Since
Thanksgiving comes and goes here without my noticing it, I thought that
instead
of making useless New Year’s resolutions that are only frustrating in
that they
are invariably doomed to fail, I would start off the year by listing some
of
the things for which I am thankful.
Part of
this exercise is to stave off the blues that accumulate with the dark
wintry
days: days of clouds hanging so low that
you have to stoop to go outside,
days so dark that you wonder why the sun even
bothers at all, days so full of rain
that even the cats won’t go outside. The blues that come from the uncertainty
of
the new treatment; treatment number three since last March and still no sign
yet of real progress. The blues that
come from wondering what the hell those
cancer cells are up to in the meantime - hibernating? mutating? planning a new
assault? giving up the ghost?
So let
me think about those things for which I’m grateful. Here we go, in no
particular order.
Jasmine,
my newest granddaughter, born on December 26th. Her name evokes
intoxicatingly scented exotic, night-blooming flowers, and she is as beautiful
as her name. I was privileged to be there for her birth and spend the next few
days visiting her at the maternity in Nantes, watching Virginie and Alec begin
their apprenticeship as parents. No
user’s manual, only being patient and
attentive, following one’s instincts and,
sometimes, other folk’s advice.
Actually,
it’s really Jasmine who is the teacher.
Alec
and Virginie and their Brittany experiment. It does me a world of good to go
and help out
on their house construction. I feel that I can still make a useful
contribution. Being out of work for the
last two years and recently finding out
that my status will soon change to
“invalid” meaning a forced early retirement
takes some of the determination out
of my stride. Showing up at their place
where
there is SO much to be done and where I feel welcome really recharges my
batteries, even though I do come home tired out.
Barbara
and Michel and the generosity that they have always shown to Mr. T
and me regarding Émilie and Charlotte. Thanks
to them we discovered our new
career as grandparents and it is the most
remarkable experience in true love.
Émilie teaches us about sensitivity and shyness – she reminds me of the
fox
in the Petit Prince that has to be tamed before he can be loved. Charlotte is
my “âme soeur” and always has been from the moment that I first held her.
Such openness and understanding, the very definition of being on the same
wavelength. There’s no explaining it, there’s only enjoying it.
Chloé
and Philou and their daughters, Lola and Alma, the newest star in their
firmament. I’m very grateful that Chloé had the wisdom
and courage to turn the
page on our personal differences and old wounds in
order to make the way
easier for my relationship with Lola and Alma. A wise investment for family
harmony that
Papet and I enjoy regularly and share with Mamie (Chloé and
Barbara’s mom). Lola is so much like Chloé when she was a kid in
her manner
of playing – plays well alone and rides herd with a firm hand over
her dolls and stuffed animals. “Et je ne
veux rien entendre!” Alma is still a mystery
waiting to be discovered behind those blue eyes and buddha baby cheeks.
Madelaine
and Richard for bringing us Élodie, the
spitting image of her mother
at that age but with her daddy’s dark eyes. She’s affectionate, sociable, and
oh so
clever. It has been such a treat to
witness her “trilinguisme”: French,
English
and baby sign language. Soon
they will bring the first grandson into this world
of girls, to which Charlotte
remarked “Enfin, un cousin!”.
My
friends.
Long-lost friends, newly found friends, neighbor friends, younger
friends, older friends. Friends from way back which make me feel that we have
been in step all along even if it’s been forty years since I have last seen
them.
Newly found friends make me feel
that it’s the here and now that counts. I’ve
learned that you’re never too old to make friends. I love going to the market or
aqua-gym with my new friend, Tania. We
walk arm and arm wherever we go and
it feels so comfortable and natural. Neighbor friends are a very special species --
they are much like family in
that you don’t choose them, they come to you as part of
your destiny. If you’re lucky like I am, they then become a
part of your family, a
special familiarity that grows from proximity and
kindred spirits. Far away friends that
I rarely see but who grace my mail with
a note or gift from time to time, just to let me
know that they are thinking of
me.
My
aunties and uncles. They’ve known me longer than anyone else and
they
are always there for me. Their
families are growing and growing and they are
even great-grandparents now. Amazing how life just keeps flowing on.
My
feline friends, Aïchat and Moïses.
Aïchat is a bit of a scaredy-cat who is
commonly classified as a “pot de
colle” (gluepot). She’s a one-eyed kitty
that
we rescued about five years ago and can best be described as “cute, but
kinda
dumb”. And then there is Moïse, “mon gros chat d’amour”, who is my
ever-present companion. How many hours have I laid in bed, especially
that
first year, with him cuddled up next to me and me just tuned into to his
purring,
a soothing vibration that permeated my body and mind. You cynics out there may
think that he’s only
in it for the warmth, but I have never seen a cat in all of my life
that was so
attuned to associating affection with faces. He reaches out and touches
my face with his paw; he has invented the
technique that we call “kitty kisses”
wherein we rub heads together as a
greeting. Ok, sometimes he does drool on
me;
that’s a downside.
Mr.
T. (I did
say in no particular order,) This year
we will have been together
for 24 years. That’s certainly a record for me.
We started off madly in love, and
then there were times when we were
just mad. It has been a roller-coaster
ride
from the beginning, and I sometimes think that we are still together
because we
are the only ones who can put up with each other. But since I’ve been diagnosed
with cancer he
has amazed me day in and day out. He was never cut out to be a
nursemaid and he still isn’t, but he is steadfast and
caring and watchful.
He reminds me to
take my medicine and helps me keep my agenda straight
when I have a lapse of
memory. He’s always there for the
important doctor
appointments and has only missed one chemo session. He cut off my hair and
shaved my head when my
hair fell out and we cried together.
That creates
strong links. C’est l’amour. And to top it all
off, he is now dealing with his own
grief over the loss of his elderly parents
this year. He has a lot on his plate
right now.
My
hospital. I’m so lucky to live just five tram stops away
from the best cancer
research hospitals in Europe, and one of the best in the
world. Not only is the
science top-notch with the possibility of having the latest research results, but
also it has the
most human approach to caring for cancer patients and their families.
Everyone, from the director right down the line to the cleaning lady (!) makes me
feel that I am someone special who
deserves particular attention. The
nurses
know me by name, I have regular meetings with my psychologist, the
cafeteria
lady knows how I take my coffee. Would you believe that they even organize
tango lessons on Tuesday
nights for patient’s “well-being”?
Socialism. So much is contained in
that one word that may be so misunderstood by
those who don’t live and
contribute to such a system. All these years that I have
been working here in
Europe, I’ve been paying into the system: for health care, for
unemployment benefits, for additional private insurance.
Since I’ve been sick, I can
now have the best treatment possible without
ever having to worry about how I’m
going to pay for it or even what it actually costs. My job has been kept open with
social security paying part of my salary and private insurance the
difference.
This will soon change, and I
will retire with full benefits because of my “invalid”
status. Being sick alone brings on its own set of
worries and anxiety, but I’m so
thankful that I don’t have to worry about how
to pay for it or to have to settle for a
“cheaper” treatment.
The obvious and not so obvious. Abundant water. No lack of healthy, varied
food.
Public transportation. Public recycling. A country house. A city house.
Two gardens.
Chickens. Bees. Quilting, sewing (especially little girl’s
dresses), knitting.
Access to books and cinema.
Strong coffee and dark chocolate.
I guess I could ramble on and on, but I think I’ll just leave it at
that for the time being.
Tests scheduled for the end of February. I'm hoping that I'll have even more to be
thankful for then.
Happy New Year to all!
