“We should go to Europe sometime,” Frank said a few weeks ago, with the exuberance and anticipatory look his face gets when he wants to do something fun with me, spend time with me and Nate.
“I don’t want to go to Europe,” I responded, surprising both of us, really.
The comment hung in the air. I didn’t offer any other explanation at the time, not really understanding why I had that immediate response and not wanting to continue the conversation. I can’t quite remember what we did next; either each did our own thing or just haltingly started up another topic of conversation.
My reaction actually did perplex me. Both Frank and I had traveled in Europe, separately, many years ago. We both come from families that value travel abroad and learning about different cultures. We hadn’t traveled to those parts of the world for many years and had at times talked about traveling to Europe.
A few days later, I brought up the topic again.
“You know how you said it would be great to go to Europe together, and I said I didn’t want to ?, I asked. “It’s just that . . . well, if my time here is limited — and I know that we don’t know how much time I have — but if it is limited, then I don’t want to go places to see THINGS. I want to visit people that I love. I want to visit friends that I’ve made online. I want to go places that have meaning to us, like Vietnam, or even go places where we’ve made memories as a family, or even someplace like Disney World just because it’s such a blast for Nate to go to someplace like that. But I just don’t want to see cathedrals and historical places anymore. I want it to be about people or places we value. It’s more about emotional connections than things. Does that make sense?”
He understood immediately, and he agreed with me.
And I talked about Vietnam, whether we actually would be able to go there. And that broke my heart a little.
“I wonder if we’ll get the chance to take Nate to Vietnam . . . ,” I said.
“I wonder too,” Frank said.
The words hung in the air, dreams of taking our boy back to his homeland and possibly meeting some of his family — would they remain dreams as his mother here battles for her life? We remained silent, sighing at the assumptions we made, the unexpected turns life takes. Images in my head swirled about, Nate at an older age, in Vietnam, seeing his orphanage, the road we took from Hanoi to Ha Tinh to pick him up . . . . .
So many plans, so many wishes and dreams for our boy. Would we, could we find his mother? Pretty much everything has been put on the back burner as being a cancer patient is at least a part-time job, and as treatment progresses and your body weakens, sleep takes up more and more of your time. I want to do so much for him, so much with him, and now I just don’t have the energy. I miss spending time with him; I know he misses spending time with me. He’s been having some nightmares lately and ends up in bed with me.
Still — limited time. I’m not even counting out the years that the oncologist has mentioned. I’m just thinking as a person approaching 50 who has limited time (hoping many years, but most likely not teeth-falling-out, deaf, wheelchair-using type of years). With limited time, I want to make the best use of it, and for me, that’s seeing people that I care about. Visiting loved ones or reconnecting with places of great meaning for us.
Hopefully for at least 20 more years so I can make a pest of myself visiting people over and over and over again 
. . . .
but that’s where my values lie. In the people or the memories,
not in another cathedral,
because no matter how beautiful it is
it can’t love you back.
Tags: Cancer
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