Came to believe ...

Heaven
Originally uploaded by Dude Crush
There are 2 things in this life that are certain:
1) Change is inevitable.
2) Each of us will die someday.

And for some of us, we will be given a window of time in which we may experience deep life-altering changes as we approach our impending death.

A cancer diagnosis can bring everything in one's world to a screeching halt; what was previously urgent or important no longer matters. Questions arise that we may have previously ignored or dismissed as "I don't need to think about that."  The reputation of cancer is that it's like having a visit from a relative who wreaks havoc on everything they touch and you hope and pray they never return again.

For my former partner's father, his pancreatic cancer diagnosis was a gateway to having a relationship with God. And it deepened his connections with his loved ones. It brought about a painful life-in-review experience that ultimately led to his ability to make peace with his mistakes and to let go.

For a client of mine, a woman in her late 40's with a developmental disability,  medical tests this week uncovered the recurrence of her breast cancer, which has now metasticized to her other breast, her bones and her brain. She has been given 1-6 months to live. There will be no chemotherapy.

For her, the intellectual comprehension of what a cancer diagnosis means is minimal at best and yet, the exploration with her today showed that there too is an opportunity for her to experience a spiritual awakening in the face of death.

At the suggestion of one of the members of last night's women's meeting who happens to be an oncology nurse practitioner, I began session with my client today by asking her if she knew what was happening to her body. She knew she had x-rays and there were dots and she didn't know much more than that. I spoke with her about what happened with her body 4 years ago and asked if she could remember what happened to her right breast. She could state that it was breast cancer and when asked what they did in the hospital about the cancer, she replied: "they took it out". I shared with her that the dots on her x-rays meant that the cancer was making another visit and that I didn't know all the places it went. But what I did know was that she wouldn't have any large needles or machines to deal with. I could see her visible anxiousness during this part of the talk, so I moved onto a different yet related topic.

I asked her if she had been sad or crying, because her staff had reported that this had increased for her. And she told me that she was missing her father (he has been deceased for about 12 yrs). I asked her if she knew where he was and she replied and pointed to the ceiling: "Heaven." I asked her if she knew how he got there and she began to cry and said "He died." And I asked what she remembered about that and she spoke of being at his funeral and how it was scary. And when asked about what was scary, she said: "Because his eyes were closed." And I validated how this must've been scary to see him like that; I then wondered aloud with her how she liked remembering him and she could say "He smiled". And that led to us talking about what it might be like for him in heaven and she got teary again and said "I'm scared to go to heaven" and when I asked her what made it scary, she said that she didn't want to see her father with his eyes closed. And I said aloud: "I think he might be smiling. You know nobody ever comes back here, so maybe it's an okay place."

Feeling the heaviness of this discussion and knowing that she responds well to humor, I said to her: "How do you think he got to heaven ... do you think he took a bus?" A crack  of a smile widened on her face. "Or a rollercoaster?" which made her laugh and tell me I was silly. "Or maybe he flew?" which brought on more laughter. I posed aloud: "It might not be so bad going there, what do you think?" And she just gazed at me, quite deeply and tenderly yet not uttering any response. It was in this moment that there was a shift, an unspoken understanding.

The last thing that came up in our time together today was that she had been feeling scared at night and crying more then. When asked if she talked to anyone, she just shook her head. Across the room, I kept being drawn to a large teddybear on her dresser. So in this moment, I brought it over and sat him next to her. I told her that it helps me when I'm sad or scared to hug something in bed and I had wondered if she might try that with this teddy? I moved it just a little bit closer to her and encouraged her to try it out. And when she hugged him, she just stayed there with her head resting on his shoulder. And we sat in stillness. "Grace" had entered this space between us. There was no need to talk any more about anything else today.

While cancer is an unwelcome guest, it sometimes arrives to your house with hidden gifts. The time today with my client was one such treasure. I shared in a meeting tonight that amid the heaviness and sadness that I experienced about my client's terminal prognosis, I was deeply grateful for the opportunity to walk this road with her -- present and sober. And to be held by the power of the rooms. And of my kabbalistic community.  And to be led to the next right action.

Today, I came to believe ...