Leslie and David's Cancerland Adventures

Monday, August 8, 2011

It Was 30 Years Ago Today...

30 years ago today, Leslie and I stood on the garden steps of Cronkhite Graduate Center at Harvard, and promised "to love, and in loving to give, and in giving to grow, and in growing to understand."  (I can remember that word for word after 30 years, but not what I just had for breakfast.)


Leslie swears that we exchanged another set of vows that day, including the more traditional "in sickness and in health."  I don't remember that (toast and blueberries), but I am willing to stipulate to it, especially now.  


In many ways, the two vows are inextricable, since nothing in our 30 years has demanded loving, giving, growing and understanding so much as facing cancer.


Loving and giving have been easy -- really just a little more of the usual.  Fetching a cup of tea, holding hands during chemo, making meals that won't necessarily get eaten, cutting back on travel.


Growing and understanding are more challenging, just trying to take in an ever-changing and never-certain situation that accelerated from "fine" to "far from it" in just a dozen weeks.  We're both still learning the right things to say and when simply to sit in silence, the balance between solicitousness and hovering, when to seek out information and when what's on the Internet is decidedly "TMI," and how to accept others' generosity.


We've been helped in our growth and understanding by wonderful friends, supportive family, and the two best things to come from our marriage -- Caroline and Emily, who have weathered our aestatem horribilis (making this up...forgive bad Latin) with grace, patience and humor.


This weekend, I was listening to my friend Ian's podcast, How to Do Everything.  One expert -- a stuntman talking about the unauthorized cross-country Cannonball Run auto race -- described out-driving his headlights at 150 miles per hour.  That's what "understanding" feels like right now -- the bumps and curves arrive faster than they can be illuminated, requiring that we shift focus from down the road.


Before Leslie was diagnosed, I was planning a surprise trip to the Pacific Northwest for our anniversary.  Tonight, we'll just have a quiet celebration -- scrambled eggs may replace fresh salmon, Gatorade may stand in for a Portland microbrew, a walk around the block instead of a hike in the Cascades.  


Washington and Oregon will still be there next year (unless we've turned them over to the Chinese as collateral), so we'll just trust they're out there, beyond the range of the headlights.


In the meantime, the promise still holds, Leslie.  I love you.







3 comments:

  1. You knew that would cause tears, didn't you, David? What a lovely recollection of your wedding, but most importantly, what your marriage and family mean to you.

    You are both an inspiration to those of us who hope to have a strong and lasting marriage, and anyone who wants to understand what true love means.

    Congratulations on this happy anniversary. All the best to you both.

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  2. I wish young couples about to marry could be required to read your and Leslie's posts...but then they wouldn't understand, would they? It takes a heap of living....and loving. Best to both of you.

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  3. David, you've written a beautiful account of what it's like to venture into the unknown with a life partner. "the bumps and curves arrive faster than they can be illuminated, requiring that we shift focus from down the road . . " I am reading, and listening, and watching what you and Leslie are experiencing. At a remove, yes, nevertheless . . . Thank you.

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