Survival vs. Living

[vickie h]

There is a huge difference between surviving life and actually living it. It's an odd thing to ponder and a very daunting task to undertake. It wasn't until Thursday, February 10, 2005 that I realized the difference. Throughout the last year I was completely in survival mode. Many days I was merely going through the motions. I seemed to be coherent and cognizant, when in all reality, I wasn't comprehending much. I knew certain things had to be accomplished, children loved, chemo treatments attended, eating and breathing. Learning had to continue, bills had to be paid and holidays celebrated. Family needed reassurance and strength and who better to give it? Surely that was my job as well.
I needed to have control of all aspects of my life and anyone else who would let me. The need to stay busy was a driving force for all of my daily routines and responsibilities. I kept my grandchildren just as busy as I was. Busy is good. It leaves little time to think, cry, or yearn.
I made sure every milestone was marked and remembered. I acknowledged bad days, sad days, and every nightmare that accompanied them. I sat up most nights until 3 a.m. listening for the answers to my myriad of questions. I made sure that my husband and I went to a support group at the Cancer Center and at the Sharing Place. Albeit, I was a reluctant participant at first. I was sure I had a handle on everything and was grieving quite well.
When friends would ask how we were doing, I would always say that we were fine and doing surprisingly well. When in reality, I was crying for hours every day. There were days where I would start crying for no apparent reason. I would cry myself into a completely exhausted sleep every night.
This is complete and utter survival. Going through the motions of every day, just to make it to the next.
In February, 2005 I started to get very anxious and couldn't figure out why I was so jittery and uneasy. I was a little panicky as my two year anniversary approached. I couldn't believe how quickly the time had gone. The day came and went and I thought for sure things would begin to get easier. Isn't that what everyone always says? "The first year is the hardest?" Who ever believes this is just setting themselves up for disappointment. A month into my second year, and I felt like I was sinking fast. I'm running as fast as I can and getting farther behind. I am more teary eyed than I have been in a few months, and suddenly very tired.
I no longer feel the need to be so busy all the time, however I have committed to being busy for a very long time. I desperately want to climb into bed and stay there at least for one entire day if not a week or a month.
My routines of being a cancer survivor are very well established and efficient for the most part, but I yearn for someone else to be the bad guy just once.
I'm finding a balance between what needs to be done, and what I want to do.
I just realized a few days ago, that my sudden need to control every minute of my day and to fill it with activities and stuff, was my way of stopping the pain and the grief from completely flooding my being and letting me feel. My crying jags were actually a way for me to release some pain, grief, and fears for the future.
I am struggling more now, than I did during the last year. I am feeling my survival more intensely, and in ways I didn't know were possible. This doesn't mean that I haven't grieved. It simply means that I no longer just need to survive, but that I am ready to begin living. With each passing day I am able to acknowledge my emotions better and to put them in perspective.
Do I love life any less? Absolutely not. In fact I love it more than I ever imagined I could, and 5 years as a cancer survivor is a very short time when looking at a lifetime. I am finally ok with that.
I still have many days where I am sad and I miss a "normal" life terribly. I think that I will always have those. This journey has been remarkable and my life is forever changed by it. I also have days of complete joy where memories make me smile and laugh, when the sun caresses my face with warmth, when the song of a bird outside my window brings me to my knees in gratitude.
The rollercoaster that I have been on doesn't seem to be hurtling through the darkness nearly as fast. It is slowly getting brighter and the twists, turns, and bumps are fewer and fewer. Do I think they will ever completly stop? Not a chance, but I do feel that I am better able to prepare for them.
Survival is all about numbly going through the motions and just getting by. Living is being aware of every emotional sting and scrape, as well as the joy and delight that happens on a daily basis. Living is a messy process with plenty of laughter to accompany it.
Survival was my past. Living is my now.

I love you all, Vickie