Old Home Week

Starting this evening I'll be visited by my son, Ceilee. While that would be exciting and newsworthy all by itself, it gets better. My pleasure will be doubled when his mother (my close friend Annie) will arrive for an overlapping visit tomorrow. Ceilee's coming from Los Angeles and Annie from Floyd VA, and they'll be with Susan and me for five days or so. We're all looking forward to the time together, as my old home intersects with my new one.

Even as I continue the joyful work of establishing Duluth as my new home (having happily thrown in my latter year allotment with Susan) one of the joys of my cancer diagnosis is the bountiful opportunities I've had to make connections with friends and family all over. 

It's interesting when you think about it. After all, no one is getting out of this life alive, and no one knows exactly how much time they have (or more pertinently, how much quality time they have). That said, there is a marked tendency to live one's life as if it will go on forever and to not seriously plan for end of life. A consequence of following that course is that mortality can take you by surprise and you might miss the chance to say goodbye, to take some moments to slow down the music and appreciate what each relationship has meant to one another. 

Thus the cancer has helped sharpen my focus and that of those I know. Not being sure how much time I have, the dire diagnosis created a sense of urgency and people are reaching out now (letters, cards, emails, phone calls, and visits) in incredible numbers. It's been a terrific time for connections (and reconnections). I have received those blessings because I might die soon. As no one will demand their time back if I don't expire in the coming months, this is a pretty good deal.

Thankfully, I'm not contagious and the doctors have placed no dietary restrictions on me (in fact, fattening me up is one of their top priorities). I've been able to bounce back sufficiently from the initial rounds of chemotherapy to participate in most aspects of everyday life, all of which has helped to grease the skids if a dear one is inclined to visit. Susan and I even have a couple of spare bedrooms available at Chez Anderson, easing the logistics.

It's nearly impossible to know how much life I'll be able to fully enjoy going forward, but then, why spend time on that question? Instead, I'm looking at, "How do I want to use what I have, recognizing that there may be little left in my hourglass?"

In my case, this is a Susan and Laird question, not just a Laird question. Susan has been a rock of support for me these past three months and I've made a commitment to enjoy, celebrate, and appreciate with her what life remains to me. So far it has meant a lot of gin rummy and enjoying PBS broadcasts Sunday evenings, but we're also talking about traveling together. Thinking up joyous ways to be together is not difficult at all; the principal challenge is manifesting the time and stamina. We will take these final rapids together, for as long as the fast water stretches out in front of us and we can keep the canoe upright. We are far enough along in our journey that we no longer need a map—just follow the current. Yeehah!

Meanwhile, amazingly, I have been able to return to work on a limited basis. Yesterday I drilled down on the teaching themes for an advanced facilitation training. I made an initial pass at this two years ago. Yesterday morning I doubled my thinking. While there's no knowing whether I'll have the time and energy to deliver that training, I know that it's a natural progression of my body of work in the field of cooperative group dynamics, and would be the thing I'd most like to complete if I can get to it (because it has the greatest potential for doing good in the world).

Thus, I've been able to return to conduct meaningful work less than three months after the initial diagnosis and treatment, to make encouraging headway in containing the cancer, and to enjoy this incredible outpouring of love and support from friends and family. My cup runneth over. Yes, I have back pain everyday, and I've had to reconcile with the reality that I'll never skydive in Montana or windsurf the Columbia River, but every time I open my eyes in bed Susan is lying beside me and it's a pretty good life all things considered.

This week my work output is likely to decline as I focus on enjoying Ceilee and Annie. But isn't that exactly as it should be? There will be more laughing, more cooking, more drinking, and more story telling. I can hardly wait.