Thoughts.com Blogs - January 6, 2009 ~ All on a Golden Afternoon

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January 6, 2009 ~ All on a Golden Afternoon

“Mommy, play this game with me.”
“Not now sweetie, mommy’s busy...”

Gosh, can I ever remember saying that! It was so difficult in their formative years to find the time to be “in the moment” with my children. I did play with them all the time, but I was thinking about the meeting I just came from, and the presentation I needed to make, or juggling all our busy schedules, but I so rarely just let myself go and play.

A friend who will speak at one of our February Cancer Answer Seminars told me her year of cancer treatment was one of her best—not because of the disease or the horrendous treatment, but because of a renewed sense of priorities. I understand a little bit more now about living my life than I did a few months ago. I know that time is not seeing how many chunks of activities I can cram in the day; time is more about moments: those to be forgotten and more importantly, those to be cherished.

Like Alice in her own confusing Wonderland, I am enthralled by all the sounds, sights and smells around me on the day I finally awake after each chemo round. The treatment takes eight days, but it takes almost three more before I wake up. My husband says he can tell it’s really me again because I smile. All I could think about when he said that was trying to remember the words to the song All on a Golden Afternoon while I was on stage in a second grade play because my friends, who played the flowers in my garden, were all trying to make me laugh as I wandered among them. Well, my real garden is overgrown with fall leaves and my plants mostly dead from the cold spells and neglect—so today my husband suggested a picnic in the park.

Yes this is a chemo-off week and I awake and shower (BY MYSELF!) and dress and even eat and today had the energy to picnic with my husband in the park and take a walk around Lake Mayer.
Of course, I needed to sleep for two hours on my return home, but the point is that while I was there—I was just there. I didn't worry about the reception for the MLK concert on January 13, or the publicity for the January 27 Cancer Answer Seminars, nor even the funding and registration for the Avishai lecture and workshop on February 5—I just walked and talked and looked and held hands and I saw the most amazing things.

We noticed a tree full of cormorants—large birds often seen displaying their feathers in the sun. We counted fifteen-- which is a little scary if you have seen Alfred Hitchcock’s version of what birds really do when they are together. Okay, maybe not as scary as the boats anchored in the lake missing its captain and seemingly only powered by the flock of birds all facing Southwest. These Polly Pirates maybe were something out of a Stephen King novel, but it was very funny, nonetheless.

Our pictures aren't great, but there was also one who had caught a round little sunny in its narrow long beak. The fish’s silver scales glistened in the sun as the fish slapped it senseless against the water’s surface. My husband thought it was trying to figure out how to get this silver dollar sized pancake into its test tube sized beak. I thought it was delighting in the sounds the fish made against the water—like a symphony before his meal. As he tired of the activity (or the fish tired of the fight) he tossed, gulped and swallowed and just sat there as before, basking in the sun.

We saw a mother and baby turtle basking in the sun that were camera shy and people—lots of people--- power walking and jogging and actually smiling to one another as they passed. Some expended even more energy and said, “Hello” to the other health conscious crowd members.

But this is one time I am not health conscious. I am maybe the one person in the park that is not thinking about my health, or lack of it, at this moment. I am just there, in the moment, enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of life.

Children can do that and now I learned that cancer patients can too. When I am in that chemo chair, I think of nothing else but the drip of those fluids, but next Monday, maybe I will think instead of being at the park on a golden afternoon and smiling.