The Rest of the Story

I remember listening to Paul Harvey’s, “The Rest of the Story” on the car radio. My mom loved listening to his commentary, so I got to hear several over the course of my adolescence.

It has been said that all good writers add a kernel of truth to their stories. I have always done this, whether it was a story, poem, or lyric to a song. My writing here is no different.

Over dinner with friends on Saturday evening, my adventure in writing came up. Someone mentioned that I should explain the story behind “A Field of Onions.” It honestly had not occurred to me, so I thought, what the heck.

For readers who know me well, this will not be a surprise. For those who do not know me personally, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease in 1981 when I was fifteen. This is a cancer of the lymphatic system. It is also the same cancer that my only brother died of when I was almost four.

Obviously, I survived and sit here typing about it. This is good news indeed. I have also survived ovarian and thyroid cancers. Yeah, I know. That’s a lot. This brings me to why I felt the need to write this particular story.
Recently, I shared about my friend, Michael McRay’s program, Becoming Restoried. It was during his workshop that I realized I had never allowed myself the space to grieve that first cancer diagnosis.

As writers tend to do, I took some major liberties, but the story is autobiographical. This Friday I will conclude the series, realizing that substantial portions have been deliberately omitted.

Before I began, I took a few minutes to sink into my memory bank to the night I found the lump on my neck. It happened very closely to what the story depicted. I did have that ominous feeling, and I did show my mom the next morning.

I had lost my dad only two years prior, and needless to say, this was not a happy time for me or my family. The added burden of a cancer diagnosis was traumatizing enough. Add in the fact that my only brother had died with the same cancer eleven years prior, well you can imagine. How my mom made it through, I will never know. She was a survivor for sure.

As I wrote, I had to stop and allow the tears to have their way. Forty-two years later, I finally gave myself permission to feel all the feels. During the actual event, I learned the best way to cope was to put my head down and get through it. There was not much time to think about grief, or anger, or…anything but surviving.

This has also forced me to think about what else I may need to grieve. I have read that depression is repressed anger and grief. Over the years, I have battled episodes of depression and anxiety. I have had a theory for years that says if you do not deal with trauma emotionally, it is going to show up in your physical body. Thankfully, I gave myself the gift of therapy starting at the age of twenty-five. There are still moments of depression, but nothing like what I once struggled with.

I used a quote by John Green in the opening segment of “A Field of Onions” that reads: “Grief does not change you, it reveals you.” I remember making a conscience decision that cancer would not define me. My goal was to experience as much life as possible, as I was not sure I would have a full life.

Looking back at my young self, I made many terrible decisions based on that motto. I wandered down some paths that I knew the Divine kept the hand of protection on me. Thank, God. Literally. After all of that, cancer HAS defined me.

I am a better person for the experience. NO, I do not think cancer was my destiny. We live in a physical world and things are going to happen based on our genetics, environment, etc. Cancer could have taken my life. It still may. But what I am saying is that because of cancer, I have empathy and compassion. I look for joy. I pursue things my heart has a passion for. I take risks – the healthy kind. Death stared at me from an early age, and I looked it in the eye. I no longer fear it because I see it for what it is – a new journey waiting on the other side.

Thank you for your support and readership. I appreciate you following along weekly, or as schedules allow. I encourage you that if there is something you have not grieved, or passion you are ignoring — give yourself the space and love needed.

We all deserve the chance to share the rest of the story.