A Date with Death
I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 24 years old, 12 years ago; my first meeting with death face-to-face. Ever since that day in January of 1995, I have been playing a little game of tag with my friend Death. Each year, I go in for an appointment to make sure the cancer has really gone away for sure.  And that no new cancers have sprung up. And each year, I am sitting in the waiting room holding my breath.  Each year I inhale a little bit more, but still, I hold my breath and see if I can outsmart my friend Death one more year. Last summer, I wasn't so sure.  I heard the words from my doctor, "They don't think it's anything, but they may have seen something on your lung." My eyes widened into the size of the full moon, as I held my breath. Thankfully, my doctor is a woman of great compassion, and told me to "Breathe. And wait.” When I am afraid, these are the last two things I wish to do. But, I did and I actually felt my feet on the ground. Then, I drove off for another test to see if I could dodge the Grim Reaper yet another time. In the changing room, where I changed into a lovely hospital gown, I had a small, but satisfying temper tantrum with God. Wondering, why me? Damn it.  Visions of my funeral began to play on the movie screen of my mind. The goodbyes to my children, my husband, my family, my community. I swallowed my pain, I could feel the big lump of fear slide down my throat and into my stomach. And I went out of that room, stuffing a big cry.  Whenever I am in a hospital, I can feel and almost hear the unspoken fear of many.  I can feel those before me who have either dodged Death or those who have not. I breathed as the technician told me, two business days. I tried to read her face. Does she know something? Does she have a look of pity? Am I dying? Did I lose the game this time? I headed home and straight into my therapist's office. There, I let that fear pour out of my shaking body. 
Then, I woke up. I realized when I walked out of her office, that I CAN'T WIN THIS GAME. I can't win. That I will die someday. But it wasn't going to be from the spot on my lung, because there wasn't one. Just a shadow. So, if I can't win this game of tag with Death, then what do I do? Here is what my heart told me.  Death is not chasing me. Death is not interested in finding me. Death knows where I am because Death is with me every moment of my Life. Birth and Death. My friends. So, I decided I was going to be friends with Death. How would I do that? When I get in my car, I see Death sitting next to me. When I birthed my children, as I pushed them out of my body, I saw their fragility. I saw them being born into living, and into dying. Sometimes, as I am sitting at my kitchen table sipping my afternoon tea out of my big pink mug, I see Death across from me, nudging me to breath life in fully. That's just it, Death teaches me to live fully. I have been given the gift of meeting Death face-to-face, at a young age. And ever since, I have been aware of Death's presence. And being aware of Death's presence, makes me live more fully. When I think, should I teach that class, even though it is new and I am scared? Death says, YES!, do it.  If I say, I want to move my body in church, but what if people think I am crazy? Death puts friends in my path who say "People already think your crazy, go for it." And when I think, maybe I just shouldn't tell her how I really feel? Death says, oh honey, now is what you have got, speak your truth.
Facing death, meant facing the truth. The truth that I am going to die. That my body is not permanent. And that I will have to leave this glorious life. The more I make friends with death, I make friends with Life. I am willing to dive in deeply, because it truly is, all I have got.