The Fallacy of Waiting Until Life "Settles Down"

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.
-John Lennon, from "Beautiful Boy"
-cartoonist John Saunders, Reader's Digest, 1957

One of my favorite quotes is "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."  Although it's been attributed to John Lennon, and was a line in the lyrics of his song "Beautiful Boy," a little digging reveals that it was attributed to cartoonist John Saunders in Reader's Digest in 1957. It is a quote I try to take to heart.

I've written multiple times about the lessons cancer has taught me - is still teaching me. One that I am working on is to stop saying, "When my life settles down."  I've been saying it and; worse yet, believing it, for my entire adult life. I repeat it without thinking it through.  Yes, I have a busy life, as many of us do. Yes, I don't always feel in control of the "busy-ness" of my life. The truth is that there is much in my life that is of my choosing. And, like most everyone, there are things in my life that are not of my choosing. But every bit of it is just a life.

This lesson is like a two-by-four upside by head once again as I contemplate the fact that Jessica graduated from college, and Alex finished going to school, five years ago this June. I thought that not having Alex in school, and not having Jessica in Boston and in college, would mean things would "slow down." I wasn't entirely sure what was next, but I somehow thought the pace of our lives would change - would lessen, become somehow more "manageable."

That thought is laughable.

Looking back five years instead of forward, I could not have scripted, nor even imagined, the five years we have lived through. Not that it's all been bad, but it has been filled with many significant events and emotions.

It's a darn good thing that my crystal ball didn't work, because I wasn't prepared for what we have been through. As usual, life has to unfold in its own way, in its own time, in order for me to absorb it all.

Five years ago, my mother-in-law was still "her." She was vibrant and funny and loving and an important part of our lives. We lost her painfully, slowly, long before her death a year ago.

My mother was living independently and beginning to have some serious health issues, but still managing to take care of herself. The past three years have been tumultuous for her (that's putting it mildly, to be frank), and she is now living safely and contentedly in a great facility. I am grateful that she is well cared for, but I see her slipping away physically and mentally.

Jessica graduated, spent three weeks at home, and then John and I drove her to her new life and dream job in California. We visited her many times and watched her grow into an adult and began really figuring out this whole parent-of-an-adult relationship. She flourished in her job, she married, and then she got an out-of-the-blue job offer in Wisconsin. This was something none of us ever imagined would happen. But here she is, less than 25 miles away, in her new home, with her new husband and two dogs, finding her way at a new dream job.

We have a wonderful son-in-law as part of our family. If I had hand-picked someone for my daughter to marry, I could not have done better. He is smart, talented, funny, and fiercely loyal. He understood right away all that comes with falling in love with someone with a special needs sibling. We are all so very lucky to have him in our family.

Three of my four siblings have faced significant health issues of their own over the past five years. My oldest sister has lost her son and her husband, and welcomed twin grandsons. As we grow older and face loss, illness, and other challenges, I feel that we've grown closer.

We've lost a number of friends and family members over the past five years. It just never gets any easier. Soon we will mark the first anniversary of our friend, Jeremy's, passing.  Rusty's dad, Mark, died only four and a half months ago. My brother-in-law, Don, passed away just over three months ago. I don't think he ever got over the death of his son, almost five years ago.  He seemed to age overnight. These are only a few of the people we lost. So much loss in so short a time, and each one leaves a gaping hole and a grieving family.

Alex moved out three years ago. He was (is) thriving in his new home - becoming more independent and forging new relationships. He had a part time job and blossomed.

John and I were "empty nesters," figuring out life with no children at home. I learned to fly. I joined an EAA chapter and became secretary and newsletter editor. We bought a plane. John and I traveled. We visited Boston, New York, Chicago, Washington D.C., Maine, Niagara Falls, LA, San Franciso, San Jose, London, Disney World - trips with and without our children. Things we could only dream about doing as young parents.

Then cancer came calling. Our choice was to let it crush us, or stand up and fight. That choice is no choice, not really. We found strength within us we didn't even know was there. We became closer as a family. We learned how beloved Alex really is. We learned who we could really, truly, count on.

Alex is in remission and doing well.  I don't yet feel like we're entitled to call him a "survivor." I'm not sure how much time has to pass, or even if there's a "rule," but it somehow feels like tempting the fates to use that word. His next PET scan is in three weeks.  I'm already getting nervous.  I don't want to miss this moment by worrying.  We've had many wonderful moments with him in the 4 1/2 months since his transplant.  I hope there are many more to come.

I am trying to embrace the lesson that our old life is gone, that the overused phrase "new normal" applies to us now. We are not the same individuals, nor are we the same family, that we were before Alex got cancer. I don't really understand exactly what this "new normal" means for us.

I don't feel invincible. I feel like I can't afford to waste a moment. I feel like the moments need to be savored more, enjoyed more, embraced more, but I don't really know what that means. Life still has bills and work and responsibilities, yet everything feels different.

I don't know what the next five years will bring. For the first time in my life, I don't really want to know.

"Where do you see yourself in five years? in ten years?"

I can't answer that question.

I doubt that my life will "slow down." I can't predict what will happen. I can't live in fear. I have to believe that whatever unfolds in the next five years I will be strong enough, and wise enough, to embrace it.

And I hope I have learned to have the good sense to appreciate and relish all that is good.