We Have Choices, Not Control

I've often heard, and said, the phrase "I wish I had known you when..." But as you sit with this idea, and you consider and evaluate what each party brings to a relationship, perhaps you met when you were supposed to. Would it have made sense for you to have met them ten years prior, five years prior, or even one year prior?

Ten years ago, I was 30 years old, married with one child, and working a full-time job. I had survived multiple suicide attempts, postpartum depression, four months of colic, and six months of battling with doctors to understand why my son had infected eczema. I had two living grandparents, all four of my parents were living, my husband hadn't yet had a stroke. I had watched a college professor battle breast cancer, and she often missed class because of chemotherapy. Asking why someone gets cancer is a waste of time because that is something we don't get an answer to, at least not immediately, maybe not ever. Asking why I had her class that semester wouldn't make sense either. I didn't have to ask. I just had to wait - and waiting is hard. Tom Petty said so.. 😉

Shortly after college, I gained a new friend, one who'd become like a sister. When our friendship was new, I learned she had a cancerous tumor. Not knowing a lot about her specific situation, and even less about cancer, but having watching my professor go through chemotherapy, I knew what to expect. I expected her to be exhausted, maybe so much that getting out of bed wasn't possible. I expected her hair to fall out. I expected to do a lot of checking in to see what she needed, how I could help. But this experience was different. They removed the tumor and she was okay.

Some time had passed and she said the tumor was back. Again, I began to expect these same things, but this time was different too. She wasn't missing work. Her hair didn't appear to be falling out, but she wore a scarf every day to cover it so I really didn't know. I had invested a great deal of time and energy into this friendship and hated doubting her, especially about something so serious, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. She must have sensed it because our time together had increased tension. A few weeks later, she invited me to her sister's house for a cookout. When we arrived, her sister saw the scarf on her head and asked "what's up with your hair?" I knew immediately I had been played. The cancer wasn't back. Her hair wasn't falling out. She wasn't sick. Not this time. She lied.

I hated watching my professor suffer. I hated hearing a friend had a cancer. I hated watching that relationship explode. But going through those things changed me.

***

Five years ago, I was 35, married and had gone from a mom of one to a mom of three, and switched jobs. I was five years older and different. I had experience now. I had survived hard things. I knew more. I was so caught up in my own world of "life isn't going to screw with me again" that I committed an act of betrayal to a friend, one who I'd known since we were kids. And then the universe intervened.

While I was pregnant with my third child, I learned my stepdad had terminal cancer. The doctors told him with treatment, the timeline was 2-5 years. I knew what to expect - being exhausted, hair loss, being available to help. But this time was different still. He had bouts of energy between and during treatments. He built an entire swing set for his grandkids and made sure all of the post-death arrangements were in order. He gave us reassurance and hope that everything was going to be okay when we should have been comforting him.

It was also different because I had children asking me questions I couldn't answer. This was not my first experience with cancer or death, but it was theirs. But I also knew it was okay to be honest about it as much as possible. If I didn't know the answer, that's okay. We could find it together.  My focus had to be on them, not me, and it had been on me for so long.

I hated watching my stepdad suffer and my mom grieve. I hated watching my kids not understand anything going on and not having the answers to give them peace. I hated saying goodbye to my stepdad. But going through those things changed me.

***

One year ago, I was a married mother of three. Three of my four parents were alive and I would soon learn my father had terminal cancer. All of my grandparents had passed and my husband had survived a stroke.

I hated watching my husband go through a stroke and learning to adapt to a new normal. I hated hearing my kids ask why he was at the hospital. I hated hearing my dad had terminal cancer. But going through those things changed me.

***

I have made new friends who I've said to or thought "I wish I had known you when..." But looking back, I now know I would not have been equipped then to be in these relationships. And quite possibly, they weren't either. Everyone has changed. Everyone continues to change.

One of my favorite songs by Faith Hill is "When the Lights Go Down." The first verse is about a bartender who is also an alcoholic. The end of the evening arrives and he's able to get through his shift without succumbing to his addiction. But when no one else is around, that's when the fight begins. The next verse is about a woman who has fame, money, fancy cars, the finest clothing - she's got it all, including a mass of friends. But when the party is over, that mass of friends is gone and only a few remain.

I love this song and its message. The reality is that we all have struggles. Every person is fighting with something, whether we let anyone else know or not. The bartender might be really good at pretending for the customers, and we can pretend we are okay in our own battles. We can accumulate a lot of things - jewelry, money, expensive cars, shoes, whatever - and even have a large entourage. But when it's all said and done, and we are stripped of everything, that's when we need to do a thorough exam of ourselves, our lives.

I know I am not who I used to be. I'd like to think I'm better rather than worse, but growing and becoming someone new doesn't have to be labeled as "good" or "bad." It's just different - and different is okay - and we really cannot control the evolution of ourselves, anyone else, or the world. We can learn from experiences and make decisions as we grow, but cannot stop the growth itself.

We don't get to decide when our path crosses that of another. What we can decide is how we treat and care for each relationship and how we navigate through situations. We won't always do it perfectly or the right way. We are going to mess up and make mistakes. We don't get to decide who we met ten years ago, five years ago, a year ago, or who we will meet in the future. But instead of wishing we would have known them when, maybe it's better to appreciate knowing them now, or whenever they arrive, and embracing the moments wholly as they come because we don't know or have control over how long they will last.

I'm still learning, and the good news is that's okay.