Snail mail and Existence

writing a letter that might now arrive in time

This week I wrote a letter to someone I’m not sure will ever receive it. I met Becky* last summer and held twenty minutes of conversation with her about life, death and poetry. She struck me as an inspiring and bold spirit with a grasp good on reality.

She had a similar cancer diagnosis as my mother and things were going okay at the time, but not looking hopeful for the future. My mother has been diagnosed with stage four colorectal cancer for three years and just had her 30th round of chemo (your can follow her journey here on CaringBridge)- she’s a true hero! The cancer journey is not one we’d ever asked for and quite frankly sucks most of the time- but has ushered in a deeper sense of existence and meaning paralleled with ambiguous loss.

portrait of my mother after a haircur and her pruned roses, January 2024

My mom is a part of a facebook group called “colon town” that connects people from across the country with similar cancer journeys. She has been able to find community, access to important information and tips about symptoms and even find an amazing liver surgeon recommended through this group. Talk about a life-changing way to use social media! This is where she met Becky and decided to finally meet in person at a Bay Area colon-town meet up after a few years of online friendship and co-suffering together. My mom hosted in her abundant garden. Guests brought cancer-friendly healthy food and there was a deep sense of community as they shared stories of surgery, treatment and the inside jokes about their “crappy” colorectal disease. Laughter and tears were shared over the fatigue of fighting a battle within the body.

I found out last week Becky went into hospice. Hospice care prioritizes comfort and quality of life by reducing pain and suffering- focusing on a terminally ill patient's pain and symptoms and attending to their needs at the end of life. It’s a word you don’t want to hear but somehow also brings a sense of comfort or the end of suffering. She has been on my mind all week and I have had the urgent sense to write a letter, even if we only briefly met.

With each day that went by I worried perhaps it would be too late to send a letter all the way from France to get there in time. I went ahead and tried to find words to write not knowing much about this person’s life, spiritual experiences or story- yet it was healing and important for me to write. I had read Psalm 18 that morning that talked about bringing us out of “deep waters” and into a spacious and broad place. I walked down the hill later that day to pop it into the little yellow mail box in the french countryside like an act of prayer- may she find a broad and spacious place…May she find rest from these deep waters of cancer. A simple poem blessing with a blue border will travel over the ocean in the coming weeks:

MAY TIME BE A SACRED GIFT

MAY FREEDOM FIND YOU

MAY PEACE EMBRACE YOU

MAY HOPE HOLD YOUR HAND

MAY LOVE GUIDE YOU

TOWARDS ETERNAL LIGHT

I have been grappling with a lot of questions around death lately. I feel these questions deep in my heart- a physical sensation of tugging around my chest. This may sound morbid, but it’s actually quite beautiful and freeing to consider the preciousness and miracle of life that is around us. Death and grief come in many forms - sometimes the death comes through the end of a dream, relationship, a season or job, moving… Death is also ever present in the cycles of nature and seasons and can even be beautiful. Living with loss can be a heavy burden to carry, but also bring forth a new awareness, authenticity and vitality of existence.

Through cancer, we have been given the unique and challenging gift of living with the present moment as all we know is sure. The eternal present has potential to usher in a miraculous joy of simplicity and meaning.

Breathe a deep breath with me now- exhale loudly and LISTEN to the breath in your lungs.

What a wonder we are.