Gazing into
the cup……. stink bugs …. I realize, apparently are not great swimmers. In my “Pool
Party” they crawl over each other in a frenzied attempt to escape the cup. In
doing so they most assuredly have set their fate as most panicked swimmers will.
Running pants in one
hand, stink bugs in the other, I start downstairs only to see our worn hardwood floors. It dawned on me that perhaps, just perhaps
I was starting to become like my possessions, worn and tattered. It was not a
feeling of self-pity, no, perhaps a brief insight to reality.
I imagine all of us lucky to live long enough to feel like an antique might want to decide what type of antique. Should I be a broken dresser, functional but a throw away at the end? Or, try to be that restored
piece, a treasure which grows in value over time? Both approaches have their
trade-offs, I am hopeful that I'll strive for ongoing restoration.
I was
recently asked me if cancer changed me. There is no denying that it has but not
in ways that I fully embrace or care about. Cancer did not change my
fundamental nature, my core outlook on life. I have been and continue to be one
of those individuals granted, if not a perfect existence then a pretty damn
good one.
Cancer
however has made me more attune to suffering, the suffering of others and I cannot
say this is an improvement. Often, I turn away from the nightly news casts as reports and
images of sadness fill the screen. Those few “Good News” reports simply do not
seem to provide balance. Phone calls and emails with news of illness, death and
struggls impinge my connection to Morpheus, and I’ll lay in bed for much of the night
looking at the red illuminated output of the digital clock.
Cancer has
also made me acutely aware of time and how we can easily squander what has been
given us. GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY I certainly do not hold myself innocent. Yet
as guilty as I am I worry about the next generation, watching my almost grown
up children, I see the seductive and unhealthy affinity to spend countless
hours among bits and bytes, the electronic life.
A friend told
me that I have been an inspiration. Perhaps this is the most ironic part of my experience.
If others could look deep inside my heart, my soul, they would know why I do not
consider myself an inspiration. I had a choice (actually no choice), either
give up or fight. Over the millennia I’d place pretty high odds that most would
fight. Running, in and following treatment is an important element of my
life, an addiction, a good one for seeking psychological and physiological relief.
It’s the best addiction I have. No the real story of inspiration belongs to my
wife Susan who quietly stood by and took care of me. My brutal honesty at times
had to hurt but she never outwardly showed anything but compassion, love and
understanding. Susan is the true role model that others might strive for.
On my run yesterday
I did not pass my “Rock Pile” but I did find two outstanding white
quartz stones to place for Mom and Rick O’Donnell. This morning, I was saddened
to learn of the death of a runner, a friend of a friend, hit by a drunk driver
while on her morning run. She leaves three young children, a husband, family
and friends wondering why. Later today a third stone will be placed at the
pile, a prayer will be said, a prayer with the hope that grief shall fade, replaced by peace.
This will be my last post for some time, I am hopeful that I have “Run Through Cancer” and now I’m “Running Through Side Effects”. I have no illusions, I may never recover one hundred percent but I do expect some improvement.
To my family,
friends and those who may stumble on this blog …….. Peace and happiness.
Mike
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