Keeping Abreast of Love

When I got breast cancer, I resolved to approach it as my mother had, thirty years earlier: all by myself. Of course, I welcomed my doctors’ skill. But my situation was Need To Know.

That meant my husband and pre-teen sons, my sister and my mother. And eventually my boss and a handful of co-workers, because my absences from work would accumulate.

And, of course, once I was chemo-bald, I would graciously answer questions.

I would experience cancer My Way and emerge unchanged, minus a breast or two. Exactly as my mother had.

Except.

A dear friend scheduled our annual lunch date, and I decided to tell her. And at work, I faced a quandary. Having arrived recently as the new temporary leader of a small group, I wanted to cultivate trust. Now I had a secret I planned to share selectively — and not with them.

Trust required vulnerability. So I told them. Having told those 12 people, I realized I needed to tell the 24 people in my “home” office down the hall. I did. Then, with a third of the people in my larger office knowing my “secret,” I scrapped my reserve entirely and just started Sharing.

Immediately, love pelted me like pumice from a volcano. Not pity-love, but you-got-this-love. The kind of love that mirrored back to me my confidence, grit and joy. The kind of love that prompted one colleague to give me flowers before my first surgery and another to cheer me on as I passed by (while carrying the flowers).

Seeing how well this Sharing was going at work, I told a neighbor. She promptly organized meals for my family after each chemo treatment. Arriving like the enchanted broomsticks and water buckets in Fantasia, the food flooded us with support and community. And I was on prayer lists in churches across the country. This powerful loving energy was beyond my imagining.

After my husband shaved my head, I chose to wear a scarf instead of a wig, and sometimes in a hot conference room I chose no scarf at all. I treasure a photo of my pastor, a church elder and me, all smiles and shiny bald heads.

IMG_0315

All this openness smashed my Do It Myself strategies. I discovered that in my self-contained self-sufficiency I was far smaller and less equipped than I  believed myself to be.

I discovered that every time I reached out, a dozen people reached back at me. When I wobbled, others held me steady.

By being so darn public about the breast cancer thing, I was suddenly a source of hope in others, a resource for others’ breast cancer experiences, an inspiration — me, of all people! — for the powerful unity that galvanizes a community who decide to love so fiercely.

I read somewhere early in my breast cancer days that cancer gives other people the chance to say “I love you.”

But there I was, prepared to forgo that love because the Supergirl in me demanded independence and self-reliance. But my temporary work situation — and my sense of what leadership required — shoved me to an entirely different square of the board in the game I was playing. The square that had the ladder, the bonus, the treasure chest. The square where love goes to work when it’s invited in.

You, dear reader, know this already. But for me, it was a revelation. My hands were clamped across my chest before my breast cancer. Breast cancer pried them loose. Grudgingly I extended them a bit, in obligation, expecting nothing in return. The love I received wrenched my arms from my sides and flung them outward. Like a powerful blast, it propelled me forward and pushed me into a way of living that I have tried to sustain since.

If given the choice, I would do it all again — the shots, the surgeries, the chemo, even the inconvenient recovery. But then, of course, I was one of the lucky ones.

img_0316-e1553481778828.jpgThanks to my cancer, I saw the abundance of love in people’s hearts. Love that simply waits for an invitation. Love that renews and multiplies. I learned that everything given in love is significant. Every word, every gesture, every action, every prayer — they all matter, even if individually they seem too small to count for much.

I learned the difference I can make in another’s life, because dozens and dozens of people made a difference in mine. I am now much better at giving love.

And thanks to my breast cancer, I am also much better at receiving love. Now I fling my arms wide to gather it in, and it just keeps coming.

Certainly a very fair trade for a breast or two.

9 thoughts on “Keeping Abreast of Love

  1. This is a wonderful testimonial to the fact that in everything in life, God is teaching us. You Carol Ann are a wonderful vessel of God’s love. Your blog applies to any challenge we may face in life and how we do not have to go it alone.

    Like

    1. Dear Laurna, yes! We don’t have to go it alone. This little community is generating love by the minute. You are a big part of that for me.

      Like

  2. Carolyn Wallace March 25, 2019 — 7:55 pm

    What a powerful testament to love! Yes, yes and yes!

    Like

    1. Ah, Carolyn, you’ve blessed me with one of my favorite words: Yes. I heard a beautiful poem called “Yes” by Muriel Rukeyser. You inspire me to reflection. And love.

      Like

  3. anneryanemailarizonaedu March 27, 2019 — 4:32 am

    What a life affirming, inspiring essay! You bring joy to my heart! Much love to you.

    Like

    1. Dear Anne, thank you for your comment. The inspiration and joy is flying all around. Thank you for being part of it all.

      Like

  4. Absolutely beautiful. Sharing your truth opened the door to unconditional and requited love. Vulnerability, authenticity, and transparency truly are our greatest strengths. Stopping by from FMF. Joan

    Like

    1. Dear Joan — Your wisdom speaks to me. Yes: “requited” love. And how it emerges from vulnerability, authenticity and transparency. To see that, I needed life to grab me by my hair-roots. I’m so grateful now. I appreciate your visit and your words. I hope you come by again. You have much to share with our small but mighty community of grace-seekers. Carol Ann

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close