For me, I never realized just how much someone like Bowie had ingrained himself into, and become such a part of, my past until suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. Bowie’s career started about the same time many of our lives did, and through it all he, and others like him, gave us a voice to the unique conditions we found our lives in; both in his music, and in his notoriety. Even now I shudder to think what life will be like when others of his stature in my life pass, as the passing of Freddie Mercury made my life come to a standstill even as I was at the height of fighting my own battle with cancer.
I never knew the man. I never did when he was among us. I loved his music, but always thought of him, like many others, as otherworldly; not that he was some sort of musical angel or god, but just that those who made the music that gave various form to my world were, themselves, not actually part of it. So I never thought as much to wish I could. I find it funny that only now I really feel that I missed out on something by not wanting to.
But his death impacts me in another way. It impacts me as of that of a survivor. It’s a layered thing that has haunted my waking thoughts and my meandering dreams this past week. It does so on many levels.
I think that so many of us who come through a battle like ours feel, in some way, that suddenly there is a lot of things to get done, and not as much time to get them accomplished as we would like to think. We become very aware of the mortality of life, and the actual shortness of it, within the context of the world. For myself, I have felt, at times, a sheer sense of panic in the notion that I, after twenty five years, still haven’t accomplished anything of note. And recent events in my life – also cancer related – have really reinforced that; doubly damning given the unfortunate nature of my situation, at the moment.
There’s a good chance that, despite my history beating the odds, my life could possibly get a whole lot shorter. And I will never have the body of work that David Bowie, or any of the other artists I have so often admired, has closed life with. There is nothing to say “CHARLIE IRONS WAS HERE.”
I guess, entering into middle age, that’s to be expected. But this has had another odd impact on me in that David Bowie wasn’t much older than my dad is. And, having a strained and estranged relationship with him (More fair to say not much of any relationship at all.) and both of us having near misses with death in the past couple years, my mind got to thinking about what it’ll be like to attend his funeral. Or my mother’s; who has had one of the biggest impacts on my life ever. (Or even the fact that I still have one.)
Sometimes I consider upon all those who I met in my treatment and recovery who didn’t make it, themselves. I remember sobbing families and desperate pleas, and the courage of one elderly man who refused to go out with nothing less than his entire dignity. (Now that was one hell of a Thanksgiving, let me tell you.)
These things, I suppose, are neither here or nor there; just the kind of stuff we all have to deal with at some point as we get older. I find it odd, however, my reaction to both the passing of David Bowie and Alan Rickman. Well, actually my reaction to all of your reactions.
I’ve long seen the “repost if you have a friend… blah blah blah cancer” social media things, and have – without being able to address to myself why – rolled my eyes and just continued to scroll down. But recently I think I’ve managed to touch, with some honesty to myself, why these things have bothered me.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s a nice gesture, and all. But, to tell the truth, that’s all it is. And it’s kind of an empty sentiment, at that. There is no amount of blog posts, reposts, or hashtagging that will do any amount of anything to a tumor. No many how many “likes” someone gets on a profound, profanity laden rant about it, it does nothing to help the dying, or save those who can be saved. Don’t get me wrong, it is a nice thought, but it’s not a thing as much as, say, calling for, and donating to, one of many research foundations. And nothing really comforts the sick like actually being there for them; even if it’s just volunteering time somewhere, just being there. I don’t often talk on the severity of my situation as a seventeen year old facing death from within, and I may not, now. I can make you all laugh about it, sure; but there were some times where I had no laughs to be had. Those were the times when the hand of a friendly person, just being there, gave me some hope; dried my eyes some.
I’d also like to address a lot of rabble I’ve read regarding cancer, itself. From our president’s final address to the ignorant (Though often not intentionally so.) confusion and claims about cancer, treatment, and the practice of diagnosing it, it’s become clear to me just how little so many understand about cancer.
Cancer is not a disease. Let me do that last line, again; CANCER IS NOT A DISEASE. Cancer is a syndrome that is exploited by a combination of genetics, situation and environmental conditions, and – unfortunately – sheer luck. It’s not an airborne cotangent, nor will you get it through contact with a sick person…
Okay, I may be a bad example on this, but trust me; it’s not a disease.
While developing a cancer is preventable – through diet, activity, and just not doing something as fucking stupid as smoking, for example, there will never be a simple shot… an inoculation or immunization… against it. Well, not unless we unravel the rest of the human genome and actually start gene therapy during prenatal development. What we’re fighting for is a way to treat the thing in a fast, effective, and absolute way that does as little harm to the patient as possible, and can be administered to anyone, and everyone, in a timely and cost effective way.
Just about all of us carry the potential for a cancer. It’s a malfunction in our DNA that, when triggered, causes run away cell growth; converting healthy cells into manufacturers of junk. Some folks will do everything wrong and never know its lethal touch. Some will work unknowingly at risk and develop it. And some will die in a childhood of pain for no real reason at all except a hiccup in their genes. There is no simple, single way a doctor can look at a thing and say; “a-ha!” And cancers can grow a long time with no outward symptoms. Detection is a involved process, and no two people even handle the same cancer the same way.
We are found as much in how we handle our defeats as how we reach our victories. I have done a very poor job in mine; which I vow to change this very minute. And here’s how both you and I can do more, right now. Stop simply reposting little epitaphs, memes, and reblogs. Instead, take a couple minutes to hit up the American Cancer Fund, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, or whatever your particular cause may be. (I mean, we can all get behind saving the ta-tas, am I right?) Sign the registry, and make a donation. It doesn’t have to be big; no one is asking you to fund the whole damn thing. You get a tax write off, medicine gets the funds it needs, and we all get a little healthier for it. Hell, talk to your kids about it; you may just inspire the future doctor who saves us all.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a life to go lead and promises to keep; both to myself, and those who have fallen. Come along and join me, if you like; I could use the company.
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