Where I live now, the sun sets over the water, just like it does on the West Coast. It isn’t the sea; it’s one of the channels of the bay. The sun will streak across the water as sailboats bob up and down on the gentle swells. Last night the air was cool, and it promises an early autumn.
The bridge between summer and fall is now always the anniversary of when I was first diagnosed with cancer. First I thought it was a heart attack, but it turns out it was because my lungs were full of metastatic cancer.
A lot of people don’t fear cancer but will fear the dumbest things. They will tell me it’ll be okay, but won’t fly on airplanes. People will tell me that medical technology and medicine have progressed so much that I will probably be fine, but won’t be able to sit in the back seat of an automobile. Some people will promise me that everything will be okay and than won’t go to certain places because they might run into someone they don’t like.
Cancer is death, and before I got it, I didn’t fear it as I should, and now that I have had it, I’m not really all that scared of death. First of all, something will kill all of us, so why not have my body eaten from the inside?
The water the sun sets over by where I live is simply called Warren River. The town I live in is called Warren. When Warren River enters Massachusetts, it becomes Palmer River. The town the river cuts through isn’t called Palmer, but is the combination of two beautiful words that are simply poetic, but when put together, and added with the local accent, becomes ugly: Swansea.
The air cooling also signals the approach of my birthday, and this year, I will be turning 50 years old. I have lived decades beyond what I thought I would. When I applied for jobs and the interviewer asked where I saw myself in 5 years, my mind went blank. I couldn’t see the future. I would just say, “Sitting where you are sitting.”
I don’t believe I have gotten any wiser in half a century. I have tried so hard to understand what the point of all this is, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there really isn’t. The good news is that I have also accepted that there doesn’t have to be, and that gives me more peace than any reason could. It is simply up to me to look for my own existence without the need of anything greater. The Universe, or Universes, don’t care, so the warmth comes from inside our hearts.
Someone told me the other day that the reason I keep battling cancer is to come to terms with the fact that the reason I am here is a god, and these bouts with health and mortality are to bring me to the feet of some higher being who lords over its creation. Again, this person won’t drive at night because of a deep fear, but needs me to believe in their god of choice. The idea that a creator would need to corral a person with diseases or other losses to make them believe doesn’t really excite me.
The other side of Warren is another body of water, where if I went early in the morning, I could watch the sun rise over it. Even though it has more of a shape of a bay, it is called the Kickemuit River. It keeps its name as it crosses into Massachusetts. It roughly means “at the large spring” in Wampanoag. I haven’t really explored over there yet.
Rufus now lives with two other dogs, Montana and Fred. Rufus has gotten really used to being an only child, so some parts of living with other dogs have been challenging, like sharing affection. Some parts have been great for him, too, like a return to a more playful personality. Montana is the matron pit mix, and Fred is an obnoxious but sweet puppy. You can really see Rufus’s independence when I am home alone, as the two dogs follow me around; Rufus is curled up in one comfortable spot or another, including in Fred’s kennel.
I have become single again. Just another case of not seeing eye to eye on things; while this is a natural part of dating, pain was caused, heartbreak happened, and one does think about the mortality of love being shorter than the mortality of life. A part of me feels broken.
I keep assuming there is a reason I moved across the country to Rhode Island. I know I talked above about the lack of purpose in the universe. Still, I believe in looking for the personal, existential reason for things, so while the Universe didn’t send me to Rhode Island, I want to come to terms with some reason this happened. It isn’t because I am unhappy here that I wonder about it; it’s just that I want a reason, so I am seeking as one does if they want a fulfilling life.
I have not been writing much this last month. Depression, heartbreak, and life-changing events have made it challenging to put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard, so I am putting in a daily writing practice. This isn’t for publication, but I’d like to publish more on this blog since I just renewed it.
I was driving home from somewhere, and it was dark, and on the street I live off of, there is a bar, Jack’s Bar, and it has one lonely Budweiser neon on its window, and I got melancholy about not being able to go into that bar and have a Budweiser. There was something nostalgic about drinking a beer out of a bottle that brought a sadness over me. I know that there is no reason to need that in my life, especially given what could potentially happen if I tried, but once in a while I have a less-than-dramatic romantic thought of drinking.
So the nights are getting longer, which is something I love, and the days are getting cooler and crisper, and it’s almost time to find apple cider donuts and it is almost time for me to turn 50 and it is the 12th anniversary of being diagnosed with cancer and I have an appointment for another CT Scan in December and time is marching faster and faster, and there is a lot more time behind me than in front of me and I wish I could fall in love again, and I wish that the world didn’t seem so hostile all the time, but I just need to be more tender and more understanding instead of tough and unshakable in any beliefs. Someday this will all be ash.
