Life's Too Short

Life's Too Short

   We recently entertained some friends over the weekend, long-time friends from way, way back, all enjoying an annual gathering to both visit and enjoy some sloppy snow on the ski slopes.  But this time, an altercation happened, a small matter that suddenly grew and grew and burst opened unexpectedly, like a pimple gone bad.  And I use that term because from a somewhat distant viewpoint, it all seemed like an incredibly small matter.  But for our two friends, it was apparently the final blow after years of repressed dueling.

   Sometimes, we all think that we can easily harbor things inside, push bad thoughts and feelings out of our heads and never see them again.  But sometimes, even we are surprised when such hidden resentments or emotions pop out of nowhere (or so it seems), an erupting well that we thought we had capped; and usually this is from an argument that escalates and escalates until our self-control simply goes primal.  Words are exchanged, sometimes damaging ones, and as they say with juries, you can't unring a bell once it's been rung.  But what if those repressed thoughts were life-threatening?

   This was the sentiment from Carol Wall when she discovered cancer in her breast, was treated, and was declared cancer-free.  But in her book, Mister Owita's Guide to Gardening ( a top pick in AARP's best books of 2014), she writes: With my son's illness to occupy my thoughts, there was little time left to worry about myself, but I managed to pencil it in anyway.  Would the cancer come back?  That was a question I'd asked every day of my life, sometimes multiple times.  The odds were stacked heavily against recurrence.  But when the "C" word has been mentioned even once in your life, the diagnosis is a ghost that chases you forever after.  It's best to keep moving, as fast as possible.  If, now and then, I paused in front of a mirror, it was only to rearrange my bangs or freshen up my lipstick.  I dared not look too closely, for fear of finding a lump, bump, mole, or other symptom someone had missed.  This had become my life.

   The excellent series The Big C with Laura Linney delved into a bit more of this, her home truths coming ever more frequently, to both herself and to others.  But as author Wall continues:  An introvert by nature, I found it unsettling how people felt completely comfortable asking me for the most intimate details about my illness and treatment.  Bless their hearts, I knew that when friends called me, they'd already done their research--they would have asked someone else how my most recent test results had turned out, so they'd know whether the news was good or bad.  I felt like I was walking around town with a big "C" for cancer emblazoned on my chest.  In our smallish town, the quest for fresh gossip could be intense.  It was a kind of currency that people exchanged.  And I hated the feeling that my illness had become fodder for talk, well intentioned or not.

   With our friends, we had hoped that once the night had passed, the morning would bring a fresh view, or more likely a re-freshed view, that (in the bigger picture) harboring a grudge or a clash of personalities could be overlooked for just a few days, that there was so much more to life, that there were real voices to be quelled inside one's head, thoughts such as Carol Wall's cancer.  But to our friends, this issue seemed as important as other things, a decision that was made awhile ago and was one to be kept.

   All of this puzzled my wife and me, that a friendship could sever so quickly, especially when we had seen them talking and laughing together just hours earlier.  Was there ever really a friendship?  And if so, what did that term mean to them since their definition was apparently quite different than our definition.  Which might bring us back to the word "truth."  Sometimes it becomes a matter of facing the truth of not getting along, of being true to yourself, and, as my friend said, making quicker decisions now that age has put us on the ticking clock.  There is no time to waste so perhaps he felt it was best to be honest and move on.  Despite our best intentions, most of us eventually discover that we can't be friends with everyone...can we?  And if, like Carol Wall, you happened to received a diagnosis that your life could be suddenly shortened substantially, what parts of your life would you discard?  Close friends and family would obviously remain, but the fluff?  Would you condense your list of "friends?"

   As we age, we discover that being honest and truthful isn't such a bad thing.  Feelings of others might be hurt a bit, but maybe only if the feelings were wrong to begin with...or if things changed.  Life is indeed too short...but friendships, real friendships, should be long.

Addendum:  The next day, I heard from Carol Wall's husband (43 years of marriage)...what she feared came true and her cancer  returned; she lost the battle with it, all before her book emerged as a top ten pick in USA Today and AARP.  A followup story appeared in the Roanoke paper.