Celebrating Life

That’s right, we’re . . .

I finally got some photos of the T-shirt that American Cancer Society gave us cancer survivors during the recent Relay for Life here in Denver.

For me personally, being a survivor isn’t so much about being “proud to be a survivor” as it is about gratitude. If my fantastic nurse practitioner hadn’t referred me to a surgeon, if said surgeon hadn’t immediately scheduled my colonoscopy and been alert, decisive, and highly skilled . . . well, I’d be in a lot different situation.

People live with cancer and people die of cancer. It’s a nasty, insidious illness, and I’m glad to be on the other side of it, at least for now. To be living today, to have the cancer gone for today, to have my loving family near, to have good friends, and to be part of such a beautiful natural world is pure delight.

As a former hospice chaplain, I have been with quite a few people at or near their time of death. Dying seems to me to be both an organic process and a spiritual process. But knowing that “we’re all gonna die someday” doesn’t really help. Almost no one wants to experience death prematurely. I don’t either.

Being diagnosed with cancer changes you. It sort of makes the room tilt, knocks your world on edge. It can be a long, difficult time before the world settles around you again. And when it does, it’s not the same. You are holding your breath, always aware that things could change again in an instant. Sometimes you can tell just by the slight angle of someone’s shoulders whether he or she bears good or bad news about your cancer status.

In the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life, we celebrated life. We honored both those who were cancer survivors and those who had passed. We honored the caregivers of those who were currently ill. And we honored the organizers and the participants, those who put teams together, those who set up shelters and tents, those who walked around and around the track throughout the night, chatting with friends or moving in silent contemplation.

We passed luminaria after luminaria and read the names on the bags as we walked by. Some just had messages, like “We miss you, Grandpa” or “You will always be with us.” We read, took it in, walked.

My daughter was one of the organizers. Cliff, my son, my daughter’s friends, a much-loved neighbor, and I walked as part of my daughter’s team. And Cliff won the award for the most laps walked of anyone all night long. He is a kind man. I think he would like to have me stick around for a while.