This year’s letter will be a special one. It has been 10 years of processing the highs and lows of grief. An entire decade of life persevering and love enduring. There is no way to truly capture what this anniversary feels like in my own words. Instead, today’s letter will be written by Karen Choy herself.
When my mother got sick with cancer she decided to start a blog called, “Mom Choy Crushing Cancer.” Each day she would publish a new post to share updates with her family and friends. She poured her fear, her anger, but more importantly hope into these posts. Each one was a testament to the strength she committed herself to in feeling every part of the journey fully and deeply.
I rediscovered this blog a couple months ago when searching for an old email address. The two posts below are from the period she entered remission and a couple months before she died. They are a reminder that we cannot grieve without love and that even our worst trials can reveal important truths about ourselves.
Wednesday January 26, 2012
Dear Family and Friends,
GREAT news – my recent lab results show that my “numbers” are good and all within normal range, even the abnormal protein!! My Kaiser and Stanford oncologists are very pleased with the results and don’t feel the need to see me for another three months.
It has been an arduous journey. A journey through a maze of feelings. With every turn, one of us would be hit hard…from feelings of anger, helplessness and a deep desire for life to return to normal….to feelings of hope, strength, perseverance and gratitude. Our lives will never be the same. Cancer and all that it has taught us about living resides within our home, our hearts. Am I happy I got cancer? No. Am I grateful for what it has taught me about myself? Yes. Life is a kaleidoscope, the colors and patterns of life change, it can be beautiful if we look through life with a sense of awe for what we have, for what we can offer and for the potential in each of us to be “beautiful”. As I get stronger, I plan to get off the treadmill of life – putting myself through the paces of trying to bring perfect balance to the demands of work, home and relationships. Letting go of being perfect will be a challenge, but it will free me. It will free me to stop and hug my kids more, take a moment to make a cup of tea for Andy, call a friend to see how he/she is and give thanks to God for each new day. I am looking forward to that freedom. Should you see me climb back on the treadmill, pull me off and remind me of what’s important. I may balk at you, just remind me that I gave you permission on January 26, 2012!
Andy, Ryan, Marissa and I are still processing the news. It seems surreal. Last night Andy said, “This is what we’ve been working toward for nine months and it’s here, it doesn’t feel real yet”. To make it more real, any family and friends around last night came by for a glass of champagne to celebrate with us. When I went to bed, I toasted the Universe, all of you. This is also your victory. You carried us in prayer, you fed our stomachs and our spirits, you made sure we felt loved and supported. Yes, we could have done it, the four of us, together, alone but we didn’t because you rose up and rallied a cry, “Crush It”! And I’ll say it again, we are forever grateful for your company on this journey.
Love, love, love,
Karen
Sunday June 24, 2012
Dear Family and Friends,
My protein levels dropped from 1330 to 1300. I was disappointed that the decrease was so small but Andy and my oncologist reminded me that we were still headed in the right direction. I really want to knock the numbers lower in big hits. After some discussion with the oncologist, I could indeed choose to be very aggressive with chemotherapy treatment and put the cancer in remission but it’s not likely it would stay in remission and highly likely to stress the liver and kidneys. Slow, steady progress is really the best way to go, as we are now. Following this course lessens the chances of liver and kidney dysfunction as well.
Slow and steady gave me a lot to think about. It’s clear to me, like all of you, we’d like to see the cancer in remission, yesterday. But that’s not the reality. And so, my current challenge is to make friends with the cancer and the side effects. Simply put, stop fighting the slow progress and wishing otherwise. It doesn’t help my spirits to see it as the enemy. Cancer remains the weeds in my garden. Now, it may take a few seasons to be fully rid of these weeds.
I keep hearing the voice of this woman I met last year at the cancer walk. I asked if I could join the first lap of the walk with the cancer survivors, even though I was in treatment and technically not a “survivor”. She threw her arms around me and said, “Of course, you can join us. Everyday you wake up with cancer, you are a survivor”. I feel the strength in her voice and of her arms around me as I attempt to befriend the cancer.
So, dear ones, we journey on…summer is here. It’s a different rhythm for all of us. Whatever that rhythm is, may it include times that redirect you and yours to the nearest ice cream shop for a large double cone or a cup with fudge topping. Enjoy that treat with one another!
Much love,
Karen
This year’s letter is dedicated to every person who has struggled with grief, whether it has been weeks or a lifetime. I hope you find ways to sit with the sadness and also allow some reprieve. May you build your own kaleidoscope in which to experience life.
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