I Am the Storm

I've longed been intrigued by the scenes we all see on the television where people receive bad, life-altering news. Often I think, 'gee, I would be more upset than that.' And on September 22, 2015, I was. It has almost been two years since my diagnosis, and it still has not become any easier.

I have a difficult time keeping in touch unless you are an extremely close friend or family member. I tend to be very pragmatic. If I don't have information worth sharing, why call or write? And in turn, if my family or friends had information worth sharing, wouldn't they call or write? This doesn't mean that i do not like speaking to my friends otherwise, I'm simply sharing why my brain doesn't initiate communication more frequently. Believe it or not, self-confidence also plays a direct role in this.

Why would someone be interested in what I have to say? Subconscious thought of course. This is the precise reason that I am a great candidate for a blog. You may choose whether or not you want to invest your time in what I have to say or not. I'm not forcing myself on you,and I don't have to worry about you not being interested.

I hope this helps my friends understand that I'm not some sort of  'only-call-when-I-have-cancer-person'. I am a friend that loves you, but has trouble 'keeping in touch.'

I have no way of knowing whether I will live one year or ten or more. Neither do you, of course; but between the two of us, I bet I’m more acutely aware.

Everyone wants me to focus on living as long as possible. It’s an easy concept, sounds great, and quite frankly, somewhere along the way, our species got VERY preoccupied with the concept of time. But is that the right goal? I prefer to say that I want to live with a high quality-of-life. And yes, I would like as many of those years as possible.

In the past week, though, I’ve defined a happy medium between the optimists and myself, the eternal realist. I want to be around as long as my mom is. The thought of her losing me is much more upsetting than the thought of my own death. This isn’t to say that my other loved ones wouldn’t be devastated. Nor is it to discount their love for me and mine for them! But without me, the world will eventually move on for everyone else, except my mom. (Please understand that I’m only being practical, and I don’t mean to upset you or elicit any “my life would never be the same without you” remarks.)

The dynamics of interpersonal relationships have fascinated me since my early teenage years. I’ve read both classic and modern authors, focused on the individual versus group behaviors, and ventured professionally into the study of organizational dynamics. While our species doesn’t enthrall me, the way we behave certainly does. Specifically, I enjoy seeing the emotional and intellectual ecosystems we weave for ourselves each day merely by interacting with each other.

For all that I’ve studied though, nothing compares with the wonderful relationship I have with my mom. I choose her title carefully for each audience:

Mother: I never use this word for her. Somewhere along the way (yes, I know where) the word gained a negative tone when used as a person’s title.

Mom: This is my go-to term for general purposes. It says, ‘yes, I’m an adult and no, I won’t take my own spawning too seriously.’ This is also what I yell if I need to get her attention. But it’s not her primary name.

Mommy/Momma: An affectionate term used when speaking of her to my best friends, but rarely to her directly. The use of it with them, however, is quite significant – as you will see.

I will write more later today. It is late and my tablet is about to die. Just remember, if I can remain positive knowing that my life is going to be cut short, anybody can. This is called faith my friends. Love you all and God loves you too!

Love always,

Me xoxo