The Peacock Perspective

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life, Love by

This  has been a week of notables – those dates that get bookmarked into life for better or worse. From my three year wedding anniversary (May 29th), to two years since finding that blasted bump (May 31st) and coming up to the date of diagnosis (June 6th), date of mastectomy, husband’s birthday, my birthday (turning 30) and pushing forward across the summer. We talk a lot about these markers here in the blogosphere . . . and to be honest, the good and the bad have this way of mixing together in associations – a pain in the ass mentality I’m trying to kick but have yet to master.

[Our wedding anniversary in particular is a bit tricky since I was diagnosed so shortly after my first wedding anniversary . . . one day we were celebrating on the Isle of Wight and I was a little worried about this bump in my breast, the next week (or so) I was being told it was cancer and the breast was going to be removed. Sigh.]

But yesterday evening was a particular day to be noted in this past week.

Let me tell you why: it involved another wedding.

Not mine of course, but a friend who dates back to my high school days of debating and hanging about in the corridor between classes. Nearly everyone of that old crowd was there, it was this huge party with great food, good outfits (Is it really possible that we all look this good ten years after highschool? Apparetly!), open bar, and music galore. The groom was handsome in his black tuxedo, the bride was stunning in her short & playful gown that shaped her like the ultimate hour glass  (plus those stunning fuchsia heels). They were so happy. They are so in love.

And that’s why I got married in the first place – it had nothing to do with cancer. It was because we were so happy, and so darn tootin’ in love. It was because we were going to stick together through better or worse and give that solidity to our commitment that somehow comes from a marriage.

We’re still so happy, still so darn tooin’ in love. We are sticking together through thick and thin, we are solid in our commitment and know it will see us through the transitions.

And that’s all darn good stuff. My wedding anniversary shouldn’t be tainted with cancer fears and hospital flashbacks. It should be dosed with certainties that Zsolt and I are a team, we make it together, and I’m really lucky to have someone who is determined to grow old with me. It should be a day to celebrate this awesome advantage we have in the fight against bad health, low income, displacement. I’m talking about LOVE here, people.

A good girlfriend of mine was in town for the wedding. She was amazing when I was diagnosed & went through treatment – doing those little things that matter like asking how I was, writing an occasional message, following my blog. . . (For me, I do not forget the people who made an effort during those times. Starting with a simple, ‘how are you’  to writing letters/emails, paying visits, keeping company . . . they are heroic in my mind because each of their efforts rescued a little piece of my sanity.)

Anyhow, she is a good friend. As the evening rolled on (open bar!) and the music played and we shifted from the dance floor to the lobby to the parking lot (why, I don’t know . . . apparently someone was dropping off beer), to the lobby to the dance floor, to the sidelines . . . we all loosened up and had the chance to get in some lovely bonding.

This is what she said to me – she told me that I’d kinda inspired her, like if I could get through all that crap, she could take on her own challenges too. She reckons we ought to live our prefered lives because it doesn’t go on forever, and so long as we hurt no one else we ought to do what makes us happy. (As you can see she’s a smart cookie.) For her, that happiness is an incredible peacock tattoo that covers her back from shoulder to bum – she loves it completely, and one part of her (just one part, because she’s a strong woman to start and certainly doesn’t need my help in summoning determination) pulled a little courage from my story. From this story here on Bumpyboobs.

“If you can go through that, I could handle this” and so she did something that brings her deep joy.

Isn’t that amazing? Yeah, it’s freaking amazing.

You know what? Here is another date to remember: May 31st 2010, the day Bumpyboobs came into existence. Sure, it was because of hard things like fear . . . but it was also about comfort, sharing, and finding strength.

Bumpyboobs is a good thing. It’s not just about cancer. It’s about pushing to love and live as much life as possible.

So while the end of May and start of June are littered with difficult dates . . . it’s also a time of wonderful accomplishments, starting first with my marriage, followed by this blog (contributing in part to that AMAZING tattoo on her back), and rolling over toward our birthdays where we celebrate being alive.

Yesterday’s wedding helped me realize a lot (in between the dancing and tinging of glasses for the bride & groom to kiss), and I really appreciate my friend opening up in that way – saying things that are often left unsaid simply because they are too emotional.

It was good. The whole thing was good. And today,  apart from the post-party exhaustion, I feel really freaking good.

 

What is your picture?

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Finding Home, Life, Love, moving to canada, self growth, Travel Log by

Today is a post in response to Marie from ‘Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer’, who found the idea from Jen of ‘Keep the Calm’. The challenge is to post a photograph of yourself (or something that represents you) which captures the ‘you’ of the past little while.

So this is my photograph. It’s so peaceful looking and calm, but in reality we were travelling across Hungary in the backseat of a car, and I was trying not to vomit from the motion sickness. Zsolt thought I looked pretty. 🙂 And I think so too, in my no-longer-nauseous reflection on the photograph.

But that’s not why I chose this photograph. The past six months . . . okay, the past NINE months (gag!) have been both wonderful and difficult. We are searching for ‘the big break’ in terms of careers & living on our own (cause yes, we’re still with my parents), feeling as though we haven’t settled, desperate, once again, to find a sense of home. And yet I am home with my family – something I’ve lacked for many years. We can get together for dinner, go for tea, share a beautiful day . . .

Both wonderful and difficult. All the while, I’m there in the back of that car waiting for resolution. With little bursts of success like my freelancing (at the detriment to my creative writing) and Zsolt’s consulting, we move forward. We are moving forward. I am saturated in the family I’ve been missing so much. Things are good. Things are a little hard.

But what you don’t know is at the end of this car ride we pulled up to a home where there were dogs in the yard, pigs in the pen, chicken running round, and a family with open hearts and tables filled with food. The good stuff exists (and much of it is already here), so I can tolerate this ‘ in-between’ness, because I’m certain it won’t last forever.

(Though displacement does appear to arrive in waves. That is the life of a person who travels, home is where the heart is . . . except we leave bits of our hearts wherever we go.)

Would you like to join the challenge? Post a photograph of yourself, or something that represents you, and let us know the story (or don’t since a picture is already speaking at least a thousand words). You can post the link here, or on Marie or Jen’s pages. I’m sure we’d all love to see.

Take care,

Catherine

Where do the memories go?

Posted in Life, Love by

Last Friday involved a lot of heavy lifting. (Not for me, of course. There’s to be no heavy lifting with my right lymph node-less arm, but for Zsolt and my father.) We were collecting the last of the furniture from my grandmother’s old apartment in Montreal.

It is so strange to see the place empty. This is where we used to sit in a giant circle with the family and catch up. This is where she used to put chocolate bunnies filled with marshmallow on the table for the kids. This is where she made her sugar cream, baked her cookies, and did her work for the Alzheimer’s Society.

As you may know, Zsolt and I are growing in optimism that we’ll soon move out of my parents house. And as you know, we upped and left our previous place (and previous furniture – except the mattress, which was impossible to offload) back in England. So the collection of free and gently used furniture is a very welcome thing.

But it’s a little strange to have this nest of Lulu’s old stuff, waiting to be turned into ‘our stuff’ as we move into a new home. It’s strange because I look at the sofa that was hers, and I can remember sitting on it when we visited, and it’s been in her home for so long . . . and it makes me wonder, “Is Lulu in this sofa? Is this sofa part of her?”

Same goes for the kitchen table where we’d eat the take-away St Hubert chicken and gravy – a Forget Family Favourite. Or the dishes on which she’d serve meals back when she was better, less worried, and still cooking for guests.

So we have a household worth of furniture, and her apartment is now essentially bare. Empty. Sold.

“Is she in that apartment? Is she in the bits and pieces we take away?”

Where is she now?

Well I’m not qualified to answer that last question. But as for the others, I reckon she’s not in that empty apartment, and she’s not in the cushions of her old sofa. Mostly, I figure, she’s right deep in our memories and our hearts – the good and the bad, the woman as a whole. She’s in the memories. And as for her soul? Well, Lulu believed in heaven, so that’s where she’s bound to have gone.

Looking at the empty rooms, the bare floors, the naked shelves . . . I can feel that she’s not here anymore. Lulu is somewhere else. We get to keep her memory in the knickknacks and the photos . . . but she is not here anymore. She’s moved on.

And so shall we.

It couldn’t be easy on my mother and her sisters to pack away their mother’s life. But maybe they’ve come to the same conclusion, that Lulu’s life does not rest in her things. The objects and furniture are memories, good emotions, happy moments . . . but they are not her.

It’s not easy to say goodbye to a person you loved. But once you realize they’ve already left, I suppose it becomes just that little bit easier. (I’m not saying it’s entirely easy, and I’m not saying I don’t miss her . . . but she’s not in that apartment, I know it for sure. So I have to imagine she’s somewhere else far better, with my grandfather and her siblings. And they’re having a laugh with those angle wings on and acting some ridiculous pantomime like back in the old days. Why not? Anything is possible.)

 

P.S. Today (Monday) Zsolt and I are steam-cleaning Lulu’s old furniture. It’s been a while since they’ve been cleaned, plus she used to smoke. So we’re out here in the backyard with this foaming, splashy, steamy machine trying to fix things up real nice. Her furniture is becoming our furniture, and so it takes on another life.

P.P.S. That’s a photograph of Lulu (Lucienne) and Benoit. Aren’t they a handsome couple?