Leaving / Rejoice, by Will Stanton

[This is the last posting submitted by Will Stanton. — Editor] 

Leaving

He was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1991.  We knew the inevitable end; we just did not know when.  Each passing day, each passing year, was, in its own way, leaving.  We both understood that.  Some acquaintances told me, “Why don't you leave him?”  I would not, not that way.  I stayed.

I did not cry as a child.  My mother told me that, and we both pondered my difference from other children.  Of course, I felt emotion, but nothing seemed to drive me to tears.  That changed later.  A special someone came into my life who truly mattered - - - and then left.  It was the leaving that changed me.  As the famous 19^th-century, authoress George Eliot stated,  “Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.”

I always have been sensitive to others, perhaps unusually empathetic and caring.  That increased significantly after his leaving, both with people whom I knew, and also even fictional characters in movies.  If, in viewing well presented stories,  I become particularly attached to characters who have deep bonds with each other, I apparently identify with them, at least subconsciously; for, if they part from each other, either in having to leave or, perhaps, in dying, emotion wells up within me.  Such deep emotion comes suddenly and unbidden.  When a good person dies, leaving the loved-ones behind, the emotion catches within my gut.  When loving, deeply bonded people part ways, never to see each other again, that, too, deeply moves me.  Again, quoting George Eliot: “In every parting, there is an image of death.”

I admit it: I never have come fully to terms with reality, with mortality.  And, I'm not like so many who choose to hold deep-seated beliefs that this world is merely a stepping-stone to a so-called “better world,” beliefs based upon common indoctrination and, perhaps, upon fear and hope,  Oh, I don't mind so much the afflictions and death of inhuman humans, those whose cruelty and dire deeds harm others.  But, it is the good people, the loving people, people who have contributed so much to the betterment of humankind, whose leaving distresses me.  I would be so much more content if they (dare I say, “we”?) did not have to leave.

I understand and feel the passionate, poetic lines of Dylan Thomas:

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

So, with these thoughts of mine being presented close to All Souls Day (or in German, “Allerseelen”), with the cold days of December soon upon us, I prefer my thoughts to dwell, instead, upon our happier memories of May, our younger days, as expressed in the final lines of Hermann von Gilm poem, “Allerseelen”, “--- Spend on my heart again those lovely hours, like once in May.”

© 23 July 2016  

Rejoice

This presentation of mine today is very personal, and the first important comments are very blunt.  So, hang on, I appreciate your patience in my telling.  It deals with my medical condition over the last several years and my current frame of mind, which has developed, and perhaps even improved over time.

Among other conditions, my three major problems — mega-killer immune system killing off all my clotting blood platelets down to zero, large granular-T-cell leukemia, and the great possibility of developing blood-clots in any organ, brain, or in the circulatory system, — could kill me at any moment.  So little is understood about these conditions, and especially in my extreme case, that the medical staff are writing papers about me.  I consider that a dubious honor.

Yet, here is where I rejoice.  My attitude to all of this has changed markedly over the last few years.  When I first was diagnosed with these major problems, I was, of course, surprised, shocked, and dismayed.  Yet, a whole team of oncology doctors and nurses went to great, extended effort to treat me.  For a short time, it seemed to work.

Then a couple of years ago, I suffered a truly major event when it seemed that no treatment would ever help.  With each episode, the efficacy seems to diminish.  Many people might totally despair and wish to suffer no more.  I did not quite despair, but I was profoundly disappointed and felt resigned to my fate.  So yes, I did think about simply driving up to the mountains some cold night, park on some high point, and gaze at the mountain scenery until I fell asleep.  Of course, I never did.  I still have some pleasures and satisfactions in my life.

Well here again is where I rejoice.  Despite my circumstances, my whole mind-set has changed and improved.  I do what I need to do with St. Joseph’s Hospital the various Kaiser clinics, and all the doctors and nurses.  But, it is what I do and think and feel outside of all of that which is actually making me happy.

For one, just in a week of being out of the hospital and being able to go home on October 28^th (mind you, with some misgivings of the medical staff), I accumulated as much as fifty hours of accomplishing important tasks that, otherwise, would have been neglected and not gotten done.  In addition to being able to take care of bills and other daily obligations, I was here to go through the five days of repeated efforts to repair my broken furnace (thank God, the Denver temperature was unusually warm), the six days to deal frustratingly with Comcast to get my email back working so that I could communicate with family and friends, and to have one other repair done.  Now, if you understand, I felt satisfaction and actually rejoiced that I was able to complete those tasks.

Secondly, I have spent much of my home-time going back through some of my older, more interesting essays and stories for Telling My Story, carefully editing, and (most fun of all) locating and inserting delightful, augmenting images within the text.  I print them for myself, house them in plastic sleeves, and file them in several notebooks, separated by subject.  Yes, I do find great pleasure in this.

Third, at home, I have the pleasures of my fine piano, my TV, my computer, and all the comforts at home.  And on Sundays, I am able to go with my friends, whom I call “the usual suspects,” to a particularly good Perkins restaurant, have a particularly delicious breakfast, and then play the card-game called “Samba,” a form of canasta at my dining-room table.  That simple ritual is a welcome pleasure and provides me with comfort more than people may realize.  I, especially, have the pleasure of sharing that with my friends.

Good friends, kind friends, are the most important of all these factors.  I am truly appreciative and perhaps even ecstatic to have these warm-hearted encounters with my friends, more than they may realize.

And, that brings me to what finally makes me rejoice.  At this advanced age, with this, yet another, bout of terrible affliction, I finally have accepted my situation, doing what I need to do but not fighting the reality of it.  I have developed over time a more relaxed, philosophical feeling and attitude that “what will be will be.”  I am very thankful that, despite my condition, I feel little pain, very much unlike so many other unfortunate people.  I rejoice in my cheerful, positive, interactions with people, medical staff and very good friends.  My positive, uplifting connection to very good friends is, perhaps, my most powerful treatment, my greatest joy.

Thank you, all my kind friends.

© 15 Nov 2016 

[This is the last story (his “Good Bye”) Will Stanton read to the Telling Your Story group on 21 Nov 2016.  Sadly, he passed into history and memories on 1 January 2017.  He is sorely missed. — Editor]

About the Author 

25 Apr 1945 - 1 Jan 2017

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories.  I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones.  Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.