Just last week my friend (and fellow massage therapist) Katie was told she has months to live. This unfortunate news, however, is a gift in itself; when I've seen her and talked with her since then, our conversations have taken a turn for the even more utterly real and genuine, and I am able to treasure each moment entirely and contemplate the very nature of life.
When I first heard the news, I asked Katie if she had any idea what to expect. As a fellow bodyworker, I knew Katie would be very aware of how her body would feel and function at the various stages of this terminal illness and tried my best to be supportive by simply talking frankly. She had been told her brain would go first. Less pain for her, we agreed. After bouts of fighting cancer over the past two years, her body has been massively challenged by the illness and the fight to treat it: chemotherapy, hysterectomy, radiation, brain surgery, and a slew of drugs. Her current profession on her own blog is listed as "chemical tester". Since the cancer spread from her ovaries to her brain and now her spinal fluid, she is finally quitting traditional medical treatment and trying to wrap her head around what this all means, especially the distinct possibility of dying soon. I don't mean to infer it is not possible Katie will heal from all this - you never know, miracles happen and my friend could be trading massages with me and showing me new mountain bike tips once again!
But I too am trying to wrap my head around the possibility of my friend passing. I feel incredibly sad about Katie's illness and potentially dying, and how all this affects her husband and especially her amazing little six year old son. In fact, I am crying as I write this. I have cried every day since hearing the latest bad news. I also find myself diving into the sage bowl, seizing this opportunity to extract the wisdom one can gain by paying close attention to the nature of death and inherently the value of human life. And really, I mean life. Katie is alive and present right now, and the future is uknown.
Both the diagnoses AND the unknown allow even more contemplation. Since Katie is still very present, she feels alive and is not ready to say goodbye to all the friends who want to come visit with her. She is STILL PRESENT. Perhaps she is even more present than ever, trying to get the most out of each moment she is alive.
Though her body is worsening from when I gave her a massage last week to taking her to coffee today, she is as present as I have ever seen her. Amidst a tube attached to her skull draining fluid from her brain to her stomach, bruises, stitches, swollen face, skinny body, bald head, being short on balance and eyesight and showing occasional memory blips and speech slurs, Katie maintained almost constant eye contact, focus in the present moment - and pure love. I felt like our morning was spent in a bubble of love. This sounds a little corny maybe, but spending time loving is more real than anything I know. Sometime I forget this and friends need to remind me through skating the edges of just being alive. Did I mention Katie also shared her usual sense of fun...she convinced me to eat doughnuts and mochas with her for lunch. Live a little, right? We even giggled through tears in the coffee shop, and somehow getting sugar in my eye after wiping away tears was hysterical. That's what friends are for.
So I contemplate what is important. I distinctly remember Katie's words as I lent her an elbow walking back to the car. "This is my moment." She realized there may be no better time than now to get all she can out of life. Anything that is still possible needs to happen now. So what to do? Be present, constantly present. She is being present and loving and appreciative, even amidst the sadness, pain, and inability to fully comprehend what is happening to her body.
She reminds me to do the same, because even though I have not been diagnosed with a terminal illness, I see that my time in this body in this human life is rare and precious and limited, as it is for all of us. I want to do the best I can with this opportunity - be present and loving and grateful amidst the painful, hard, and confusing parts. I won't say it's easy to do this, because life can be so painful at times that it is easy to get stuck in those parts. I appreciate Katie for giving me an opportunity to live a better life, reminding me to focus on the good, to love, be present, do all I can, and do it NOW.
Did I mention Katie completed two half triathlons this past summer between chemo and brain surgery? What a gift to know this amazing woman, and for that matter, to know all my friends and family, to have an amazing profession, to play in the mountains on skis and bikes and legs, to do all the things I enjoy doing, to love, to be present, to simply be alive. Thanks Katie.
I stole this pic from Katie's blog profile. She's on the left - what a badass!
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