Aurora

As the population increases, human worth apparently diminishes.  We are murdering ourselves by the thousands while contriving justifications for it.  Murder is murder.  Whenever the life of another is willfully taken, the reason is just that, rationalization.  Evil does not regard life as sacred.  This truth applies to murder by any other name. From the beginning, only the Creator is endowed with the power to take back that which It creates.  It is the fear of death upon which evil capitalizes, prevailing in the murderous tendencies of our species.  The solution is so simple as to seemingly be impossible:  love one another!

What Does This Have To Do With Anything?

Fortunately, I detect very few who might be disappointed by my irregular postings.  It's actually rather strange that I should choose writing as what I want to do in my retirement because I find it a difficult, sometimes painful, process.  Through blogging I have discovered that I don't have the self-confidence required to not care whether anyone is reading what I write, and that makes the "monoblogue" I have carried on over the years a source of personal distress.  I seek the interaction of the Internet, but I must discipline myself to the continuing quest for those who would like to join me on my journey or invite me to join them on theirs.

I may as well take advantage of this utter digression to delight you with the news that I have other blogs!  Clicking on "View my complete profile" in the right column of home page will take those in search of a cure for insomnia to the complete collection.  It may also serve those who are diagnosing just what exactly is wrong with me by providing a few more pieces to the puzzle (there is no guarantee that all of them are in the box).

Finally, I extend my deepest sympathy to Rob and Susie for the loss of their Colorado Springs home in the Waldo Canyon fire.  I cannot even imagine what they are going through right now.  In my next post, I'll look at the reasons why I must learn to.

With A Friend Like This...

My body and I have never really been on friendly terms.  One of my earliest memories is of having Dr. Yost stitch together a slice in my elbow.  Only a couple of years passed before I spent several weeks in bed recovering from nephritis.  That was followed not too long after with stitches in my tongue after I nearly bit it off jumping out of an apple tree in the back yard.  I missed a couple of weeks of third grade to heal from an appendectomy, and a couple of more in junior high for a failed attempt to reattach a tendon in my right pinkie.  I spent the summer between my junior and senior years of high school with what was finally diagnosed as Gilbert's syndrome.  The weekend before I was supposed to start with the Edgewater Police Department I broke two bones in my left foot while playing Frisbee in Boulder.

There was a moratorium for several years until I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis in 1994.  This was my introduction to a chronic disease which required ongoing treatment.  I am happy to report that my RA went into remission at the turn of the millennium and hasn't returned, although I sometimes wonder if the pharmacological cocktail I was treated with during those years had anything to do with the later onset of CML.  I had my right foot surgically reconstructed in 2001 to correct the effects of Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease.  My left knee was replaced in 2002.  Throw in a little gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) with clinical depression and you may begin to understand why I have come to regard myself as a runt.

With this medical background, the early indication of CML seemed innocent enough.  A routine blood draw revealed a white cell count that was off the chart.  I was referred to a specialist, and, voila! I was now able to add chronic myelogenous leukemia to my repertoire of medical conditions.  While none of my other conditions were immediately life-threatening, CML was accompanied by the specter of death in the not-too-distant future.  All of my mental gymnastics with regard to the meaning of life were about to be put to the test.

Another Day

I woke up again today, just like I've done every day since I was born.  It's not hard to understand how we come to take the experience for granted.  I've been blessed to watch my grandson grow from the day of his birth one year ago.  The blessing has come from sharing firsthand the awe and wonder, the miracle of a new day of life.  I have longed for the ability to communicate with him on his terms so that I might learn what he remembers of where he came from, but he is already well on his way to acquiring the language skills necessary to survive in the sometimes hostile environment into which he was born.  But for now, surrounded by love, he exults in each new moment.

What Jack will learn as he grows is that the miracle is incomprehensibly fragile.  It comes with no guarantees.  It can be taken at any moment for no reason.  As we "mature", this is what we forget.  Because the miracle has repeated itself for hundreds, even thousands of days, it becomes mundane unless we consciously guard against it.  That's what being diagnosed with a terminal disease can do for you.  It can wake you up to the sacred gift of each moment because there is nothing to guarantee it won't be your last.

No One Knows

Well, we're another day closer to death.  To those who feel this topic is too morbid, I will argue that only in the context of death does life become sacred.  The widespread disregard for the sanctity of life is demonstrated by our species' murderous ways.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

To be diagnosed with a terminal disease brings the subject of death front and center.  Intellectually we know that we are going to die (back when I was studying psychology, the ability to anticipate one's death was considered uniquely human), but a terminal diagnosis actually reduces the uncertainty of knowing when and how.  I have found the benefit of this circumstance to be a greatly heightened appreciation for the gift of life.  Gradually, I have come to the realization that not just every day is precious, but that each moment is sacred.

Great minds throughout the ages have posited the question--one way or another--if you knew that you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?  To honestly answer such a question, though, requires that we have at least an opinion about what death is.  What do we know about death?  Other than that it is the certainty which awaits every one of us, absolutely nothing!  I've devoted a good portion of my life to the study of theology, and I can assure you that no one alive knows what death is.

Ultima Solstitium

If Mayan calendar prognosticators are correct, today is the last solstice for humankind.  Fortunately, more reasonable minds are already communicating that such apocalyptic predictions are usually wrong, primarily due to misinterpretation which results in misunderstanding.  To a degree, however, it is true that today is the last first day of summer for hundreds of thousands of human beings.  We live.  We die.

On Friday the 13th, May, 2005, I was diagnosed with chronic myelogenous leukemia (CML).  I have lived five years longer than would have been the prognosis prior to the discovery of Gleevec (imatinib mesylate), a truly miraculous drug that has virtually put my disease into remission.  Nonetheless, I'm still dying (and so are you).  The gift CML has given me is to justify, if you will, the pondering of something that has fascinated me for as long as I can remember: death.  We live.  We die.

Last month, Mary and I attended a workshop, Living Well with CML, and for the first time since my diagnosis I had the opportunity to share with others who have the same disease.  I discovered that those of us who have benefited from Gleevec can offer genuine hope to those who have just been diagnosed.  Beyond that, I am hoping that what I have been thinking about death and dying may be of value to a wider audience.  I hope, too, to provoke reaction and comment that will contribute to my own growth.

I understand that death is not everyone's cup of tea.  But if you've given your own death even a passing thought, I would welcome your company on this journey to our common destination.