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ONE YEAR LATER
As I walk onto the stage, the silence from the crowd is almost enough to make me turn around and run the other way and forget I ever agreed - no chose - to do this. My heels make a clicking sound that seems to echo throughout the entire building. I imagine what I look like to them – a slightly thin woman wearing a blue shirt with a mustard yellow cardigan, cropped jeans and my favorite brown booties. I have a breast cancer ribbon pin firmly in place on my sweater and my hair while grown back some is still extremely short.
Taking my place behind the podium, I take a moment to myself before I begin. I find confidence by taking a deep breath and locating the eyes belonging to the man I love in the front row. I find strength in them and begin.
“Hello. My name is Remy Sinclair. I am a dreamer, a passionate woman in love with an incredible man that I met when we were only six years old when I moved in next door to him. He quickly became my best friend and now we’re engaged to be married,” I tell the crowd while fingering the large diamond on my left finger, “and we are smack in the middle of wedding planning. He’s the most important person in my life.” I pause, then continue, “I’m a partner at an accounting firm, have a huge and fat cat named Meatball that vacillates between loving me and planning my murder – I’m convinced.” They laugh and I feel myself starting to relax a little. “My mother, who was also my best friend, taught me the important art of list-making. Not just any list, but strong, thoughtful, solid lists. And like her I tend to require one for everything. I collect mugs, love coffee, the color blue and lazy Sunday’s spent in my pajamas. I live each day and moment fully.” I pause. “I hate horror flicks, frogs,” I smile looking at Oliver who returns it, “and most vegetables.” There are some chuckles again and then I add, “Oh. And I happen to have had breast cancer.”
“I’m not going to lie to you. When I first received the diagnosis I thought it was the end of my life. Initially thinking the cancer had progressed further than it actually had, my intention was to not pursue any treatment. You see, my mother, she died from breast cancer. It was hard and vicious and in the end it took her life. I was absolutely convinced that my story would be the same as hers.”
Switching gears for a moment, I share, “Even though I had initially made that decision, I still did a lot of research, read what I could, learned as much as possible. I tried to keep an open mind. Something I read over and over again was what a ‘fighter’ or a ‘warrior’ I needed to be – and surprisingly that made me angry as hell. It made me feel as though I chose this and nothing could be further from the truth. I didn’t choose this – I’m not a fighter that enlisted in the military. I can’t shoot it with a gun or stomp it down with force. Not to mention, calling me a fighter suggests that there’s a loser in this battle. Additionally, all of those statements seemed to give strength and power to cancer. And raising up and fighting an enemy was the last thing I wanted to do. Thinking about the potential hatred and anger I would need to muster to confront such a powerful enemy left me feeling exhausted and fearful of defeat before my supposed battle had even begun. So, no, this was not the mindset for me. Sorry, there is no way in hell, regardless of the outcome, that anyone is ever a loser in this situation. No matter my decision, your decision, no matter our journey, we are not a loser in this.”
There’s clapping and nodding heads of agreement that makes me happy to see I’m not alone in this feeling and I hope I’m not offending anyone that chooses to call it that, as this is only my opinion. “Here’s the thing, this journey that we get forced to walk without our permission – we do have a choice in this. I know that you’re likely going to be pushed to make decisions quickly, perhaps before you feel fully informed and able to do so. You may not even want to ask questions at first, afraid for the answers you may receive. And the terminology that’s often thrown at us can be confusing and even misleading. Initially it felt like cancer didn’t give me an opportunity to approach my decisions rationally or in a timeframe that met my needs. I felt like I had no choice. And perhaps you have felt that too. But deciding what we do about it, whatever we decide to do after we get that diagnosis – is our choice. And perhaps of the most important you will ever make.
Look, the reason I decided I wanted to stand before you today is because while I respect and value other speakers I’ve heard, one of which moved me so much she’s the reason I’m here to speak to you today, many have one thing in common. They don’t always discuss the choice. I think at times society decides that being brave is fighting and accepting all forms of treatment – whether surgery, chemotherapy, hormone therapy, radiation, alternative therapy and even participating in experimental medication and therapy trials and hell, anything and everything you can possibly do to treat the disease taking up camp in your body. But the fact is – there are many choices not just one approach, one plan. There’s holistic medicine and palliative care. And by the way, one of those choices is to forego all of those options. Is it brave? Yes. Is it hard? Yes. Is pushing back on doctors and family and friends insisting that you choose your course, your treatment thorny at times? Yes. Is asking tough questions and establishing realistic expectations challenging at times? Definitely, but it is so essential. This journey that we are forced to take; it’s an individual and personal one. And each person has a right, no an obligation, to know the truth, search for their reasons, and inevitably make the choice or choices that resonate within the soul of the individual and maintain one’s integrity, self-esteem, and dignity while enabling the hope and reason that lies within them. All choices require bravery – and she who is brave is free. So I encourage you to find a reason, find the right path for you.”
“Those lists I mentioned earlier? They came into being because my mother taught me the importance of looking for reasons for the important things in life. We would sit down together and make lists of all the things we wanted to accomplish, all the things we wanted to do. They became our reasons when we needed them. Our reasons to get through a tough time, a reason to get a good grade on a test so I could reward myself, my reason to graduate college, whatever the objective, desired outcome, goal – there was a reason for accomplishing it.”
“Much like deciding where you want to eat – there’s a reason for why you choose that restaurant. Or why you choose one shirt over another – it could be because one is a better fit, you prefer the material, one feels better than the other, one looks hotter with that cute pair of jeans you love. Those are reasons.
“This life of ours, cancer or no, isn’t guaranteed to anyone. My ultimate choice ended up being to undergo a total radical mastectomy and reconstructive surgery because when faced with the decisions of what to do, I chose the reason - my reasons - that worked for me. In a year, two years, five years, ten years, should I ever be faced with that decision again, I don’t know what I’ll choose, but I can tell you I’ll be coming up with reasons for each choice yet again and making a decision that’s best for me.”
Because you see, life is full of choices - each one brings a reason for our decisions. We didn’t get to choose cancer but we can sure as hell decide what to do about it. That’s a decision that makes you brave and courageous. That’s what will set you free.”
“If my mother were here, she would tell you to find your reasons, find the sparks that fuel your fire. I did. I found a few,” I look out at Oliver again and hope he can see the love I feel for him and the fact that I’m grateful he’s one of my reasons. “Use your reasons to help you step into your greatness – they will help determine your ultimate journey. One in which you turn your pain into purpose and live your life with no regrets.
TEN YEARS LATER
Standing before her, I take a moment to myself before placing a carnation in one spot and a lily on another soft bed of grass. Each time it takes me a few moments to collect myself before I can talk to her. Almost a year now and I still feel like it was yesterday. Sometimes, I don’t know if the pain will ever lessen or if my regrets will ever quit haunting me.
“Hi, sunshine,” I choke out then clear my throat. “Sorry,” I say quietly, “Today is a tough one.”
Sitting down in the grass, I stare at her headstone, my eyes blurring with emotion - I do my best to blink it away. “I know I was just here, but I guess I need to talk to you. It’s funny really, I talk to you all the time no matter where I am – I’m not sure why I feel like I need to come here to say something important.”
Picking at the grass, I run my hand through my hair, “I wish I knew for sure that you could hear me. I wish I knew if you could see me, if you’re with me when you can be or if you know, feel or can see how much I miss you, how often I think of you. Are you happy? Do you miss me too? So many questions to which I hate not having the answers.”
Realizing my fists are clenched in frustration, I breathe deeply and try to relax.
“Remember how I told you I was asked to speak at the breast cancer awareness benefit tonight and how they want to honor your memory?” I laugh to myself because I swear I hear her protests in my mind, “I know, I know, you would hate that, but too bad. There’s nothing you can do about it. You were an inspiration to so many. And did I ever tell you how proud I was for you for being so vulnerable, for sharing your truth? I must do justice to you tonight. I’m here in part because I want to tell you what I’m going to say – to get your feedback, your input, your inspiration. Can you maybe give me a sign if this is ok?”
I wait for a moment, for what I’m not sure… but the air is still, the cemetery quiet. “My message will be the same as yours, one that you not only communicated constantly through your speeches, but one you lived. But, sunshine, I can’t speak about you – about me – about us – and not tell them about my biggest regret.” I can feel my throat wanting to close but I continue on. “I’m going to tell them to remember that we only get one life. One. I’m going to beg them to live their life like they are dying; not to wait or wish but to act and speak and do all they desire now. I’ll remind them to live life to the fullest – that time is a precious commodity, not to be wasted or taken for granted…that each day, each hour, each minute is truly a gift. I’ll implore them not to allow the minutia of life to distract them from this truth. I’ll remind them to saturate themselves with the best thing life has to offer – the most important thing - love. I’ll remind them that love comes in a variety of sizes, shapes and situations. And that loving themselves is as important as loving others. I’ll tell them they can never have enough, never experience enough, give enough”
I will also tell them how happy you were – no, we were – all those years in remission. How we didn’t waste a minute of the gift we were given. How we lived our lives to the max. How if you had chosen to base your decision on another or thought your journey would be the same as anyone else’s we would have missed out on some of the best years of our lives.”
“You and I… we loved to the very depths of our souls, we experienced as much of this world as we could and lived our life together without regret. We challenged each other to always conquer our fears. I’m going to tell them all of that as well as how the years spent with you were the absolute best years of my life.”
“I’m also going to tell them that I have one regret – a regret I must carry with me daily – one I’d not wish on anyone.”
My voice cracks on that last word and this time a few tears escape my eyes and run down my cheeks, but I have no shame in them. “My biggest regret is that I waited so long to tell you the truth about how I felt about you. Because I didn’t act sooner I lost what could have been more time with you. Maybe someone in the crowd will need to be reminded to seize love and I can encourage them to do that.”
Memories flood me from the years we spent together – scenes like a movie in fast forward pass through my mind and I smile to myself until the memory of finding out the cancer had returned assaults me. We were truly stunned. After, we realized that there had been some warnings, but mostly it was insidious. We had gone in for a routine scan, or so we thought. But the truth was there. Horrible tumors and then evidence of mutant cells in various organs. Initially we agreed to suggested treatment in an attempt to eradicate the bastard cells, only to be told that rather than improving, the cancer had only spread. I remember her calm, brave decision to stop treatment, her reasoning for doing so and my choice to love her enough to understand and eventually to love her enough to let her go. Tears continue to fall as I picture the ocean before us, the sand beneath us, and the smile on her lips the day she died in my arms while staring out at the ocean she loved. She wasn’t eager to go, but she left on her terms. For that I am so pleased. Moreover, the blessing is that we had time to leave nothing unsaid between us. I smile at that reality.
Swiping at the tears on my cheeks, my gaze moves to our precious son picking grass under a tree near me oblivious to his father’s ramblings or tears. “I’m going to tell them about your lists and your reasons, sunshine, and encourage them to consider their own, just as you would have. I’m going to show them how you left me the biggest reason of all. I love you. Forever.”
