On October 28th, 2006, my life changed forever. On the same date, within a few moments, the Mother and very best friend of my very best friend shared a similar experience.
I died...four times. Sadly, she died but once. I would spend weeks on life support, be awakened by the extraction of a ventilator to hear: "We have to get him off the vent right now, or he will never come off of it. He will die."
In days to follow, I would be transferred to a Cancer Ward, be given a death sentence with the most positive prognosis involving six months, and be discharged with the instructions to go home, and get my affairs in order.
I hope you will follow me just below the squiggledoodlethingey fold for just a few thoughts.
Needless to say, the truth of the matter is that even the very best among us can believe, with all our passionate hearts in something, and still be wrong. I am living proof of that.
I believe this also applies to those who are screaming without ceasing that the Affordable Care Act means the utter destruction of America. They believe it. They are wrong.
Yet, if there is one thing my journey has taught me, there are things worse than getting a death sentence from your Primary Care Physician. It has been a long journey, filled with more tests, hospitalizations, drugs and healthcare professionals, endless updates to the terminal prognosis that continue to defy the clock and the calendar.
There have been times when the journey through, and beyond the valley have been so very tiresome and seemingly pointless; needless, in fact. I spent my way into abject poverty, found myself at the good (and not so good) intentions of "friends" who left me homeless and alone. I've found friends that I could not possibly ever deserve at virtually any point of the compass one might care to look.
For those keeping score, I've been a Kossack for just over two years. Count yourselves, each and every one of you, counted. My blessings continue to this day, even as the journey continues. But, a point if I may.
There are many times I feel the need to apologize for having the unfortunate luck to survive. This may well be "Survivor's Guilt", especially as I see, and we see and celebrate the successful completion of so many valuable lives to this community. Why me? I do not know. In the greater sense of all things, it really doesn't matter.
The simple truth is, I have survived seven unlikely years. Those things which were supposed to consume my last breath still exist within me. (Except for the Cancer, as unseemly as that may be. I got my first "Cancer Free" evaluation about two years ago. "Now, don't get too happy, Bud. That was never going to be what 'got' you in the first place." True enough.
But, how does one rebuild an old life? Sadly, one doesn't. Not successfully, any way. One must build a new life. How exactly does one do that? I cannot claim much expertise on that score, other than to say that I am trying to do so, day by day. I have promised the One who gave me these days that I would strive daily to do what He would consider to be honorable to, and by my fellow humans. My life is in His hands, and completely in His control. (You don't get a vote in that, by the way.)
Seven years. It's an entirely different life. But, perhaps it has been my abject love of life itself, fueled by a lifelong love and passion for learning, growing and sharing that has made these days possible, or at least survivable. I am entirely grateful, radically grateful for that. If I see a Sunrise tomorrow, I win. If not, it won't matter. I'll be home.
One year ago, many lost their homes, their possessions, their loved ones. As lousy as I may feel, or complain about my life, there are so many who, one year later, still have not found or been able to create new lives after the devastation of Hurricane Sandy. I cannot explain to you why this is true for you today but I want you to know that you have not been entirely forgotten, written off, or walked away from.
I've known how that feels. I'll never do that, no matter what. Blessings to you who still struggle to find sensibility in the midst, the continuing midst of your struggle for survival. You can do it. If you find yourself feeling that one more step is just one step too many, give me a shout. I may not be able to create what you need. You may well still be by yourself in your struggle.
But, I promise on my name, you are NOT alone. Ever. Not as long as I breathe. And that's worth a life, I think. It's not enough to even scores, dispel wrongs, or ease travail.
I just hope it is enough. I know this journey is not easy. I know this journey IS worth it. I can't explain it entirely. I don't have to, and neither do you. One step. That's enough for me--and you.
Happy Anniversary.