Learning and understanding

My mother once showed me one of her wedding presents; a set of smoke coloured glasses in about 6 sizes.  It lived in a cupboard, still wrapped in the original paper.  I asked her why she never used it, and she explained that shortly after she and my father were married, they had some friends over, and one glass was broken.  She decided that she would keep them all safe, and they were relegated to the cupboard.  After her death, when my siblings and I went through her stuff, they were there, unused and unenjoyed. In the last few months, I’ve started clearing out things that I haven’t used in more than a year, and there are, sadly, a lot of them.  I was able to part with some of my books by donating them to a Little Free Library , and comforting myself with the thought that they would be read and appreciated by others.  I’ve arranged an auction to dispose of some of my evening dresses, which I no longer wear, and which I couldn’t bear to put in the donation...

I was reading a book recently that talked about the “micro-losses” that we experience as we age.  It starts with giving up our infancy to become children and students — how often have we been told “You can’t do that any more, you’re a big girl now!” (Or, more accurately, how often have we said that to a child?). Then moving from school to university to work — we lose small things.  We gain others in exchange — because we are students, we go out and make friends, learn new things, compete, etc.  At work, we develop skills, we deepen friendships, we contribute to the development of our company and society.  We marry, we gain family... we have a period where we get more of what makes us human. We also develop the idea that independence is critical.  We want to remain independent, to be “not a burden”, to be self-reliant.  And this is a comforting lie that we tell ourselves.  When we’re born, we are dependent on others for everything, and often, at the o...

This is the second part of what happened in 2012 when I was first diagnosed. November 3, as I mentioned, was the meeting with the surgeon and then the anniversary lunch for the parents. The day is still surreal, as I got there determined to celebrate, but mentally stuck on “I need surgery. I may have cancer,” With the family, their instant response was to support. To divide tasks to make it easier for everyone. Sunday, there was nothing to do but wait for the world to restart, and therefore I had some limited time to think. I used it to plan what needed to be done and to reach out to friends. The early part of the week was spent in doing tests, arranging for blood donors, talking to the office and the insurance company.  As the 9th approached, there were tests to be done, scans to arrange, leave to be entered. I’m eternally grateful for my friends at the office, especially Sylvie, who made sure that I was looked after and that I just had to sign documents. They took care of t...