Please stop telling me to be hopeful
Stop telling me to be hopeful. It seems rather silly and blatantly ignores the fact that I am dying. Yup. There are drugs awaiting, IV’s to be hooked up, medical marijuana to be consumed. There is a lot of living and dying being done at the same time.
And then there is just regular living. As regular as you choose to make it. However, there is no hope. No hope that the cancer will magically disappear, there is no hope in escaping death. Nor do I care to escape it.
Being realistic does not disregard hope. Hope is inherent in each day I wake up. In fact, being realistic fosters great hope, big goals, and giant size hugs and kisses. Knowing my time is limited (in that I will not die in old age as I had expected) has me focused on things I can do. I can no longer work a full-time job and this is crushing---but I can continue to make a difference with my passion. This is not dead or dying.
I am homed in on places that speak to me, I am listening to the wisdom of the ancestors as I make my way toward their home. I hear the love in my friends’ voices. I see the unresolved anger in my family’s faces.
I continue to delete friends on Facebook and my phone. Who really matters now?
Well, the Plummer is still important-whether I am here or not. However, the contacts at the refugee service agency that fired me for having cancer, they should probably go. Wish them well. It’s not easy to be a non-profit. Particularly one that is run by and provides service for refugees.
One thing at a time. Homes, food, jobs, a car. My cancer is a luxury I can afford, and they cannot. They just got here. I miss them so.
Please stop telling me to be hopeful. Please stop telling me to have a positive attitude. Please stop telling me how to manage my living and dying experience.
It’s personal. It’s my own. It belongs only to me.
I can’t be distracted by chicken soup idioms…. I have an adventure to get to.