The Merits of the Case

I've obviously been thinking a lot about bravery recently and I remembered today that I had already written about it awhile ago. (I write a lot of posts that I end up never posting to this blog for one reason or another.) I wrote this right after that first trip to school with no hair.

In one of her comments yesterday, PT-LawMom wrote:

[P]eople judge bravery not based on whether you think you're brave, but based on what they think they would do in your shoes.

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My friends Kathy and Connie both sent e-mails in response to my post about running the gauntlet on the train platform without hair. Both of them talked about strength and grace…my strength and grace…which seems to be a recurring theme from many people in my life these days. Both of them also commented about other people they know going through cancer or other hardships and about their strength in the face of something like that. Both of them talked about how those people deny that it’s strength or bravery, but say that “it’s what anyone would do.”

It’s hard to understand that statement, I think, when you’re not experiencing something like this. But it is true. I think it is what anyone would do. And to be honest, it doesn’t feel like strength or grace or bravery in any way. It feels like what I have to do. If this is strength and bravery, it’s nothing like what I thought those things would feel like.

When I contemplate my heroes, such as the soldiers in Iraq or Eleanor Roosevelt or Elizabeth Cady Stanton or firefighters, I admire their bravery in the face of danger or opposition. I am amazed at their ability to stand by their convictions and to continue on their chosen paths despite the difficulties they face. They are truly brave, in my opinion.

And yet I wonder now if perhaps they don’t (or didn’t) feel brave or strong, but if they just feel that what they do (or did) is what they have to do. Think about the news stories that we see on TV where someone rescues someone else from an awful or dangerous situation. In the interviews with those heroes, they always say that they don’t consider themselves heroes and that their actions were taken instinctively without much thought. I no longer think those statements are just an example of the hero being humble. It seems that bravery is only bravery to those who are outside looking in. My experience in handling a difficult situation doesn’t feel like the bravery I admire in other people. I don’t think any less of my heroes as a result of this revelation. If anything, I admire them even more, because I think that what I see as bravery and strength comes from somewhere deeper. It is much more than just steeling yourself for the battle. It comes from deep within you and is all caught up with conviction and belief and the ability, that I think we all have, to tap an inner well of strength and willpower. Some people tap into this reserve through their religious beliefs, some through more secular beliefs, but I think it is often a dangerous or difficult situation that allows us to find that well.

I think that as humans we are more resilient and strong than we know and that when you are faced with what you think is one of the worst things, you handle it because you have to. I find that I have untapped reserves of strength to handle this because of Karly and Blake and Matthew and Randy and my parents and siblings. At the very beginning of all of this Randy told me that he thought the kids are handling this as well as they are because they take their cues from me. It is imperative to me that I show my children that I am going to be okay, that I am okay, and that because of that they are safe and loved and that their lives will continue to be stable despite the upheaval of this cancer diagnosis and treatment.

But it’s not always easy. I don’t always feel strong. I have devastating moments of weakness and sadness and fear and anger, just like you would. They pass, and luckily, for me, there are more moments of strength, for lack of a better word.

What seems like it would be the most frightening about all of this, of course, is facing mortality. It is frightening to contemplate my death, and to have it be a very real possibility in a way that it has never been before. But it’s not really the most frightening thing when you have to face it. What’s worse is knowing that after December I just have to wait and watch and hope this cancer doesn’t come back in my breast or somewhere else in my body. It’s the idea of living with the unknown, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, that is scary.

And even more frightening is the idea of leaving my children here to fend for themselves without me. Indeed, this is a paralyzing fear and something I have thought about every single day since I found the lump in April. It was my very first thought the moment I found the lump. I know that if I died they would be surrounded by friends and family who would love them and care for them. But I am their mother and that is little comfort, knowing that no one could ever love them the way that I do. It is horrible to think about not being here when they go to college, start careers, fall in love, get married, have children. They need me to be here for them. I need to be here for them.

I am astounded that so many of you seem to see something like strength or grace or bravery in my words. If that is what is coming across in what I write, then I am thankful. It doesn’t feel like any of those things most of the time, it just feels like the thing I have to do right now. I don’t think that I know any way to handle it other than they way that I have. And there is no planning out how I want to handle the next thing, whatever that may be. I have to take each day, each new side-effect, each new development, as it comes.

Where I do find strength and grace is in your words to me. You have all given me, and continue to give me, so much. Every single time I talk with one of you or read an e-mail or listen to a voicemail your words lift me up in ways that you might not even realize. I am so blessed to have the family and friends that I have. I have always thought that, but you have showed me the depths of your love and friendship throughout all of this, and I am humbled and honored and strengthened by you all every day, more than you will ever know.