Benediction

and why I am not a warrior

Dear Friends,

Last weekend, I was in Denver to visit longtime friends, and to hear and see Andrea Gibson perform. Some reflections.

My friend texts, how was it? I don’t really have words. The show was really special and profound, I text back.

On Friday night, I sat among a thousand some odd people between my wife and my friend of 40+ years as Andrea Gibson spoke their poetry. I’ve memorized 75 minutes of poetry but after 3 years of chemo, I may forget some things, they announce.

Oh, how I relate as I notice more and more the gap between the workings of my mind and finding the words, like the connection is dropping. My once speedy brain has slowed. This is probably one reason I like to write – I can slow down and take the time I need to fill in those gaps.

And Andrea does forget at one point, twice in one poem, and the audience responds by speaking the next lines of their poem back to them, leading them back to their own words. It is a beautiful moment of connection and reciprocity between performer and audience.

I listen with my heart swelling and my eyes filling as they describe the beauty of their life, and the veils that were lifted after their cancer diagnosis, the ways they have fallen more deeply in love with these days.

The dominant metaphors for living with cancer are about fighting, battling, and being a warrior. When I was first diagnosed, I was given a book full of instructions for girding myself for battle. My heart sunk. I knew that I did not want to spend the rest of my life fighting. I understand how this metaphor works for many people –– but it just doesn’t work for me.

The clarity that cancer offered instead made me embrace this life and the people I love for all the rest of my days. The what ifs of the future pale in comparison to the beauty of now. More than bucket lists of fantastic adventures, I seek moments of connection, of beauty, of simple joys.

Yes, I can still be petty, but I like to think I don’t dwell there. And when I do, there is this insistent Love that pulls me back into life, into paying attention, into amazement.

Soon after I was diagnosed, another Stage 4 sister said to me “I am living your worst nightmare,” and I could see that her life was rich and full. Which was, of course, her point. My life is not tragic. My life is good, even when it is hard. I am lucky. So, so lucky.

In 1993, pregnant with my first child, I was driving to the JC Penney at Hilltop Mall in Richmond to pick up a crib we had ordered and listening to Fresh Air on the radio. Anne Lamott was the guest, talking about her new book, Operating Instructions. I remember where I was on I-80, when she told the story of her best friend (with Stage 4 cancer) who, in response to Anne’s query as to whether a dress made her butt look big said “Annie, you don’t have that kind of time.” Those words have echoed through my life ever since, leading me back over and over to the present. All we have is now, and mortality is the one thing that every single one of us has in common.

Thirty-one years later, I sat in the Paramount Theater in Denver listening to Andrea Gibson’s words which bring me home again, and guide me through these days:

But I did not meet this life until I met its brevity. 
Did not meet my voice until I knew every word 
could be my last. I did not know what prayer was 
until I started praying for what I already have. 

When Andrea spoke these words on Friday night, everything in me shouted yes, Yes, YES! To be in their presence as they so eloquently confirmed that this precious life is so sweet, that every day offers an invitation to awe, that love holds us all was soul food. Like that moment on I-80, this is a night I will not forget.

Gathered there, we all knew that this evening was special. Andrea may or may not be able to perform again. Each of us there may or may not be able to hear them in person again. This night was our benediction.

I spent the days that followed framed by beautiful mountains with my beloved, savored sweet moments of connection with old friends, and laid my body on a flat boulder beside a rushing creek and rested in awe

On that rock, I thought of one more poem that guides me these days – Late Fragment by Raymond Carter.

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Blessed by benediction and beloved. What more could I ask for?

So how about you. How do you live within the brevity and beauty of this life?

May you be blessed with the benediction you need.

Thank you for walking alongside me. Please share this with folks who might be interested.

With great love,

Maija

Song of the Week is a song I think of as a benediction, Stay Gentle by Brandi Carlile.

And a bonus, Andrea Gibson reading their powerful, beautiful poem,  MAGA Hat in the Chemo Room.

The complete playlist of Healing Happens songs of the week is available on Spotify and Apple Music.

Healing Happens on Spotify

Healing Happens on Apple Music