The Other Shoe

In 36 hours I will be free of cancer. I can’t believe I even get to write those words! Doing so was never a given. And, my God, there have been some rough times trying to get to writing them. There have been times when I just looked at my wife, crying, and asked her, begged really, if it would always be like this. Times when I physically hurt so badly that it broke my spirit, something that had never happened before and which I didn’t think possible until it was. I’ve certainly had some trying times before. As an alpinist, I have survived alone crossing crevassed mountains at altitude in a whiteout with only the snacks in my pockets and no shelter. As a runner, I have run marathons when my body ran entirely out of glycogen and I just kept going anyways. As a firefighter, I have been in rooms hotter than your oven- rooms that lit the wooden chock on my helmet on fire, crinkled the leather shield on my helmet, and caused my body to involuntarily scramble for egress out of sheer animal panic. But still, in the last seven months and four days I have felt more pain than I thought I would in my entire lifetime.

And you know, it’s funny how Emily and I used to always talk about how lucky we were to be living the life we did and how the other shoe was certain to drop soon. Then, BAM! Turns out that other shoe is a real bitch. But still, we’re about as lucky a pair as you’re likely to find. Our kids are healthy. We have such amazing friends and family- people who continue to care for us even long after my diagnosis when you’d think they would begin to forget. We live in a country that allows us to do what we want and are part of a church community that accepts and loves broken people like us. And now, we’ve even come to appreciate cancer’s lessons.

And today’s lesson is this: each day matters. You think you have an unlimited number of days on this Earth, that somehow you are the first immortal being, but you’re not. This all comes to an end some day, and whatever it is you think happens afterwards begins. I don’t say it to sound sound morbid, I say it to bring hope. Now is the time to forgive. Now is the time to live. Now is the time to do something you always wanted to but never thought you could. Life, beautiful life, is happening right now, and you get to be a part of it. But don't get distracted. Money comes and goes, jobs are fleeting, and the grass on your front lawn will keep growing back. Instead, take a risk and love people and be vulnerable with them. Don’t just exist, but live abundantly. Hug your kids like it’s the last time. Tell your wife you love her. Even if you get hurt in the end, it’s worth it. In this life, there is no practice for something else and there is no dress rehearsal. This is your one and only shot- make it count.

I feel this truth now, deep down in my bones in a way I never could have before. I don’t really expect to live to a ripe old age anymore. I know that may sound incredibly sad, but I realize that, while I may have won this battle with cancer, there is a war going on, and I might not win the next battle. And it’s not sad. In fact, it’s the most hopeful thing I’ve learned from cancer so far, because it taught me this most important thing: the “why” of cancer. You want to know why cancer happens? Because life happens, and a benevolent God doesn’t want us to miss it. I’m not going to miss it. Don’t you miss it, either.

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain!” – Jack Kerouac