Journeying through Cancer: Lessons on my Twenty-Something-Ness

In February our family lived the colloquial saying "everything can change in a split second" as we listened to an ER doctor tell us that Mom's pestering digestive issues were really advanced-stage cancerous tumors. While I remained composed within the hospital walls, I wept on the curb next to a line of ambulances as the weight of the unknown changes that were to come crashed upon me, truly believing that the day could have swallowed me whole right then and there.

It's June now. I can hardly believe it. In four months the laundry list of changes, challenges, and joys our family has endured continues to grow ever longer: Jobs left. Apartments emptied. New homes rented. Old home filled again. New oncologists and chemo nurses. Birthdays. Weight lost. Weight gained. Graduations. Pulmonary embolism. Prayer, prayer, and more prayer. Insurance companies. Bills. Old friendships restored. New friendships revealed. Nurse after nurse after nurse. Hospitals. Funerals. Smoothies. Tears, lots of tears. New careers. Unknown futures. Meals delivered. Deluges of hugs, sincere hugs. Fear. Faith. Selfless gifts. Lessons in humility and gratitude. Songs of praise raised straight from our hearts. Clarity. Confusion. Emptiness. Shots, two a day. Anxiety. Trust. Tumors shrinking. Pain. Determination. LOVE, the constant and enduring love of Christ and family.

Shel, Al, Mom, and Me at Ally's Graduation, 5/11/13

One things is certain about this journey through cancer, our family is stronger in faith, hope, and love from weathering the changes and chances of health and this world.

As for myself, I'm learning more than a few personal lessons as a 26 year-old young professional turned stay-at-home daughter and full-time caregiver, and while I would trade them instantly for Mom's renewed health, these lessons are more powerful, more real-life than any I could have learned through grad school, traveling the world, or working for change in others' lives.

I recently watched a TED talk on how your 30's are not your 20's. I sat in my childhood bedroom, greasy from being too busy to clean myself up, feeling like this lady was preaching straight to me. The gist of her message was that twenty-somethings needed to realize that the 30-40 decade is too late to build a family, begin a career, know yourself, run that marathon you've said you'd always run, etc. "Act now," she told me. "Get off your ass and build your identity capital." "But I am!," I practically yelled back. I may not have changed out of my workout clothes today (even though I didn't get around to working out) or applied for career-track jobs or been married already or had my first child or built that savings account and Roth IRA or run in days, but I'm doing good work all day, every day. 

I got up, resolved to be content with the newness of our life with cancer. I couldn't shake her though. For days afterward I beat myself up about not being bi-lingual, not having earned an MA in History so I could, you know, be qualified for teaching jobs, for not having a steady salary, for growing a little squishy in the past few months, for not getting into a PhD program, and for not really having a good answer when people asked me what I wanted to do in addition to running our household, loving my Mom and sisters, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, doing laundry and yard work, paying and filing bills, greeting visitors, driving to and from doctor's visits, laughing at Ellen every afternoon, and kissing Mom good night every evening hoping that I had done the absolute best I could for her spiritual and physical well-being that day. 

After a few days of ruminating about my current twenty-something-ness compared to TED talk lady twenty-something-dreamland, I concluded that my identity capital is through the roof at this very moment. My CV may not be filled with new, mind-blowing publications and presentations. My starting salary may not be growing. I'm not a member of any new professional and civic societies. I haven't showered in days. Happy hour networking for me is talking with Shelby about the day over half-and-half sweet tea. I don't have any concrete plans for life beyond loving, nurturing, and caring for the woman who loved, nurtured, and cared for me selflessly since 1987. Let me tell you something, I've never been more at peace with myself than I am today.

(Now before the pragmatic minds freak out, I am looking for work and am staying connected in my professional networks. Kathryn and I spend quality time together. I take care of myself, physically and emotionally. I know what unhealthy caregiving looks like, and I am careful not to cross that line. I take breaks. I enjoy weekends with friends. All that good stuff is happening, too.)

But the root of this post is that in February, I wasn't sure I could handle what was coming. In June, I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and my heart is filled with peace.

Speaking the Truth about Living in Love

I have been awed to tears by the displays of support for legal marriage equality this week. Similarly, I have been humbled by reading the carefully-worded beliefs of those whose interpretation of scripture and lived experience tell them otherwise. Some have written that they hate the sin and love the sinner; that they speak their truths through lenses of love; that one does not have to agree with another’s sinful lifestyle to love and support them as people. All fair. Now I want to add my perspective on the matter while the dialogue is hot and speak my truth about living not in sin, but in love.

I knew before I even met Kathryn Kendrick in person that I had met the one. I was right. Over the last two years, we’ve built a life on a strong foundation of love, faith, and covenant.

Our relationship is in no way defined by immorality, but by the covenant of love that we have made to one another and is blessed by our families, friends, and faith communities.

When my mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer last month, Kathryn was there both as my partner and as a family member. At Kathryn’s grandfather’s funeral yesterday, I stood with the family the same as any other “in-law.” We pay bills together. We pray together. We love the other’s families, and they love us. We share an address and closet space, which obviously means we know how to compromise. We try to pass off the dog-walking responsibilities to the other on cold mornings. We argue about normal things, like whether or not to buy the more expensive cereal with the fancy granola clusters over the corn flakes. We cry at sentimental commercials. We love long dinners with friends. I am passionate about college football, Kathryn isn’t. Kathryn can make beautiful art out of anything, I appreciate it. We celebrate small victories. We run out of toilet paper. We dance in our dining room. We stand in awe of the majesty of God’s world and do our best everyday to walk hand-in-hand through life with a spirit of peace, reverence, and joy for the beauty of it all.

We live in love.

This is our “lifestyle.”

No vote or law or scripture will change the love and joy that we share in our life together, but it sure would be nice to have some of those 1,138 federal benefits and to know that at the end of this life, whenever that is, I can sit with Kathryn, hand-in-hand, and know that we lived in love, legally.