Cancer: A Journey
My wife has terminal cancer, and so Suleika Jaouad’s memoir is deeply personal to me.
Laura’s cancer diagnosis rattled our world(s). It shattered our sense that life would carry on, our trust that tomorrow was a certainty. We were a healthy couple, barely forty, with two vibrant kids. And then, we weren’t. In a blink, the ground beneath our feet shifted.
My grand-father-in-law used to say, “If you have your health, you are a millionaire.” Oh, that I’d appreciated his wisdom when we had the treasured wealth of Laura’s health.
In her memoir, Jaouad grapples with this same lament, namely the truth that only the profoundly sick can fully appreciate the comparative value of genuine healthiness. She’s not unlike Moses after he comes down from Mount Sinai. In receiving the Ten Commandments, he’s come too close to the face of Eternity. It’s an exposure that’s changed him and left him radiant with a deeper wisdom.
Jaouad is similarly radiant.
Cancer memoirs often take one of two forms. The first group is published after the patient has died, frequently with a prologue or afterwards by a surviving friend or spouse or partner. These memoirs intend to teach us about the fight, the pain, and the losses caused by cancer.
The second group includes those that tell of beating the disease. I fought. I won. You can too. These stories intend to empower, motivate, and inspire.
Jaouad’s memoir takes a different tact, one that, I think, better explores life’s lessons.
What Jaouad wants us to see is the journey of life. The voyage. She wants us to appreciate that one can plan a path. Indeed, she probably wants us to plan. But, she also knows that every voyage can be – no… will be. Every voyage will be met with a storm at some point.
Will the storm sink the ship and end the voyage? Perhaps. Will it be survivable? Maybe. We cannot cheat life’s narrative and read the last page first. We lack the historian’s 20/20 hindsight.
We live in the present, which is an interstitial space.
If we hope fully to explore and examine this journey of ours – be it the college years you are about to begin or life more broadly – we have to come to terms with the liminality of our very being.
Tim McGraw’s ballad tells us that there is value, perhaps even privilege, to be found in living “like you are dying.” I cannot say I’d necessarily run off to croon about this way of living as McGraw does. It’s a hard way to live. But, in my household, we have gone sky diving and mountain climbing.
Our course was altered by a cancer diagnosis. We’ve lived life compressed because we know it is finite. We’ve lived life intentionally because we know it is not to be wasted. We’ve lived life large because we know the time is short.
We have examined each day, and the examination has made each of those days well worth living.