A Year with Cancer

As I approach the one-year anniversary of this cancer diagnosis, it isn’t surprising that I find myself reliving the past 12 months when all goes silent. Like the anniversary of the loss of a loved one, it slowly creeps up into my consciousness, adding a heaviness accompanied by a whole range of other emotions.

However, at the end of the day, and as I attempt to capture in this reflection, I find myself grateful for this cancer, as oddly as it may sound. This cancer journey has invited me to live more fully and to experience the love of God in ways that I could not even imagine last year at this time.

It is important to process our lives, especially with some distance. This diagnosis was a traumatic twist that shifted and transformed my perspective and future. For example, I was a guest on a podcast recently, and the host asked what would you say to yourself five years from now. My first response was, “I hope that I am alive.” That response would never have been a thought prior to this diagnosis. Everything has changed, and ironically, mostly for the better.

Recalling the sequence of events followed by over 21 rounds of chemotherapy impacts not only my physical self, but my emotional, psychological, and spiritual self.

I give myself a grace to get lost in it all. At times, the heaviness weighs a bit more than I prefer, but I bring it to prayer and allow this 43-year-old body, with all its beauty and complexity, to feel it completely. Most of the time; however, I visit these memories like an old friend, hoping to continue to learn what it needs to teach me.

I struggle most with my physical limitations. I accepted the “chemo days” when exhaustion and nausea dominate. Thankfully, these days are minimal. What I still am learning to accept are the limitations to my energy and abilities on the “good days” before the next infusion.

When I cannot pick up a package that I once easily lifted, or when I find myself requiring to rest after a short visit with family and friends, I struggle in accepting this is my reality. On some days, I am overwhelmed by just a few daily tasks, recognizing my energy is limited. Talk about surrender as I can feel 83, not 43.

I keep asking God, “What am I to learn from this and what good can come from this?”

Thankfully, I find that my vocations as a father, husband, writer, and my ministry at the United Nations bring me energy and life! What a blessing it is to spend my “healthy” hours doing what I love and what I was created to do. And thank God I am not required to do any heavy lifting!

This brings me to a place of gratitude where my woundedness finds healing. Not only the gift of my vocations, but all that this past year has taught me. With immense vulnerability, I share some of this gratitude with you.

I am doing this mostly for myself as writing down this litany of thanks allows me to recognize how my cup overflows. I share this so you find yourself in this story, either as one I am grateful for or to remind yourself of your own blessings, especially those discovered in the cracks of life.

With gratitude, for this past year, I am thankful for:

o   Falling even more in love with a God that calls me (and you) “beloved.”

o   The mystery of faith, and the invitation to transformation that continues to capture my mind and heart.

o   Discovering the cross less as a sacrifical necessity, but as a gift of the abundance of love that Jesus has for us. With his arms stretched wide, He says, “I understand your suffering, and this is just part of the story- not the end.”

o   My Suzie, who has managed to not only work multiple jobs, be a mom and loved one to so many, but she also became my caretaker- an endless role that requires countless hours of phone calls, messages, and doctor visits. She has a beautiful soul that I am blessed by daily.

o   My girls, Shea and Lily. My heartbeat. I didn’t need a cancer diagnosis to appreciate the miraculous, but somehow, the preciousness of childhood became even more fragile. They had a tough year watching me cook less and sleep more, but their healing hugs and butterfly kisses keep me moving forward.

o   My parents who, despite their quiet suffering, have been a steady source of strength and calmness. Their faith, confidence, and hope are like a familiar song that hits the right notes.  

o   My mother-in-law who didn’t expect when she moved from California that she would be picking up the pieces that cancer causes. How blessed we are that she is here.

o   My family and friends, for all the phone calls, food deliveries, cards, care packages, snow removal, check-in messages, and prayers. Never have I felt alone on this healing journey.

o   To the St. Patrick’s community who continue to support our family on this roller coaster. To the parents who took care of the kids, sent meals, checked in, and secured we were ok. To the leadership of the school and teachers who for 6 hours every day educated and cared for our girls.

o   My friends in the Vincentian and Focolare families, spiritual communities from across the globe who continue to direct my attention and effort on charity, justice, and unity.

o   My former students who I was blessed to accompany on their higher education journey. They now accompany me with prayers and messages of love and hope.

o   My friends in ministry at the United Nations, for their patience, understanding, and dedication to advocacy of human rights and human dignity. I marvel at their resilience and their brilliance. I have so much more to learn from them and from those we represent.

o   My “Sisters” from the Sisters of Charity Federation, who have blessed me with the gift of representing them at the global stage. They have “flooded heaven” with prayers, supported me in my healing journey and ministry, and continue to teach me how to live the Gospel despite challenges of injustice and complexity of human experiences.

o   Friends and strangers of various faith traditions who have prayed for my healing across the globe, from temples and mosques to sites of Marian apparitions and miracles. From Churches to walks in nature, rosary processions to the Wailing Wall, so many have breathed my name in prayer, and it has made all the difference.

o   My doctors, nurses, and healthcare team for their expertise, dedication, and care. I could not be in better hands.

o   All those who shared their expertise, lessons learned, and stories of hope. It is easy with a Stage IV diagnosis to expect the worse, but stories that include happy endings sure are encouraging. It keeps me from going down the google rabbit hole that only ends in anxiety..

o   For the many who walked and continue to walk this cancer journey, especially those from Colon Town, Cancer Coalition, St. Baldricks, Man Up to Cancer and Stand Up for Cancer. These communities provide resources, hope, advocacy, and research to end this disease and I am excited to continue to find ways to contribute to their cause.

o   Finally, I am grateful for this cancer diagnosis as it taught my senses to shift. I hear the birds sing songs that I once missed. Even the glimmer of the green grass captures my attention. My connection and relationship to all of God’s creation is deeper and more meaningful, only possible due to the transformation that started with the diagnosis a year ago.

Thank you for your continued prayers and support. I am truly blessed and I look forward to seeing what awaits me and us during the next year, and beyond.