If…

Fear is the foundation of most governments; but it is so sordid and brutal a passion, and renders men in whose breasts it predominates so stupid and miserable, that Americans will not be likely to approve of any political institution which is founded on it.  ~John Adams

John Adams was wrong.

The election of 2016 has left me speechless, yet my mind is spinning out of control.  I just cannot believe that the American People have elected Donald Trump as their president.  It still feels like a nightmare, and I desperately want to wake up.  For the idea of President Donald Trump is unfathomable to me.  Unfathomable.

I try to find some solace in the fact that Trump lost the popular vote; that he won only because of the Electoral College.  But even that triumph for Hillary Clinton was so slim, it’s negligible.  No, America elected President Donald Trump.

I’ve been on the losing end of elections too many times to count, beginning with George McGovern.  I’m no stranger to disappointment in the American electorate.  But the sadness of all those losses combined doesn’t even come close to the despair I feel today.

Why despair?  Because a fear-mongering, xenophobic, homophobic, racist, sexist, lying, conniving, manipulating, tax-dodging, draft-dodging, thieving, child molesting, sexual predator convinced Americans he was the only one who could save them from, well,  people like himself.

Unbelievable.

So, where do we go from here?

Normally, after political losses, I would just say that Democrats and Progressives need to step up our game; work harder for better results the next time around.  But this is no normal time.  This was no normal election.  No, I’m not looking at Democrats right now.

I’m looking at Republicans.

So, folks.  If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you are racist.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you are sexist.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you are xenophobic.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you are homophobic.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you do not believe that all people are created equal.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you do not believe that people are free to worship or not worship as they see fit.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you do not believe that citizens can disagree with government leaders freely and openly, without fear of retribution.

If you still call yourself Republican, by definition and by the example of your standard bearer, Donald Trump, you believe the United States Constitution applies to and protects white men, but no one else.

Your standard bearer, Donald Trump, is no longer from a fringe element of your party.  He is your party.  If you stay with the Republican Party, you are no better than he is.

It’s time for moderate Republicans to put on their big boy and big girl pants and say, “Enough!”  It’s time for Democrats to seek out the moderates left in the GOP and try to work together.  Find some common ground.  Donald Trump is a dangerous man who is going to lead this country down the road to Armageddon.  That’s not hyperbole, folks.

Franklin Roosevelt tried to reassure Americans when he reminded us that “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”  “Fear itself” now has a name.

It’s Donald Trump.

An Open Letter to Trump Supporters

Dear Donald Trump Supporters,

I have some questions for you.  These are serious questions, and I’m honestly seeking answers.  I genuinely want to hear from you.

1.  Why are you supporting him?  Other than repeating the vague generalizations, like “He says what he means!”, please give specifics as to why he has gained your support.
2.  If you’re a woman, why are you supporting him?  He totally and completely disrespects you.  He has no use for you, other than making you a sexual object.  He has called women he doesn’t like “fat pigs”, “dogs”, “slobs”, and “disgusting animals”.   He sees gifts of jewelry  to his wife as possible “negotiable assets” in the event of divorce, so he never bought Ivana “decent” jewelry.  In his 2004 book, How to Get Rich, he wrote, “It’s certainly not groundbreaking news that the early victories by the women on ‘The Apprentice’ were, to a very large extent, dependent on their sex appeal.”  In an interview with Esquire magazine, he said, “You know, it doesn’t really matter what [the media] write as long as you’ve got a young and beautiful piece of ass.”  Not even girlfriend.  Or wife.  Or companion.  “Piece. Of. Ass.”  So, why, again, are you women voting for him?
3. If you’re a Constitutionalist, why are you voting for him?  It’s obvious the man has never even read the document, much less care about what’s in it.  His plan to ban all Muslims from entering the US is ridiculous enough.  His plan to ban Islam from being practiced here is even more so.  His blatant disregard for the 1st and 14th Amendments is only the beginning.  He would be in Trump Heaven if he could at least ignore, if not actually disband, Congress and the Courts.  He doesn’t want to be President of the United States; he wants to be Exalted Ruler of the United States. The man doesn’t even know how many Amendments there are!  So, why, again, are you Constitutionalists voting for him?
4.  If you are an American of African, Asian or Latin descent, why are you voting for him?  It’s clear he does not believe you belong in this country.  You shouldn’t be here.  Your parents never should have come here.  It doesn’t matter if you’re first generation or tenth.  He wants you out.  And he wants to build a wall to keep you out.  He does not care for you.  He thinks you’re all murderers and rapists and criminals.  He believes that you are the source of all America’s woes.  He wants to go right to the source of all problems and eliminate it.  That means you.  So, why, again, are you People of Color voting for him?
5. If you’re in the military, a veteran, or member of a military family, why are you voting for him?  He does not see any value in your service.  If you end up a prisoner of war, you’re a loser.  He doesn’t like you.  If your son or daughter gets killed in action, so what?  There’s no heroism in that.  There’s nothing to be admired or appreciated in that.  It just sucks to be you.   He thinks his time in Prep School was just like being in the military.  He actually compared his sex life to Viet Nam.  In an interview with Howard Stern, while discussing sexually transmitted diseases, he said, “I’ve been so lucky in terms with that whole world.  It’s scary, like Viet Nam.  Sort of like the Viet Nam era.  It is my personal Viet Nam.  I feel like a great and very brave soldier.”  He wants to build up the military even more than it is now; he wants to send you off to carpet bomb the Middle East, but he has no regard for what happens to you as a result.  So why, again, are you military people voting for him?
6. If you’re a thinking, rational person, why are you voting for him?  How can you possibly believe anything that comes out of his mouth?  Do you truly believe he will get a border wall built along the entire US-Mexico border?  If yes, okay, you can believe what you want, but do you really believe Mexico would ever pay for it?  Do you truly believe that banning an entire religion is constitutional, much less a good idea?  Do you really want to return to the days of Joe McCarthy?  Do you really want the government collecting private information on its citizens and creating lists of undesirables?  Have you seen him in interviews?  Have you not noticed that he has the attention span of a tsetse fly?  I know that most politicians have a way of not answering questions they don’t like, but Trump takes it to an entirely new level.  Other than his imaginary wall, has he put forth any actual plans for doing things?  Has he said how he’s going to “Make American Great Again”?   If you’re a thinking, rational person, are you not scared to death by the offer Trump’s campaign made to John Kasich?  That if Kasich accepted the Vice-President position, he could be in charge of all “foreign and domestic policy”.  When Kasich asked what Trump would do, he was told, “Make America Great Again.”  So, why, again, are you thinking, rational people voting for him?
7. If you love America, why are you voting for him?  Donald Trump wants to destroy America.  He wants us to turn on each other.  He wants us to hate each other.  He wants us to hate each other so much that we turn to him.  He actually said in his acceptance speech that only he can fix things.  Only he?  Where are the rest of us in Donald Trump’s America?  Where are our voices?  Where are our representatives?   He can’t tolerate people criticizing him on Twitter?  What in the world will he do when he’s criticized in the Situation Room?   So, why, again, are you who love America voting for him?

Donald Trump is a dangerous man.  He has no patience.  He is as disloyal as the day is long.  He doesn’t pay his debts.  He does everything he can to bring down his detractors.  He has neither the experience nor the temperament to hold public office.  Any office.  Especially the highest office.

So why, again,  America, are you voting for him?

Dream Home or Nightmare Design?

Imagine, if you will, that I’m a home owner featured in one of HGTV’s design shows.  Here is how my first interaction with the designer would probably go.

Interior Designer   (Upon entering the house) Well!  The first thing I would do is blow out this wall.  And this wall.  And even this wall.

Me   If you blow out any walls, I’ll blow out your brains.

ID   Why, whatever do you mean?  Don’t you want an “open concept”?  Everyone wants “open concept” these day.  They want everything nice and big and open.  They want to see the entire downstairs as soon as they walk through the door.  They want to be able to visit with guests while cooking in the kitchen, and to see their children every single minute of every single day.  Big  open spaces is what everyone wants.

Me  I’m not everyone.  And again, if you blow out any walls, I’ll blow out your brains.

ID    What about sight lines?

Me   Say “sight lines” again, and I’ll blow out your brains.

ID   I just don’t understand.

ME   I don’t want “open concept”.  I hate open concept.  I want a “walled concept”.  I like walls.  I love walls.  Walls are my friend.  I like separate rooms with separate purposes and separate moods and separate functions.  I don’t want a “living area” or “dining area” or family “area”.  I want a living room, and dining room, and family room!  Actual rooms with actual walls.

ID   I don’t get it.

Me   I like the comfort of walls, the way they embrace the people in the rooms they create.  I feel safe in a room.  I like how walls separate different activities going on in the same house.  Walls make it possible for one person to watch television, another listen to music, a third read a book, and two more engage in a conversation–all in the same house!  In an open concept house, none of these could happen.  There would be too much noise in one place.  It would be a constant cacophony.  I want to live in a home, not a VFW hall.

ID   But what about when you entertain?  Or when you have kids?

Me   I don’t entertain that much, but when I do, it’s not like everyone sits together in one group and has a single conversation going.  They split up into smaller groups, so they’ll need separate places to go outside the din.  As to kids, my baby is 27.  Besides, when my boys were small, we didn’t have an open concept house, and they all turned out just fine.

ID   Okay,  if you insist, I’ll have to figure out what to do with these walls.  Now, let’s go to the kitchen.  I have a wonderful vision for this kitchen!  All white Shaker cabinets, white tile backsplash, white quartz countertops!  What do you think?

Me  Yuck.

ID  Yuck?  Why?  It’s what everyone wants.

Me   Again, I’m not everyone.  I don’t like white.  I like colors.

ID   I’d bring color in the accents.  Gray walls.  Gray tile floors.  The grout in the backsplash will be gray, too.

Me   Yuck.

ID   Trust me.  It will be beautiful!

Me   It will be boring as hell.  Look, I said I like color.  Apparently we have to have a discussion as to what constitutes “color”.  White, gray, beige, tan, silver, charcoal, off-white, or anything else similar to these are not colors.  Red, blue, green, yellow, orange, purple, pink, fuchsia, tangerine, mint, teal, turquoise, sage, poppy, lilac–these are colors!

ID   But those aren’t at all neutral.

Me   Neither am I.  Nor shall anything in my house be.

ID   What about appliances?  I see all stainless steel in here.

Me   Yuck.

ID   (Beginning to lose her patience) Now what’s wrong with stainless steel appliances?

Me  They’re stainless steel.  Stainless steel has no place in a home.  It’s steel.  It’s hard.  It’s harsh.  It’s institutional.  It’s industrial.  I don’t want my home to feel hard, harsh, institutional or industrial.  I want it to feel warm and welcoming and inviting and cozy.  Stainless is also silver, therefore, not a color.  No, I’d much rather see copper appliances.  Those are beautiful and warm and cozy and inviting.  In fact, a totally copper kitchen is my dream.  Copper from floor to ceiling!

ID   I’ve brought some tile samples.  What do you think of this glass subway tile for the backsplash?  I can get it in a color if you insist.

Me   Yuck.

ID   How’d I know you were going to say that?   So, what’s wrong with subway tile?  It’s a classic.

Me   Let’s see.  Where would one find subway tile?  How about in a subway?  I do not want to live in a subway.  What else does your vision show you?

ID   I still see quartz countertops, though I guess I’ll have to come up with a color other than white.  But whatever we use in the kitchen–counters, flooring, cabinets–we should also use in the bathrooms.  We need to carry the theme throughout the house.

Me and ID in unison   Yuck.

ID   (Truly aggravated)  Now what?!

Me   Why on earth would I want my kitchen and bathroom to match?   Entirely different activities go on in kitchens than go on in bathrooms.  There is no reason they should match.  In fact, they should definitely not match, if you ask me.  Let’s use as many different designs and colors as we have rooms!  (That’s the glory of the “walled concept”.  You can use lots of different designs and colors, because you have walls separating each room).  By the way, my house doesn’t need a theme; it already has one.  “Welcome!”

And quartz is overkill for counters.  Corian  will suffice nicely.

ID   At this point, I’m afraid to tell you what else I envision.  But you certainly couldn’t have any objection to putting in lots more windows to bring in lots of natural light.

Me   Wanna bet?

ID  Figures.

Me  I have no problem with unnatural light.  In fact, I prefer it.  I put heavy drapes on the windows I have so as not to be blinded by the sun.  Lamps emit enough light to see by, but not so much I need to wear sunglasses.

ID   (Speaking sarcastically)  You know, this has been lovely, but I really think you should find another designer.  And good luck with that, because what you want, no decent designer would ever do.

Me   I’m sorry to hear that.  I would think that someone who calls herself a designer would have some artistic sense about her.  I’d think she’d be thrilled with a client like me who doesn’t want what everyone wants.  I’d think a true designer would jump at the opportunity to design something other than the ordinary, mundane, boring, same-old, same-old white/gray/silver/stainless/subway blahness that is so popular.

It’s really too bad that you see my dream home as your nightmare design.

If I Were God…

I came across this Facebook post I wrote several years ago.  This Easter season, I thought I’d share it with you.

 

IF I WERE GOD…

1) I would understand that I created people as sensate creatures, and I would communicate with them accordingly.  I would appear to people often and for all generations.  I would let them see me with their eyes, hear me with their ears, touch me with their hands.  I would never in a million years expect them to believe in me with absolutely no physical evidence of my existence.  Nor would I expect people to take the word of someone who lived thousands of years ago.  Just as people develop relationships with other people through sensate means, I’d develop a relationship with them in the same way.  There is absolutely no reason to be so mysterious.

 

 

2) I would understand that children are innocent beings.  I would not allow a child to suffer horrific experiences.  I’d smite a pedophile in his tracks before he could put a finger on a child.  I’d not allow disease to ravage a child.  I’d shelter children from the horrors of war.  I’d never let a child go hungry or naked.  Any human parent would do all this if it were within his power to do so.  As God, it would be within my power.  How could I do any less for a child than a human parent would?

 

3) I would insist that people have some self esteem!  I would tell them to stop groveling at me.  I’d tell them to stop asking me for mercy and compassion.  I’d tell them to stop apologizing for all their perceived “sins”.  I’d tell them to stop thinking of themselves as “unworthy”.  I’d tell them to focus on what is good and right and just and compassionate in themselves.

 

4) I’d want my conversations with people to be happy and funny.  Upbeat.  Absolutely no solemnity or reverence allowed!  We’d sing and dance.  We’d tell jokes.  We’d be loud and boisterous.  We’d be full of life.

 

5) I would NEVER allow a war to be fought in my name.  And since I’d be able to communicate directly with people, I’d make it very clear that war is not pleasing to me.  If people want to fight wars, they have to find some other reason to do so.  Leave me out of it.

Maggie

Run, Mary! lift thy heavenly voice;
Cry, cry, and heed not how;
Make all the new-risen world rejoice-
Its first apostle thou!  ~George McDonald

When I was in the sixth grade, I received the sacrament of Confirmation.  This required strict study, including memorizing the entire Baltimore Catechism.  We spent months preparing for this special day, when we would personally accept full responsibility for the formation of our faith.  The promises made for us at baptism were now promises we would vow to uphold.

The “fun” part of all this was choosing a new name.  We were to pick the name of a saint whom we admired to be the model of our Catholic formation for the rest of our lives.  Sister Clementine began at the front of the class, and asked each one of us what name we were going to take as our Confirmation name.  Most of the girls chose “Theresa”, after St. Theresa of the Little Flower.  When Sister finally got to me—I was toward the back of the room—I said loudly and proudly,

“Mary Magdalene!”

Dead silence.

Finally, Sister asked cautiously, “Why Mary Magdalene?”

“Because I like what she did,” I replied. “I want to be just like her!”

Sister quickly moved on to the next child.

Even at the tender age of 11, I knew what Sister was thinking.  I also knew her thinking was dead wrong.

Let me state here loudly and clearly for everyone to hear: Mary Magdalene was NOT a prostitute!

The four gospels agree on almost nothing.  Most events appear in only one or two of the gospels, and the ones that do appear in all four have very different versions.  Even the Resurrection has different versions in each gospel.  But when it comes to Mary Magdalene, all four gospels agree—she was a woman who had seven demons cast out by Jesus.  Yes, they even agree on the number of demons!  Though Jesus did have dealings with prostitutes, Mary Magdalene was not one of them.

Mary Magdalene, or “Maggie”, as I call her, was closer to Jesus than anyone.  She was his confidante.  He told her everything.  He trusted her as he trusted no other.  She knew Jesus and his mission almost better than Jesus knew it himself.

That Jesus waited until Maggie was alone to reveal his Resurrection to her first and foremost is no accident.  She was the one he loved most.  She was going to be the first one to know. And more than that.  She was going to be the one responsible for letting the world know.  Not Peter.  Not John.  Not even his mother!

Maggie.

Christianity exists because of Maggie.

So close was Maggie to Jesus, that after Jesus’ ascension, when the Church was new, Peter and the other apostles would seek Maggie’s guidance on issues.  She knew the Master’s heart like no one else did.  If Peter had a question, he’d ask Maggie.  Maggie was the authority on “WWJD”.  So sought after was her advice, that her official title is “Apostle to the Apostles.”  Think about that.  She was apostle to the apostles!

Women in the early Church were active in leadership roles.  Priestesses worked side by side with priests.  It wasn’t until the Middle Ages, when men took over, that the oppression of women in the Church began.  What the men in power did during this time to suppress the role of women in the Church is the subject of an entirely different blog post, but one of the things they did was totally change the Magdalene narrative.  It was in the Middle Ages that men decided to turn Maggie into a common whore.  It is reprehensible that that image stays with her today.  

Though I no longer believe in any kind of deity, I still feel a deep connection to Maggie.  I see her as a wonderful example of Womanhood.  She was fiercely independent.  She had tremendous strength and courage.  She was filled with wisdom.  All qualities I greatly value and strive to attain myself.

On this July 22, the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene, I invite you to meditate on the close relationship she had with Jesus.  Ponder the magnificent role she had in the formation of Christianity.  Ask her to share with you the wisdom she shared with the apostles.

On this day, like what she did.  Want to be just like her.

Photo by Deej Dambrauskas © 2012

Cry All You Want

Your grief is your love, turned inside-out. That is why it is so deep. That is why it is so consuming. When your sadness seems bottomless, it is because your love knows no bounds. ~Alison Nappi

The wife of a dear friend died this week.  She was 50 years old.  It was very sudden.  Not that that really matters.  The bottom line is that a young woman is gone, and her husband, children, father, siblings and friends are left here in shock, struggling to pick up the pieces and carry on.

My friend is well known in my little town of just over 100,000.  So it was no surprise to see his Facebook page explode with condolences and offers of prayers and support.  As I read through the hundreds of sympathetic messages, I saw that most of them expressed the usual sentiments in these circumstances–

I’m sorry for your loss.

You’re in my prayers.

Call if you need anything.

I was touched at how many people were reaching out to my friend.  I can only imagine how much that groundswell of support meant to him.  But then I read one post that just pissed me off like you wouldn’t believe.  It said,

Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.

Don’t cry?  Are you fucking kidding me?  Don’t cry?  After a quarter of a century as husband and wife, you really expect him not to cry at her sudden death?  Are you fucking kidding me?  After raising two children together?  After sharing their entire lives together?  After growing more and more in love with each other every day of their marriage?  After spending 25 years getting to know each other inside and out?  After being each other’s confidante, friend, lover, companion?  Don’t cry?  Are you fucking kidding me?

Then I began to notice other not-so-subtle suggestions that he not be sad that his wife died.

She’s in a better place.

She’s with the angels. 

She’s in the loving arms of Jesus.

As if any of that makes a hill of beans of difference.  He doesn’t want his wife in the loving arms of anyone but his.  He wants his wife here, on this earth, with him.  He wants another 25 years with her, side by side, arm in arm.

And that’s exactly what he should want!

To tell him that his wife is better off dead is to tell him that his wanting her back is selfish of him.  He wouldn’t want her back if he truly loved her.  Again, are you fucking kidding me?

Too often, when faced with the opportunity to reach out to loved ones who have lost a beloved, we fall short.  Yes, it’s hard to see those we love suffer.  It’s hard to see them in such pain.  We want to “kiss it and make it better.”  But you know something?

We can’t.

Nothing we can say will make that pain go away.  Nothing we can do will make the young widower feel good about losing his wife.  So let’s just accept that, and stop with the meaningless platitudes.  They really don’t help.

That’s not to say we don’t reach out to those left behind by the death of a loved one.  We just need to change how we reach out.

I think there are two reasons most people resort to tired platitudes. One, they really don’t know what to say or do, and feel they need to say or do something.  Two, and this is probably the biggest reason, we don’t like to see pain.  We don’t know what to do with someone’s pain.  We don’t know how to react to another’s pain.  We want to stop the pain, and when we can’t, we get uncomfortable and try anything to make it stop.  So we say stupid things like,

Don’t cry because it’s over.  Smile because it happened.

So, how do we reach out?

The first thing we do is shut up.  Don’t say a word.  Don’t try to fix it; it can’t be fixed.  It’s shattered, beyond repair.  So don’t even go there.

Second, stop confusing silence with strength.

He’s really holding it together!  He’s so strong!

We’ve made it almost impossible for grieving people to let us know just how much they’re hurting.  By our incessant use of funeral platitudes, we’ve told grieving families that we really don’t want to hear how they’re doing.  We can’t take their pain.  We’ll call you strong if you keep your pain to yourself.

I’ve come here and stood in line for an hour to express my condolences.  I’ve offered to help “in any way I can”, knowing full well you will most likely not ever actually call me.  And since I’ve put the ball in your court by telling you to call me, I’m pretty much off Scot free.  I’ve done my duty.

It doesn’t take strength to remain silent in such an atmosphere.  It takes incredible amounts of strength to call the bluff.  It’s hard to reach out.  It’s hard to cry out in public.  It’s hard to expose such raw emotions to other people.

Third, listen.  If we shut up, and if we create a trusting atmosphere where grief can be expressed, we’ll be able to truly listen to whatever our friend needs to share.  Anger, hurt, agony.  Joy, happiness, ecstasy.  Or just silence.  Don’t try to force anything.  Just let it happen.

Finally, stay in touch.  In a week or so, everyone will have gone on with their lives.  Back to work, back to school, back to their own families.  The one grieving a beloved is still lost, still hurting, still in many ways alone.  The hustle and bustle of the wake and funeral are over.  There is now only silence.  Don’t wait to be called; do the calling.

I’ve put the ball back in my court.  Jim, I’ll be in touch.

Broken Heart
Photo by Deej Dambrauskas ©2015

Seductive Fall

O suns and skies and clouds of June

And flowers of June together,

Ye cannot rival for one hour

October’s bright blue weather.  ~Helen Hunt Jackson

© 2010 Deej Dambrauskas

As a child, I heard this poem every October 1st.  This poem, which was taped to our front door, greeted everyone who came to visit.  Throughout the month, my mother would randomly recite this poem.  This poem was an October ritual.

I hate this poem.

I know many people for whom Fall is a magical time.  The pretty leaves.  The cooler temperatures.  Bonfires.  Wiener roasts.  And don’t forget roasted marshmallows.

© 2009 Deej Dambrauskas

But for me, Fall is a depressing time.  I’m not fooled by all the distractions Fall throws our way, no matter how pretty.  For Fall is merely a prelude–

to Death.

Fall means that winter is lurking; awaiting the right moment to pounce.  Fall means shorter and shorter days, and longer and longer nights.  Fall begins a long period of barrenness.  Lifelessness.  Even hopelessness.  “Will this winter never end?” is a refrain that will soon echo through the land.

© 2010 Deej Dambrauskas

I am not seduced by Fall’s splendid display of color.

© 2010 Deej Dambrauskas

I am not fooled by Fall’s more moderate temperatures.

©2013 Deej Dambrauskas

I know what’s coming.

©2006 Deej Dambrauskas

And I don’t like it.

©2007 Deej Dambrauskas

At all.

©2013 Deej Dambrauskas

For soon Winter will win out over Summer.  That’s all Fall is really; a fight for control between Winter and Summer.  It’s not a fair fight, though, for we all know who will win in the end.

Blasted Winter.

 

Ten Months With Cancer

Yes, I know.  I haven’t posted a blog entry in some time.  That’s because I’ve been fighting breast cancer.

Surgery (double mastectomy).  Chemotherapy (four months).  Radiation (six weeks).

But now, the treatments are completed.  My doctors tell me my prognosis is good.  I hope they’re right.

I have deliberately not blogged anything during this time.  I didn’t want Pigg Dogg to become a “Deej’s Cancer Blog.”  I still don’t.  But I have definitely learned some lessons throughout my diagnosis and treatment that I think are important to share.  Therefore, this will be the one and only blog entry I’ll make concerning the last ten months.  My next entry will be on, oh, I don’t know, miniature horses.

So here, in no particular order, are some things I’ve learned.

Denial is stupid.  Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, in her book On Death and Dying, introduced the concept of the stages of grief.  People grieve over all sorts of circumstances, not just death.  Divorce, job loss, abandonment, serious illness, are all catalysts for grief.  Denial is the first stage that most grieving people experience.

I’ve never understood that.

I don’t think anything could be more counterproductive than denial.  Denial doesn’t change anything.  Denial doesn’t make something bad go away.   It makes no sense to deny what is right in front of your face.  It’s a waste of time.

Denial delays action.  Denial keeps one mired in quicksand, unable to move.  Denial is suffocating.

Denial can kill you.

I wasn’t ready to die, so yeah, denial is stupid.

It does no good to get angry.  Anger is another one of those grief stages.  And sure, I was angry.  I was pissed as hell!  Pissed at mammograms that missed an 8 cm tumor.  Pissed at cancer.  Pissed at the side effects I was experiencing.  Pissed at myself for experiencing  those side effects in the first place.  Pissed about how my body had to be mutilated in order to get rid of the cancer.  Pissed about having to miss so much work.  Pissed at having no control over any of this.  Pissed at being so pissed!

Anger is good if it leads to positive action.  This anger just led to more anger.  It became another cancer.  I had to get rid of it before it took over completely.

There CAN be atheists in foxholes.  For a myriad of reasons that I shan’t enumerate here, I’m an atheist.  Being diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer has not changed that.  I had no desire to pray to a deity, or try to  bargain for a cure (another grief stage).  That’s not to say I’m a woman without faith.  I have a great deal of faith.  Faith in my medical team, faith in medicine, faith in my friends, faith in my husband and children.  I have a great deal of hope because of my faith in these people.  I didn’t feel like I was alone during all this.  I knew I had my friends and family with me, loving me, supporting me, right here on this very Earth.  I heard their encouraging words.  I tasted the wonderful meals they made for John and me.  I saw the love and concern in their faces.  I felt the warmth of their arms around me.  I had all I needed right here.  Why go looking for it anywhere else?

Never underestimate the capacity of people to love.  We hear so much these days of violence and evil.  Beheadings.  Bigotry.  Rapes.  Murders.  War.  We wonder how human beings can be so cruel to other human beings?  I think we forget, sometimes, that human beings are capable of being extraordinarily loving.  That has been my experience through all this.

I kind of expected my husband, kids, family and close friends to be loving toward me.  That’s a fair expectation of a long established relationship.  What I didn’t expect was the love, concern and care I received from people outside my close inner circle of confidants.  I’m speaking primarily of my coworkers.

When I came back to work after having my surgery, I was almost overwhelmed by the love and concern these people showered upon me.  But it didn’t stop at my return to work.  Every day since then, they have continued to show that same love and concern, even though they probably don’t even realize that’s what they’re doing.  It’s in all the “little things” about which they don’t give a second thought.  But I notice each and every one of them.

I remarked one day last week to one of my coworkers how sweet I think it is that people are still looking after me, even after ten months.  He responded simply, “Deej, they love you.”

I love them, too.

I’m married to the greatest man in the world.  You know that part of the wedding vows where people say they’ll be there in sickness and health?  John actually meant that.  He has been my rock.  He has been with me every step of the way.  In many ways, my cancer has been harder on him than on me.  I know how hard it is to watch someone you love suffer.  You’d do anything to take that suffering away, even taking it on yourself.  Shakespeare himself could not put into words how amazing my husband is.  I’ve always known that John loves me.  I just never had any idea of how deep that love is.  It’s one thing to say it.  It’s another thing to live it.

So, thank you, everyone.  Treatment is over.  I’m getting stronger each day.  I hope it won’t be too much longer before I’m back to my old self.  Please know that your love and kindness have forever touched my soul.

Now, what are your thoughts on miniature horses?

 

 

What’s in a Word?

Words matter.

Like water and air, they are vital to our existence.

How can anyone know us?  Indeed, how can we even know ourselves without words?

All we experience with our senses, we translate into words.  All we hope and believe and dream, we convert to words. All our wants and needs, we communicate with words.

Words are at the very core of our being.

And yet most people have no concept of this fundamental truth–without words, we are nothing.

Words are powerful.

They can raise an army or call retreat.  They can build up or tear down.  They can encourage or demean.  They can make an acquaintance a friend, or just as easily, an enemy.  They can impress or dissuade.  They can hurt or heal.  They can welcome or turn away.

The language doesn’t matter.  Whether English, French, German, Lithuanian, Arabic or Sign, words matter and they are powerful.

So I am continually baffled at the disrespect given words by the average person.

College students decry having to take two whole semesters of Communications.  “Why do I have to take Communications?  What does that have to do with my major?  What will I ever do with that?”

What does communicating have to do with your major?  Try working in your chosen field without the ability to communicate.  Try even getting hired if you can’t string three coherent sentences together.  Try training those under you if you aren’t able to communicate your vast knowledge to others.  Try writing an intelligent report for your boss if you’ve never studied the art of writing papers.  Communications courses teach students to organize thoughts in a logical, concise and easily understood manner.  That is a skill that everyone requires, regardless of one’s chosen profession.

Many people brand people like me “Grammar Nerds”, or even worse, “Grammar Nazis”.  “What difference does it make,” they ask, “if what I’m saying is grammatically correct?  You know what I mean.”

Do I?  Are you sure?  Even if I do, are you satisfied with that?  Do you want me to get the gist of what you’re saying, or do you want me to have a true understanding of what you’re saying?  And if your grammar is horrid, how am I supposed to hear what you’re saying?  It’s like a tone deaf person trying to sing.  Yes, what I hear is something that resembles music, and if I stick around long enough and suffer through the earsplitting din, I might hear a song.  But it would be much easier and more pleasant if someone who could carry a tune sang it.   The singer doesn’t need to be a Barbra Streisand; he or she just needs to be able to stay on key.  It’s much the same with words.  The speaker doesn’t have to be Demosthenes,  just literate.

I cringe at bad grammar.  But I also cringe when I hear words being abused; when powerful, dominating words are used to describe the ordinary and mundane.  “I’m going on vacation!” I say to a coworker.  “That’s awesome!” she replies.

No, going on vacation is not awesome.  Going on vacation is great, fun, even exciting.  But it’s not awesome.  Something that is awesome “inspires an overwhelming experience of reverence, adoration or fear,” according to Dictionary.com.  I felt nothing  overwhelming about going to Mexico.  There were no feelings of reverence, adoration or fear involved.  It was fun.  So why is it not sufficient to say it was fun?  Why can’t people accept that I had a good time?  Why must they assign an experience to my vacation that was not present?

If we allow people to say that ordinary experiences are awesome, then what word will we then use when we are overwhelmed with reverence?  Surely, it can’t be awesome, because we have already given that adjective to my time spent in the tequila factory.   What word should I use as I study the Cosmos?  How do I describe the experience of unveiling, bit by bit, the beauty, diversity and complexities of the universe?  In the words of C. S. Lewis, “Don’t use words too big for the subject. Don’t say ‘infinitely’ when you mean ‘very’; otherwise you’ll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.”

Or as Hemingway put it, “All our words from loose using have lost their edge.”

Words are at the core of our very being.  Use them carefully.  Use them wisely.  And for God’s sake, use them correctly!

 

 

 

I Am Not a Flat Stanley ~by guest blogger Teddy Phreddy

On February 22, 1986, my life began.  I emerged from a cardboard box, having been shipped halfway across the country, into the loving arms of a one year old boy.  No one knew then just how inseparable the boy and I would become over the next 19 years.

We did everything together.

(That’s me at the boy’s feet.)

We went everywhere together.

We played together.

 

(Here, we’re playing Hide and Seek.)

We celebrated holidays together.

We were so happy!

But one day, when he was 16, the boy got sick.  He got leukemia.  Never did the boy and I need each other more than we did the day we got that news.  But we were best friends, and we vowed to be together through it all.

We fought the illness together.  He even graduated from high school.  So important to the boy was I, that he held me as he accepted his diploma.  This was our victory; our accomplishment.  We did this together.

That was such a proud day for me.

But before long, the boy got sicker and sicker. 

And then he died. 

I wanted nothing more than to be buried with him.  I missed him more than I thought I could ever bear.

But that’s not what the boy wanted. 

“Don’t bury Teddy with me,” he told his mom.  “I want Teddy to live on.”

And even though that was the last thing I wanted, I have spent every day since April 13, 2005 doing what the boy asked.  I have been living for both of us.

Turning 21 was hard for me, because the boy never reached that age.  But his mom and aunt took me out anyway.  I needed to know that it was okay to get older, even if the boy would be forever twenty. So, they took me to a bar.  And here are some of the people we met.

One way I try to live on is to travel a lot.  Friends and family take me on trips when they go somewhere.

I have been to South Carolina,

New York,

Alaska,

Canada,

Oregon,

Florida,

Nebraska,

and even Mexico!

But as much as I love to travel, there is more to living than that.  So I do things.

I am politically and socially active.  I took part in the Occupy movement,

and I coordinate blood drives.

I’m adventurous.  I’ve been rock climbing.

I love the arts.

I work.

 

I play.

I brew beer.

I have made so many friends.

I still love children, and I think they still love me.

Whenever I travel, many people ask my traveling companions if I’m like a “Flat Stanley”.  When they ask that, I want to say to them, “Do I look like a Flat Stanley?  Do I look like a flat anything?”

Flat Stanleys are just that–flat.  Two dimensional.  No depth.  No substance. No personality. Flat Stanleys aren’t someone’s friend.  They haven’t been around for years and years.  They haven’t lived.  They are just flat pieces of paper someone hurriedly cut out and colored and stuffed in a suitcase.  They’re a gimmick.  They’re not real. 

If I can be compared to anything, it would be The Velveteen Rabbit. 

‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Flat Stanley, my ass.