of Marcelene Cox, "Life begins when a person first realizes how soon it will end." 

Today might be that perfect day.  It may actually be the most perfect day of your life.  It may be peaceful and simple and routine and completely extraordinary.  Don't miss it.  It would be treacherous to relegate this day's events and feelings to a memory of something that has already happened. 

Smile at people you pass.  Find beauty.  Find humor.  Give love and don't miss this day.  It may be a perfect day.  It may be your best day, ever.  

"I don't want you to go," my mom said. 

"I wish I didn't have to go mom, but I have chemo," I replied

"Ok, well you don't die and I won't die and I will see you back here in July."

"Ok mom, it's a deal."  

Healingmyeloma@gmail.com

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