Category Archives: Matters of the heart

How many ways can cancer break your heart

Posted on March 7, 2017 | 19 comments

Seemingly the possibilities are endless.

Upon first hearing ‘you have cancer’ we were forced to face the specter of mortality; in our face and way too close for comfort.

Next up was the impact our diagnosis had on friends and family and if we were parents, our children–now suddenly faced with challenges that had no rightful place in the happy childhood we’d imagined for them.

Loss was a word that soon figured largely in our everyday existence, with bodies that suddenly looked and felt very different as cancer became part of our identity on both the meta and purely physical level.

Stress and anxiety—our finances, interpersonal relationships, jobs. Everything was suddenly at risk.

However, that didn’t stop each of us from trying to put a brave face on. We sucked it up and made an honest effort to find the silver lining in cancer. Certainly there was opportunity for personal growth, but at a cost oh so dear.

And then we discovered that the one really good thing to come from our disease was each other.

Since my diagnosis, I have had the privilege of knowing, interacting with and often growing quite close to an incredible assortment of extraordinary individuals. Brave, gracious, generous, kind, caring, fun. Lovely, lovely people who have made my life so much richer.

However, there is an obvious downside to falling in love with others who are battling cancer and that is the potential for heartbreak.

Last week the lung cancer community lost someone who had touched the hearts of many. Maybe it was her youth, the fact that she was a young wife and mother, or perhaps it was Elizabeth Dessureault’s radiant smile and outgoing personality that made her so appealing and accessible.

elizabeth-dessureault-and-18-month-old-son-jack-for-story-by

Her passing took us each by surprise and the ripple of grief soon became a big wave. Shock and sadness turned to anger and for some, fear.

The truth is, you can have the best oncologist in the world (Elizabeth, like me, saw Dr. Shaw) and although your odds may be improved, the course of this disease remains ridiculously unpredictable.

It is all so very disheartening.

And yet. There is only one way to go and that is forward. You and me. Live and love some more. Because every moment is precious and no one is assured a tomorrow.

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Posted in Connections, Dying, In memorium, Matters of the heart, Uncategorized

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Losing our first love

Posted on June 7, 2014 | 23 comments
Two of my favorite photos of Evalynn

Two of my favorite photos of Evalynn

Early Monday morning—early enough that it couldn’t be good news, I received a phone call from our stepfather Jim. My mother Evalynn had passed away unexpectedly.

Mom had been in poor health for a long, long time. Two cancers, chronic back  pain, and advanced macular degeneration that left her almost blind. She’d gained a lot of weight, had limited mobility, and was in the early stages of dementia. Jim, who is eighty one but has the mental faculties and constitution of one years younger, provided all of her care.

Given her poor health, we all knew Mom’s time was limited and yet I often joked that she would outlive me. Truth is, I thought she might.

Mom was tougher than nails, one of her pet expressions. Meaner than spit sometimes too, if you didn’t see things her way. I was her first born; she liked to say I was the one she made all her mistakes on. John and Bink might argue that she saved a few for them.

However, there was no mistaking the fact that she loved us all dearly. Our conversations usually ended with “Do you know how much I love you?” or “Do you know how proud I am of you?” And we did—those things we never questioned.

She was, undoubtedly, our first love. It was her face and voice we memorized; her arms that held us. One of my earliest memories is the smell of the sun on her skin.

The three of us are putting together her memorial service and my sister emailed a list of fond memories to my brother and me. I think it nicely captures Evalynn, although I couldn’t help but add a few comments of my own (in italics):

Driving a motorhome and a massive boat as well

Backing up a hitched trailer flawlessly

Teaching us to paddle a canoe (stealth like, like Native Americans)

Always being the first to spot wildlife

Hitting a pitched ball with a bat (far, far, far)

Saying, and meaning it, that we’d never be able to run as fast as she could

Painting, Drawing, Sculpting (making just about anything with her hands)

Designing and decorating homes

Riding Motorcycles, Shooting a pistol

Dancing to any style of music (fabulous dancer)

Singing (even harmonizing)

Swimming a mile (diving beautifully; used to be a lifeguard)

Playing a musical instrument (the saxophone)

Mastering multiple sports (tennis! swimming! baseball!)

Fundraising for organizations she believed in (charitable work)

Baking coffee cakes

Reading in the bathtub

Charming her way out of speeding tickets

Charming most people, for that matter (quite the practiced flirt)

And laughing so hard she’d fall down

Beautifully said Binky. I’d also add that Mom was absolutely devoted to two out of her three husbands (sorry Dad!), adored and doted on her parents Effie and Roy, and never stopped looking up to her older sister Claudine. She played an important role in the early lives of Jemesii and August and my brother John’s daughter Shannon, as we were both single parents at one time. Our mother Evalynn was smart, beautiful, talented, capable and one of the strongest and bravest people I’ve ever known.

I miss her terribly already.

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Posted in Changes, Coping, Death and dying, Family, In memorium, Matters of the heart

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R.I.P. Olive Pimento

Posted on May 28, 2012 | 28 comments

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On Saturday our family lost a very important member. While on a walk with Jemesii, Jamie and her sister Kala, Olive was attacked by a large mixed breed dog who had broken free of a rope to which it was tethered. Although rushed to first a local vet and then, after being stabilized, Tufts Veterinary Hospital, Olive could not be saved. To have her gone, the victim of an unprovoked and vicious attack, is inconceivable.

David, Peter and I cannot be consoled, Jemesii and Jamie are heartbroken, Kala is left bewildered and confused. Olive had captured the affections of many in her short lifetime, and Jemesii’s wall on facebook is littered with stricken condolences.

Not merely a beloved pet, Olive filled the role of therapy dog. Two years ago, when Olive was yet a puppy, Jemesii was grappling with some insurmountable issues, not the least of which was an anxiety so profound she had become almost housebound. Olive immediately became Jemesii’s constant companion, and her intuitive responsiveness to Jem’s emotions was astounding. A wet nose, soft pink tongue and the most soulful eyes you could imagine provided solace and unconditional love when Jemesii needed it most. Caring for Olive, Jemesii learned how to care for herself again.

And so, when we heard what had happened, I feared this fresh trauma might be more than Jemesii could handle.

I should have known better. My daughter is a survivor through and through. Tinsel and steel she is; glittery and somewhat fragile on the outside, but tough as nails when push comes to shove. She knows the places a hurt like this could send her, but she is absolutely determined to not let that happen. Having come so far, Jemesii feels she owes a good deal of her recovery to what is now the sweetest memory ever:  Olive Pimento Delande. Rest in peace, my little grand-dog.

(photos by the best dog mama ever: Jemesii Delande)

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Posted in Matters of the heart

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