June 3, 2010

Today was my mother's birthday. She died in 1989 of lung cancer caused by smoking.

There seems little to say today. My brother found he has a very early cancer. He called me yesterday to tell me. My initial reaction to bad news, once I have heard it, is to take it into myself and then spend much time trying to move it through and out. Don't tell Glen Beck, but I have a overactive empathic reaction.

This time, the usual thing happened, but there was more. Life confronted me again with the fragile nature of life. My personal myth of security is my husband, our children and grandchildren, our siblings, our pets and our friends. Every time one is lost, I learn impermanence again. My brother's cancer would not have troubled him for another 15 to 20 years. He found it early. At this point, he has at least 30 more years ahead of him. And I feel the empty darkness of the loss that will take place when I am long gone.

So, it isn't that I miss him, because he will likely outlive me. It is that anyone, at anytime, may shift in my security equation. New rules: well, I don't have them yet, but I will find them. When I do, you'll hear from me.