Dragging my feet to the finish line

February 11th, 2013 § 16 comments

The finish line is the goal.

Runners strap on shoes, push their bodies, train for months.

Do it well. Do it faster. Faster than the others.

 

Laps around the track, tires squealing, pit stops along the way.

Checkerboad flags, shake the champagne.

 

Biking stages, climb the hills, pass the others, wear the gold jersey.

You got there first.

You won.

 

But I do not want the finish line.

I do not want to get there first.

I am dragging my feet.

Digging in my heels.

Fingertips grasping,

Losing touch,

Don’t make me go.

 

I’m fighting, crawling, resisting, doing everything I can.

Make the time slow down,

Make the days longer,

Make the end out of my sight.

I don’t want to be the first to the finish line.

I want to be last.

This time, losing would be winning.

 

 

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§ 16 Responses to Dragging my feet to the finish line"

  • My heart isfull. I, too, don’t want you to reach the line. I, too, pray for you to go slow, slower. Pet the dog. Embrace the children. Talk long talks with your husband. Laugh at sillyness. We are all dying together. We stay with one another as long as we can, but one by one, we each drop out of the race. I want you to be a very slow racer. And every, every day that you put one foot in front of the other, I will be right beside you in spirit. We will walk together. All of your friends and family. We march with you.

  • Greg says:

    We all need you to take your time, Lisa. Hopefully, that line just keep moving away…

  • s.a.meade says:

    This is one finish line that I hope keeps shifting farther and farther away from you.

  • It’s so hard to hear you talk this way, but the reality is that although we all walk around not necessarily thinking about our death, you have been thrust into a situation where you know your time here is limited. Wring all the joy out of each day that you can. Love harder. As much as you can, get out and enjoy sunshine, the rain and even the snow. Adore sweet Lucy and accept her unconditional love. Continue to be an inspiration to people everywhere about how we should really be living our lives. Although none of us know when our time will be up, you will be one of the few who relishes every moment with her family and friends, loves fully, and leaves a legacy that will thrive long after most of us are gone and forgotten.

  • Amy Coulter says:

    I don’t think I can say it better Julie’s post above. Sometimes it is so difficult to read your posts. It forces the reader to face mortality, whether dealing with terminal cancer or not. The hardest thing for me is trying not to “race”, and I don’t know if my cancer will turn out to be terminal…it is in my nature to push myself. I am struggling with the call to “be still”. Ultimately, I know that is the richest place to be, but it is also the most challenging. I am afraid of “missing” something”. But that is my wish for you, to be still and live in the moment. Breathe. You won’t miss anything and you might find everything. Love to you in your struggle. Know that you are loved.

  • Karyn Toso says:

    It’s so hard to respond to these posts of yours, but luckily others do it so eloquently. I am still praying for your outlier status, and wishing you days full of love and joy and pride in your family, and the knowledge that you are making a profound difference in this world and even in the lives of people whom you have never met! Your wisdom and courage have changed me. Xoxo

  • Karen says:

    Julie nailed it — and although your perceptions of mortality have been heightened, even you don’t know exactly where the finish line is. I suspect you have quite a bit more racing yet to do — and we will all be here cheering you on. <3

  • Thinking of you everyday, Lisa, & your family, although we do not know each other “in real life.” Beautiful writing…

  • Carol Sacks says:

    Thinking of you and sending love and hugs. Powerful, moving post, dear Lisa.

  • Holding on to you tightly, kicking and screaming and not letting go! xo

  • This is beautiful and sad, Lisa. Cancer inverts our experiences of time. After treatment and with NED, I experience aging as a joy:

    Oh hello, gray hair I never thought I’d see!
    Hello new wrinkle!

    My friends think I am insane, but I know you understand.

    Whatever time you have ahead of you — and I hope it is as much and as pain-free as possible — may all you leave behind agree that it was time well spent. <3

  • Susan says:

    Lisa you write so beautifully and I see the struggles that are going on in your mind. Comparing your MBC to a race definitely changes the goals that you have. As I read it I sensed that you are not on a race with time but on a course of time that you will hopefully have quality of life. There are so many complex thoughts when you have to deal with fighting to stay alive as this cruel disease invades your body and mind. I honor your truth and hope that you journey brings you lots of quality time. You are so special and so many of us are thinking and holding good thoughts and prayers for you. XoXoXo <3

  • Jennifer says:

    You don’t know me…but I chanced upon your blog…and was drawn by your profound thoughts and beautiful way of writing…you are such a courageous person…and you probably don’t realize just how many people you have touched with your writing…sending you a hug from south africa…your story has affected me deeply…

  • Serena says:

    Lisa, this is so heart wrenchingly beautiful. The truth is hard to swallow, but you always face it with such grace and strength. Thank you for writing these words and for sharing this obscene journey – it gives us all strength. I’m rooting for you to stay in the race for a very long, long time. Sending you warm thoughts.

  • It’s so difficult to comment, yet I really want to. How’s this: You writing this blog kicks ass!

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