THE LONG GOODBYE....

AS THOSE OF YOU WHO CHECK IN TO MY BLOG KNOW, I’ve been preoccupied with my mother who has Stage IV lung cancer. Up until three weeks ago, she was doing reasonably well, still able to visit and chat, but that is no longer the case. The cancer has affected her mind. This post is about wishes.

I wish her doctors would have told me beforehand what to expect. I wish they would have said that this type of lung cancer travels to the brain. Instead, I had to follow my suspicions and learn what was happening to my mother by checking out things on the internet. It isn’t as if I didn’t ask them to tell me, for them to give me a prognosis. The best they were willing to do was to give me a time frame, an approximation of how long she has. Even then, they impressed upon me that everyone is different.

I wish I hadn’t been hopefully delusional about her. Still, there is a kindness in not knowing.

I wish people wouldn’t be delusional, and ask me to decide when she’s up for a visit. There is no more delusion about that. She isn’t.

I wish people cared more. Despite the bitchy comment above, you soon learn who your friends are – who gives a damn enough to call.

I wish people would stop saying ‘Fuck cancer.’ Yes, I get the sentiment, but it doesn’t come close to addressing what my mother is going through, or how I feel about it. The saying has become a cliché and it trivializes the disease. You can’t fuck cancer. It fucks you.

I wish I wouldn't get all kinds of crappy links to porn sites because of the above comment. I know I will.

I wish I could keep my mother with me, forever.

And in spite of how angry I may have been with her in the past, I realize now, that anger is only a way of losing grasp of what is really important, of letting one’s ego get in the way, of taking a person for granted. Anger only survives if you think you have time to indulge it. When you don’t, it falls away and leaves love and sadness in its wake. And finally, I wish the very best for all of you, for every one of us. I know - a weird sentiment in spite of everything I've already said.

- Susan.

SURFACING... FOR NOW.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE BEEN checking my blog, lately, I want you to know I appreciate you doing so. I've disappeared, I know.

My mother was diagnosed with Stage 3-4 lung cancer last spring. Her oncologist gave her a year to live. She refused to believe it, saying she intended on living at least another five years - or until the new stadium in Edmonton was built and she could see it. That's my mother - she doesn't ask much from life and her goals are small. She won't be here to see the new stadium, except if she sees it in spirit.

I've posted about her a few times on Facebook. She developed breathing troubles last Christmas, and wasn't due to see her oncologist until this April. When she woke up panting for breath a month ago, we got her in to see her oncologist sooner. Three weeks ago, I took her in to the Cross Cancer clinic. She never went home. They kept her there for treatment (she had developed blood clots on the lungs), while we decided if it were better to send her home with home-care, or if she would be happier and more comfortable in a hospice. She's in St. Joe's hospice, here in Edmonton.

The thing is, she looks deceptively good. Her cancer is now in both lungs, but fortunately, she isn't in  pain, except when they drain her left lung. I am thankful she is clear-headed, able to talk and visit, even though she likely has only months (or less) to live. I am sharing all of this, just to let you know where I have been, and where I will likely be, if my posts are few and far between.

I went through a lot of grief last year when she was first diagnosed. In a way, being given a year has been a blessing - not only to share this time with my mother, but also to prepare for her eventual passing. I believe strongly in an afterlife (which is obvious, from my books). This 'belief' isn't based so much on any religion per se, but on the many brushes I have with those who have died and gone on to whatever new existence awaits us, or those earth-bound spirits who remain clinging to this one.

Yes, I know. I'm weird. What can I say? I also know, when the time comes for my mother, it won't make losing her any easier.

- Susan.

ARE WRITERS DIFFERENT? WHY I THINK THEY ARE....

I HAD LUNCH WITH AN OLD FRIEND THE OTHER DAY. Because of her, we have been friends for over fifty years. I suppose that sounds strange to say, but it's true. In spite of a social side I exercise when it's necessary, I am, like most writers, a hermit, perfectly content to be alone, to pursue my own thoughts and interests and creativity. My dear friend, on the other hand, is much more of an extrovert and seeks out me and her other friends when she needs to. I appreciate that she takes the time to do it.

We are very different. I suspect she hasn't read my first book, The Tattooed Witch, in its entirety (although she has never admitted it), and she certainly doesn't read this blog. It may be that historical fantasy isn't her thing. But it still bothered me when I began to tell her about The Tattooed Seer being out and after only a few sentences, she changed the subject, wanting to know about my family. Up until that point, we had been talking about hers.

I'm not going to go into depth as to why I think she did that. Perhaps she was uncomfortable, perhaps she felt she couldn't relate. As I said, we are very different people and a shared childhood is our tie. But it did make me consider how we are different, and from there, to think about how all writers and artists of any type are not like the majority out there. In spite of everyone having some creative spark inside them, we are a minority. A lot of the time, people just don't 'get us'. There is something in us that makes us fan that basic creative spark and turn it into a blaze. Maybe it's sheer arrogance to think we can accomplish anything, but the fact is, we act upon that spark, and we do.

As a kid, I always thought I was special because of that creative spark. I always figured my ideas for building forts or creating games or whatever else were better than anyone else's, including my friend's, although I realized I also needed to accept her contributions. I was bossy and I'm sure, at times, annoying. Later, in adolescence, I learned to get along with people, but I was still often shunned by the popular crowd. That early rejection only made me try harder.

So I wonder, is it rejection that partly builds an artist, a writer? A combination of that early sense of 'I have great ideas', mixed with early rejection by one's peers, which sets off a 'then I'll damn well show you that I am good, smart, and creative, and maybe I'm even better, smarter, and more creative than you!' fire. Those embers burned hot in me when I was young. To some extent, they still fuel me now.

Yes, it bothered me that my friend wasn't interested in talking to me about my book. I forgive her for that. She isn't a writer; it isn't her thing. She has always gotten along well with people. I don't think she ever suffered early rejection like I did - in fact, she was accepted by the cool kids when I wasn't. But because of that, I grew used to being seen as different. It pushed me to try things, to think I had it in me to write, to believe I would publish when the world seemed to tell me I wouldn't.

I love my friend. But of the two of us, I think I'm the luckier.

WHAT BRINGS YOU JOY? IF YOU ARE A TRUE ARTIST, YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT

IT'S BEEN A WEEK SINCE I LAST POSTED, which is unusual for Suzenyms. On average, I usually post about twice a week. Other things have demanded my attention. My mother's radiation treatments wrapped up with some good news. She is now breathing easier; we have hope. My eldest son and my daughter-in-law moved into their condo, so I've been turning their old room back into a guest room. I've run myself off my feet cleaning the house, steam-cleaning the rugs, scrubbing walls, etc. I thought about painting the guest room and decided against it (a wise choice). In spite of the busyness, like anyone, there is only so much effort I can make to avoid my interior landscape. Because of concerns about my mother and my recent thoughts on life and death, I've found myself feeling low, and at other times, sad.

This morning, I got back to working on The Tattooed Rose.

There is nothing like writing to lift me from my funk or to bring me happiness. It isn't the idea of finishing, of ushering a new novel into the world, although that is satisfying. It isn't the wish for appreciation by readers or recognition by my peers. It isn't even any far-flung hope for more money coming my way (although more money would be nice). No, it's just the simple (and complicated) act of creating a world and the characters within it, of bringing them to life through prose in the best way I know possible. For me, it's that basic, it's what brings me the most joy.

Do singers love the moment of singing, even when there is no audience? Do actors love acting, when there is no crowd?

If you are a true artist of any stripe, you already know the answer to that.

- Susan.

QUESTIONING WHAT IS WORTH IT....

THIS WILL BE A STRANGE AND PERSONAL POST, one that I write maybe as therapy, maybe as a way to express things that sooner or later we all face. I can't even promise that by the end of it, I'll offer any answers, or anything that will be worthwhile to any of you reading it. Maybe the answers are those that only come to us when we're ready to answer those questions for ourselves.

Yesterday, I took my mother to the Cross Cancer clinic, here in Edmonton. Previously, an x-ray had shown a shadow on her lung, and over the past month, she has been to see specialists and undergone tests to determine the cause. It turned out she has lung cancer, and yesterday, we were expecting to hear what we needed to do to fight it. We weren't prepared for what we were told. Apparently, her non-small cell cancer is between a Type 3 and Type 4, and other than radiation to try to shrink it, there 's nothing to be done for her. They gave her a year.

My mother, to her credit, is handling this better than I am. She even managed to crack a few jokes yesterday after that awful shock.

After I dropped her off at her house, I took the dog for a walk. I've been dealing with the idea of death, the need for it, the why of it. I've certainly been dealing with the reality of suffering and pain. If I were an atheist, it would be easy enough to dismiss it all, and just say this is the way things are. We live, we die, that's it, the end. But the thing is, I do have a basic faith that we continue to exist after we die. I don't believe this out of fear, or that it seems impossible to believe that there is no value to our lives, no learning involved, that once it's over, it's over. (Although maybe this is an intolerable idea to me.) I have this nagging belief that the universe makes sense, that despite entropy, there is some order to it all, and maybe it's an order I trust in. But over and above all of that, I've also had too many collisions with the spiritual world, brushes with the afterlife to not believe in what to me is proof of a continuing existence, which is likely bigger and broader than the one we already know.

So if that's the case and what I believe, why this grief I feel before my mother is even gone? Why this sadness, this terrible sense of loss?

I guess, no matter what you believe, or don't believe, it hurts to know you are going to be apart from the people you love, even if it's only for a time. (And even then, I'm not so sure about this. I think those in spirit are around us much more than we are aware, but there's the rub - most of us, most of the time, just don't have that breadth of scope to sense it.)

Where I came to with all this yesterday, as I walked the dog, was to ask if life is really worth it. Which when you think about it, is one of the most basic questions we can ask. Is life worth it, if only to lose it? Is love worth it, if only to lose it? Is anything, writing, working, playing, doing what we do day to day, becoming entangled in our small, daily concerns that we think are so important but that really aren't, especially when they are set against the bigger question of existence, of creation, and the loss of all of that, is any of it really worth it?

What I came to was this. The breeze was soothing, the sun was warm. The dog was happy, and I could smell lilacs on the air. The trees were thick and green with leaf, and the sky was blue. The day, that moment, was soft, and kind, and comforting, and alive, real, and immediate. And despite the  sorrow I was feeling about my mother and myself, it was worth it.

So, here I am, with no other answers than that. Whatever happens to me, to you, to my mother, to the world, there are times, when the sun, and sky, and breeze are worth it. And frankly, I don't care if this is an inappropriate post for a writing and editing blog, because in the bigger scheme of things, we all know other things are far more important.

- Susan.

WHAT I DID ON MY VACATION

AS MANY OF YOU KNOW, I recently got back from a destination wedding in Cancún. My son and daughter-in-law had their dream wedding, and lucky me, I was able to be there with them and our families to celebrate. The setting, the El Dorado Royale was beautiful, and the wedding was wonderful, but by the end of the week, I was glad to get home.

I was never completely comfortable in Mexico. 

When you come from a land of plenty like Canada, it’s hard to realize that you are viewed as one of a rich and bloated crowd who line up for food and drinks while your hosts do what they must to serve you. Some see you as part of a herd, an opportunity to get ahead. In Playa del Carmen, the locals were predatory. People called to us from either side of 5^th Avenue – ‘You want a massage? A manicure?' Even, 'Hey, baby, you want to get high?’ I had one guy grab my hand to take a look at the small ring I bought after I came out of a jewelry shop. He was very friendly, but I suspect he wanted to see how much I’d spent, to decide whether the ring was worth taking. (It wasn’t. I only spent $35.00 US on it). In Playa del Carmen, they pay attention. It felt like a hustle.

Of course, there’s another side to all of this. At the resort, my daughter-in-law’s father managed to coax some details out of the staff. Here are some interesting facts: it would take most people who work there six months to earn enough money for one night at the resort. After a guest says ‘thank you’, the management requires all workers to say ‘a pleasure’ instead of ‘de nada’ or ‘you’re welcome’, because to say those things puts them on an equal footing with the guests. If they’re caught saying ‘de nada’, they're fined $20.00. They earn next to nothing, work hard, and many of the guests don’t tip. Staying at an all-inclusive shouldn’t remove anyone from doing what they normally would in their home city or elsewhere. Finally, the resort hired 1800 new workers a month ago to deal with the high season. I suspect these same 1800 are let go, once the season is over. For me, there was an overall sense of  'maintaining appearances'. Most of the staff were friendly, but not all. I spoke Spanish whenever I could, but I’m not fluent. I met a fellow writer, our concierge, and I bought his book of poetry. Because of that, maybe there was a connection. Maybe once I read his book, I’ll understand him better. I hope so. 

So the vacation was good, and not so good. The resort was beautiful, the food and drink plentiful, the wedding terrific, but I wasn’t so happy finding most of my face cream missing once I got home. I don’t appreciate the theft, but I get it. There are have and have-nots. I'm in the former group.

What's my point in bringing all this up? Only that I wish the world were a place of greater equality and trust. That we would stop seeing each other as faceless entities, no matter what our situation, but as people with differing talents, needs, and wants. That those of us who 'have' do more to help those who 'don't'. Until both poverty and entitlement are addressed, these things aren't likely to happen anytime soon. 

- Susan.

TO ALL OF YOU WHO HAVE BEEN CHECKING IN...

THANKS SO MUCH! I can see from my stats that you have been. I've been away on vacation in Cancun and I didn't have a chance to post about it before leaving. I'm back now and will post more vacation pix here, as well as additional posts about writing, editing, etc. Still unpacking, trying to catch up with e-mails, etc., so it'll be a couple of days. In the meantime, here's a photo of my favorite watering hole - the bar next to Joe Joe's Grill, at The Eldorado Royale, an all-inclusive on the Mayan Riviera, Cancun. That's the sea, just beyond it.

And yes, I actually did get tired of drinking the piña coladas there. (It's a hard life, I know.)

- Susan.

SPANISH NIGHT AT THE MACGREGOR'S

ALTHOUGH MOST OF MY POSTS ON SUZENYMS are devoted to editing and writing topics, now and then, it’s fun to share some personal stuff. This is one of those posts.

One of the things that Mike, my husband, and I've been trying to do for some years is to become fluent in Spanish. I started studying long before he did. To my great annoyance, he’s become proficient while I still butcher the language into hunks of jamón. Lately, he’s taken up learning Costa Rican slang – Pachuco. Having a good friend and several grad students who are Costa Rican gives him an edge. Last night, he shared some Pachuco sayings from his slang dictionary with me. Here’s an example of a typical night at the MacGregor household:

Mike:    Listen to this. Al lobo viejo coma carne fresca. 

Me:       (frowning) The wolf…the old wolf eats fresh meat.

Mike:    Meaning, old men like younger women.

Me:       Really? Better not.

Mike:    Here’s another one. Al tonto ni Dios, ni el Diablo lo quierren.

Me:       A fool neither God…neither God nor the Devil likes a fool. Uh huh.

Mike:    (bursts out laughing) Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! (in Spanish: Ay, ja, ja, ja, ja!)

Me:       What? What is it?

Mike:    Caballo con la vienda, mujer con la espuela!

Me:       What? Cowboys on the veranda, women.…?

Mike:    No! (still laughing).

Me:       Just translate it.

Mike:    Horse with the reins, woman with the spur!

Me:       Not likely! Stop laughing so hard. It's not that funny.

Mike:    (calming down) Here’s a good one. Cada loco con su tema.

Me:       Every crazy has his theme. Yup.

Mike:    You’ll like this one. Dios los hacen, y el Diablo los junta.

Me:       God makes them, and the Devil…brings them together?

Mike:    Yup. It’s a comment on marriage.

Me:       Ah. I like that one.

Mike:    (smiling) I thought you might.

(Yes, we're a strange brand of wanna-be Spanish geek. And since it's September 11th, I should add a Feliz Cumpleaños a mi esposo.Y si tú lees este mensaje, Miguel, besos y brazos!) 

Stay tuned.