Posts Tagged ‘friendships’

Why #cancersucks, the #TracyMafia rocks and the past month (or so).

April 17, 2014

In the most obvious statement, cancer sucks. I hate it. Aside from the most isolated research biochemist who has the social skills of a dead tree on the planet, who is going to run around saying yeah cancer! (The idea of doing that reminds me of a professor at Hollins who mocked Nancy Regan and her “Just say No!” Campaign because where we really going to tell our kids to go get high? He then paused and said that might not be a bad f’ing idea). I digress.

Tax day was the anniversary of The Marathon Bombings. Like many who live in and around Boston, I’ve begun to grasp what New Yorkers went through on September 11, 2001. The interwebs crawled with the more than normal narcissism of Bostonites and how other towns did things one way versus another. Whatever. Even growing up in the Chicago ‘burbs, the Boston Marathon has its aura. I mean, we run 26.2 miles to celebrate starting a country. We are slightly crazy. We don’t go through Lexington and Concord. Nope we wind through a few towns and turn left on Boylston to finish mid-block on the third Monday in April because you know, that makes sense. Oh, and you have to qualify by running an aged based time and even then you have to win the lottery. Uh, yeah ok, like I said it was the more than normal narcissism of Bostonites. Basically, we want to have a 26.2 mile drinking party and created an event that involves a baseball game getting out as the “commoners” are making that turn. That, my un-Boston friends, is the Marathon. And last year, 2 jackasses killed 4, injured hundreds and basically made this town turn into a giant how can I help on twitter feed. And ok, we’ll stay inside when you want to find the terrorists. (Seriously, it was strange, but live through a New England winter, it was a Nor’easter minus the snow complete with whackadoodle TV coverage). So yesterday when everybody started to descend on the city, I found myself in tears a few times.

I realized later that night: April 15, 2013 was the last time my mom was my MOM in that nothing can fix this but I need my mom sort of way. I was a few days out of a major shoulder surgery, in a bit of a narcotic haze and then they blew up our block party. And I freaked and started doing a lesson learned of 9/11 in texting, tweeting, facebooking: Mom and I are safe, didn’t go to the Marathon today. I played a twitter find shelter give directions with a California friend, called my sister to tell her to TELL the medium sized girls before turning on the car. And I cried, I was angry, I was scared. And I spoke in the strange half sentences like “Omg that is right by the place where, I don’t get it, I mean, it’s the Marathon” and my mom just watched the news and said they’d catch who did it. She could not say much to console me; she didn’t even try and for one of the rare times in my life, I was glad my mom was here because my mom told me they’d get the bad guys so everything would be ok (I’m going with the theory that the Percocet haze helped this work because the idea that I fell for it is lunacy!).

Somewhere along the line late last summer, I knew my mom’s cancer was back. I cannot pinpoint it, she said her reports were good but I did not like the way she looked. Or coughed. There was something off. And because I’m insane I saw a friend posting on FB about running his first marathon …. After picking up running as a lifestyle change after his second surgery for cancer and did anybody want to run the Philly marathon with him. Not for a cause but just to train and run. I laughed a bit as Tracy was pleading in his Tracy way and I finally said, hey I just registered for the half to walk it. The response from just about everybody: you’re NUTS. (Ha! I said nuts!).

You have to understand Tracy: he married a college classmate of mine. He then voluntarily attends class reunions. Of hundreds of screaming women who drink too much wine and act like idiots. I don’t think he’s missed one: our college doesn’t have a mascot. But our class has Tracy. We get our hair and fashion tips from him (and so do lots of other people). And bacon reviews. And there is something about not liking pie. As in the dessert but Whopie Pies are trick pies because they have frosting. Basically, he is the younger brother/older brother/best friend/half of the most positive couple you’ve ever met type of person. We chatted in Philly about his cancer, my mom’s cancer and how much cancer sucks.

And then my mom died. Who starts to reach out? While quietly finding out his own news? T and his wife. People who’ve walked in the shoes I stood in who had EVERY reason to make a quick hang in there, I’m here for you post and allow what they knew would come out to stand as the reason because we’ve known each other that long. But they didn’t. That’s why cancer sucks. Cancer doesn’t go out and use natural selection. Cancer can be so random, so unfair.

I think we both did a half marathon (I use the word ‘both’ so liberally) the weekend he let people know of the cancer returning. I was sick, I was pissed and the smart person wouldn’t have been at Hyannis. I do not know how he was feeling but there was a lamentation on not being under 2:00 in Rhode Island that same weekend. I will lay money there have been tears and anger and all of that: but the quintessential New England response was FU cancer. I have my family, friends and my very own mafia. I have to travel. I have to run half marathons (while trying to con my wife into one on FB) and I really want to run NYC (and probably secretly qualify for Boston because you know, I’m a Sox Fan).

I remembered Steven Colbert’s opening remarks on 4/16/2013: after running a marathon they went to give blood. That’s the type of person Tracy is. That’s the type of person his wife is. That’s how my mom was. There are people like me who float around in corporate America and then there are people out there advocating against the injustices that we layer or are layered upon us by genetics or circumstance. And when a person who works for the greater good is dealt such a blow, you want David Ortiz to say and FU for them. Because it hurts. It hurts where you don’t know it can hurt just when you thought you were done with the hurting.

Then you look back at the reaction to the news: Ok, I’ll deal with it. I’ll have surgery and in-between finding out and surgery, “squeeze” in 4 half marathon’s (including under the 2:00 barrier!) and a few 5K’s. And the other way: curl up at 3 am wondering if there is sleep, wander through a half marathon in a time that a snail would be embarrassed by and say it sucks as a mantra.

Today is not going to suck. Today the mafia don kicks cancers ass. Tomorrow, he starts training for Richmond (where we know he’s secretly going for a Boston qualifying time, a Ranger’s Stanley Cup and some free hair conditioner). And I’m wearing a blue shirt with tan pants. I will think about all of my friends whose shoes I’m standing next to in fighting the fight. I love you all very much.

Why It Does Take a Village

January 22, 2012

I watched the South Carolina primary returns last night.  Most of the speeches recycled stump speech with the “call your friends in Florida”.  Rick Santorum gave his babblific speech where he recycled his line about writing a book in response to Hilary Clinton’s It Takes A Village called It Takes A Family.  Ok, how about both?  Does it take a family to raise a secure child: yes.  Do the historic family structures exist in most cases? No.  Using my family for an example: I live in Boston.  My parents and brother live in Tennessee, my sister and her family live in Oklahoma.  Is it ideal? Yes and no.  We all like the area of the country we live in: aside from some weather issues!  No because to get to see each other it’s a 1-2 airport shuffle.

Santorum is living in this world where people can stay in the area they are raised, close to their families.  Look, I work in biotech.  My brother-in-law works as an engineer in telecom, my sister-in-law is a university professor.  None of these jobs can easily be moved to be close together.  Does that mean that we are not close? Nope.  It means that when a family member need help, we often rely on the village.

What Santorum seems to miss is that we are all in this together.  If a friend (or a friend of a friend) needs a meal delivered, clothing donated.  I do what I can.  Why? I want somebody to do the same if something was to happen to one of my loved ones.  Santorum seems to forget that we don’t live in an era where there are 3-4 generations of the same family in the same village.  As we have become a more mobile society, with smaller families, in many ways we have become more interconnected with others.  If I need a ride from the mechanic, calling my family would be useless: calling a friend, easy.

The underlying aspect of Santorum’s statements are disturbing.  There is a decline in the ‘traditional’ family: how much of this is tied to the high levels of incarceration of minority populations? The lack of adequate education available in rural and inner city areas?  Santorum doesn’t get it: when we work together to improve the quality of life for everybody, our social structures improve and we increase opportunity for everybody.  I don’t want Rick Santorum defining my support system.  I’ll take my whacky village of friends and family.

Day 6: Just say NO! (and not in the Nancy Reagan sense, although. . . )

August 20, 2011

Learn to say no. This is actually one of the key habits for those trying
to simplify their lives. If you can’t say no, you will take on too much. Article
here
. ”

My first thought on Day Six was a horrific flashback to the pit band in high school when the actress playing Ado Annie couldn’t remember “I’m Just a Girl Who Can’t Say No” and we had to keep playing it over and over.  I think that cemented my disdain for all things Roger and Hammerstein.  One of the best lessons I picked up somewhere along the line was the lack of justification needed in saying “No.”  For years I struggled with “I’d really like to (probably a lie) but . . . ” instead of “No.”

No isn’t one of those words most of us like to hear (there are cases it is the most beautiful word in the world, however, most times, it’s not. . . ).  While I’m ok-ish with the boundary of saying no in doing things (hey, at heart I’m a slug), I do struggle with saying no when it comes to standing up for myself.  Case and point, last weekend, I spent some time with old friends.  One of them said something about doing a joint birthday party again.  I said no.  Against conventional wisdom, against “proper protocol”.  I wasn’t interested.  The last birthday party I had, my mom had just started chemo again for the second time, was wearing her wig for the first time and I was miserable.  My friend said I was fine and wasn’t stressed.  At this point, I realized I could ‘shrug it off’ or simply stand my ground.  I corrected her: No, I was miserable.  I didn’t have a good time and I wasn’t going to re-create it.  Yes, I probably did hide it well, I’m good at that.  For me, the struggle of saying no isn’t around a task but in the letting others express their perceptions of my feelings, not accepting that for me, no means no and letting myself be ok with not being involved.

While my friend didn’t take it well (presence of a 3rd party ended the discussion . . . ).  It really didn’t bother me: it actually felt kind of liberating.  For me, anyway, part of saying no will be letting go of people in my life who while they are there, I’ve lost that point of connection, the sense of conversation/community.  Yes, I’ll still be polite and be at social gatherings but sometimes saying no is simply a way to take stock of who respects another individual’s decisions/reflections.

Now, if I can get myself to say no to some of my mother’s great ideas . . . well, I’d be the first in the family.  Some times a smile and nod is much simpler, healthier than “no”.  That is why God invented freecycle.

 

Ramblings

March 27, 2011

I discovered today that somebody I thought I knew … well, wasn’t the person I know.  One of those things. Normally, I’d either say something or keep it in mind … but well, this person is dead.

Yup. Dead. Not as “you are dead to me” but really dead. And so I sit and wonder what I was told … if any of it was real.  Or if it was just a creation of an imagination.  Frustrating. I don’t know who I knew. And I don’t think I ever will . . .