material of the misfortunate

I usually choose not to get bloggity blog specific with too intimate details here, but two events happened this week that were kinda big and will change the course of the lives of people around me, and then, since we’re all swimming in the same river, it only stands to reason, my raft will be vulnerable to their tide.

The irony is that there are other areas of my personal life that are flourishing in a more beautiful way than they have in years. One aspect is not a tide—it’s a zen pool of deliciousness—out of Hershey’s syrup even, it’s so sweet. And perhaps it’s not irony—is it balance? Does the universe automatically fluctuate to keep a yin/yang equilibrium? Is it that when one portion of the world is (capital W) Wonderful, the other is challenging so it all evens out?... like, rather than having an ebb or flow of life that is a clearly juxtaposed, black and white couple months of “yay,” couple months of “boo,” instead as we mature and our personal fabrics grow intimately and infinitely more complicated, the varying textures allow for a simultaneous richness we hadn’t expected? Like the lotus flower, reminding us, you can’t bloom the beauty without trudging through the swamp underneath—both are necessary parts.

So, to simply state it, two of the females I love most in this world had life changing events this week. Penelope, my 12lb toy fox terrier, to whom (although my ex and bestie houses her) I am still considered mommy with visitation rights, was viciously and brutally attacked by a German Shepard in the Tompkins Square dog run. Although the doctor called her quite the fighter and after a few days in the vet hospital she will live through this, she now looks like a sad, cute, heart-wrenching little furry Frankenstein.

My mother was diagnosed with cancer in both breasts. Cancer has never run in our family. My mother has always been a pretty robust woman. It was a shot out of the dark.

Although I have always been a pillar of strength with my family on some level, when texting with my bestie who pressed into how I was feeling, I found myself surprisingly nonplussed. I even SMS joked: “I’m ok. Really. Too ok? Either I’m in denial or I’m an enlightened being.”

It’s not that I didn’t care, it’s just my mind did not go to some dramatic supposition of what would, what COULD happen. There is not a doubt in my mind that the calm I have access to has everything to do with yoga/meditation/deeksha and our various philosophical pursuits. My mind did not engage in a fear consciousness and fast-forward to hospitals and deathbeds and rainy April funerals. What happened/is happening to both my beloved ladies is not dramatic or unjust or tragic, it just is.

That’s not to say I was devoid of emotion. I burst into tears when seeing my little princess’ mangled body, covered in blood, she, drugged to the extent that she had difficulty recognizing my presence, going in and out of consciousness. But I knew, Penelope would gain insight and strength; her scars would be a unique addition to what was once looked at as a purebred, potentially champion show-quality bod. She’s been East Village’d—tattooed with experience, with character.

The cancer could be the biggest blessing my mother has ever experienced. After years of loudmouth nagging my family toward healthier proclivities (I might have thought it impossible to coax the ham and vodka out of a Pole’s diet) perhaps this gives my mother an opportunity to experiment and examine living in a different way. An unfamiliar, uncomfortable, alternative, painful way, yes, because it’s new, because it’s not what the media tells us is the way… but if we don’t present ourselves with uncomfortable situations—if we allow ourselves to be anesthetized by primetime and pre-packaged meals, is that living? Doesn’t the glitter abound when we take that uncomfortable, unfamiliar leap into love, into a new set of habits, into going against the flow of what everyone around us is doing and following that guidance within ourselves?

Isn’t cancer a way of saying--- “Hi, good morning. Stop. Go back to go. Collect your $200. Let’s take care of this and then you’re going to get a do over.”

A vicious, seemingly random animal attack houses inherent in the incident’s wake an outpouring of community, a love that’s sewn tighter with stitches, incredible bravery on the part of the warrior princess pup, a shaking up of the status quo for a neighborhood to illustrate: Here is who we are; Here is what we believe; Here’s how we roll.

Already (even in only 24 hours within the diagnosis) I see reflections of my mother I have never seen before. She is astoundingly more positive than I ever thought she could be at this point, fortifying herself to the circumstance that she will do whatever it takes to beat her befallen maladies. I watch her bravery build and it stitches me closer to her heart; it grows my love for her stronger. My pride and confidence for her is renewed; a top off of admiration. Who she truly is as a person is shining through in this put upon adversity. Go MOM. And although these lessons will be hers to process, to learn, to overcome, what’s happening provides me with the opportunity to see as an adult woman, the shiny essence of my mother. Maybe for the first time, she’s not protecting me from herself. Who she is. What she believes. How she rolls. And as the stitching grows more intricate, the beauty of life’s fabric is interwoven through the pain.