This is very personal, but I'm sharing because it helped me. Hope it helps someone else, too. It refers to my late sister Monica. She passed in 2015 after fighting 5 years with breast cancer. Finally, it metastasized to her brain. I think she would be pleased in knowing how love for her helps me still. Its likely I will get time lines wrong, because of my own fog, or distance, and I do not make any assumptions to know how she felt during these times. And I don't compare what I endure to cancer. Its different. I want to share this experience with some others who are suffering and don't know what true self-love sounds like. I figured it out last night.
Yesterday, I had a good day until about 1pm. Then my body turned to the "oh, lets let each nerve have a loud voice right now" channel. I laid in bed, observing myself, my pain, not emotionally connected. I had pain in my ears. In the webbing of my fingers, I felt pain. Everything was turned on. It was overwhelming. And, serendipitously, I'm in the middle of a really good how-to-cope-with-chronic-illness book called Chronic Babe 101 by Jenni Glover. She writes from a place of self-love. You can feel it in her words. I needed to love myself during that flare yesterday, I knew that was all there was to do. There wasn't anything "of this world" that would help. I intuitively sensed that it would be a short-lived flare, and I just had to endure. (It is gone this morning, by the way.)
So, here's how I spoke to myself. Differently than I ever have before. I remembered my first conversation with Monica after hearing about her diagnosis of breast cancer. She had a young daughter and a 6 month old baby. She was devastated. As her older sister, I had the phone conversation that you just never want to have. I got the gift of being present with her in her heartbreak and fear. I got to say "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I got to cry with her on this end of the line, as she lived in FL, and I live in TX. I got to have this kind of compassionate conversation ONE time. Her choice was to protect her kids from knowing about her illness, so I don't remember talking to her again when there weren't little ears listening, so, illness wasn't mentioned. I got all my info regarding it from my folks, who saw her daily. They were aware of it at the end, of course, as she became quite sick, and passed at home. But, I can only remember being present in a place of her pain, that kind of heartbreak, that one time. That initial conversation. So, yesterday, I spoke to myself in the tone of that one phone call. I spoke to myself, lying in bed, in exquisite, really remarkable pain, as I did that day to my baby sister. It was love. Only love. Nothing else. Not problem-solving, not fixing. Not deflecting because of discomfort. Not judgment of any kind. Just love. I imagined how heart-broken I was, and I wrapped my own arms around myself in pure acceptance and love. I was present with it. Entirely present. I honored it. I didn't try to move it along. I didn't feel any anxiety about the level of pain, as I have done in the past. I just let it be there. I knew, logistically, that my needs were provided for me. And after T was in the house with me, I knew I had help if it came to that. So, I was fairly paralyzed in bed from it. But, there was no fear, no despair, no sadness. Not this time. I remembered my Monica. I spoke to myself as I would have to her. And it got me through the flare.
This is self-love talk. I have FINALLY figured it out. I'm going to practice it often, so it becomes habit, and pain becomes something that I can exist a little easier alongside.
So, sweet, sweet Monica, this one is for you. Thank you for so many things, but most recently, for helping me to remember what love sounds like.
Have happy days.
M
I remember when I found out that my brother had been found unresponsive. He remained in a coma for 2 weeks before the doctors decided there was nothing left they could do. There is a hole in my heart that will never be filled. Scotty was my only biological sibling and there is no one who will ever take his place, but I do see him in the faces of my beloved niece and nephew and my spoiled rotten great-nephew (he looks just like Scotty). I find myself talking to him, telling him all about his grandson, although I know that somehow, someway, he knows. I just find myself wondering "what if?" all of the time. I don't know why I am pouring my heart out now. It could be that we have that in common. I am crying as I write it. It seems so unfair. Levi was 15 and Krissy was 13 when Scotty died. I've been around to witness the changes in their lives. I was there when his daughter graduated from high school. I was there when she gave birth to his first grandchild. It should have been him, so many times in my life, I thought "It should be him standing here". I would love to read that book you are currently reading. It may help. Love you.
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