Some days I don’t
Feel like a gift,
Do much,
Go anywhere,
Want to do this.
Some days I don’t
Know how to get out,
Or want to be the brave one,
Be the strong one.
Some days I don’t
Understand quite how I got here,
Care to see where it is going,
Even want to imagine what it will be like after.
Some days I don’t
Have any words,
Or the strength to take them from my head
And put them on a screen.
Some days I don’t
Believe that this is what my life is,
What it has come to,
Or even think I have woken up for the day.
Some days I don’t
Wish to believe the best days are over,
Know if the adventures have ended,
Want to believe that it can be true that they are.
But even on the days I don’t…
Somewhere inside I know I must
Press onward,
For whatever that means,
For right now.
So every day that is just what I do.
Link to Twitter
Lisa Lisa Lisa…how you touch the very core …when I feel I can’t do any more I think of you and gather strength…your writings and thoughts affect so many…am sure you have no idea just how many…with admiration and a gentle warm hug from a South African follower of your tweets and blog…
Thinking of you and praying for a treatment to knock this back a bit. Keep on keeping on. My heart goes out to you ♡♡
Lisa, I will think about this post for a long time. In fact, I will think about many of the posts you’ve written and refer back to them for guidance. I have learned a lot about living, struggling and enduring from you. You have made a difference with this blog.
Thank you so much Lisa for sharing this. Your words make a difference to my life, as I believe to that of many others. Please keep sharing them. Thank you.
‘So every day that is just what I do.’
Thank you, Lisa. <3
Nice pome. I have brain cancer over 4 yrs. My cancer is complicated I guess because the two hospitals up north failed. SO my too daughters brought me here. No friends, the stores are to far to walk to. They help me but I have to ask. My live has been so different now. I have too find the good in everything, like the peace with Jesus, And believe me I have peace. Cancer can be a long death, if you let it. We all will die. look at all you have and be grateful. People are people, some times just holding hands is the best.
Patrick
Your message is sweet and a little bit sad. I hope your daughters hold your hand every day, even if you have to ask. Don’t know where you live, but perhaps your local chapter of the American Cancer Society can provide some support services, even if only on-line.
http://www.cancer.org/treatment/supportprogramsservices/onlinecommunities/index
This is beautiful.
Your words always seem to find that place inside of me that I keep locked up and hidden. Yes, some days I don”t
Thank you for sharing and letting us know that we are not alone, that our feelings are shared by others. It is truly a gift, one we all wish we didn’t need to have. <3
How eloquent this is Lisa. I can identify with alot of it. My mam was like you in alot of ways, so strong and what a fighter. She never once felt sorry for herself. My motto is always “never give up on hope”, if you do, you have nothing. Sending you strength and warm hugs from Ireland x
Heart in a puddle. Mind in awe. FC.
Also: a sad poem, this, but a thing of beauty. Thanks for bringing it.
Ever yours,
David
Lisa…I am always humbled by your honesty and sustained courage. I can barely read the text of your writing without a wrenching pain filling my gut. It’s one day at a time…you are entitled to feel whatever urge prevails you at any given time. Whatever control any disease may take, it can not take away from you the emotion you choose to feel at any given time. Just keep feeling. G-d Bless.
This is very touching, Lisa. You have expressed a feeling I suspect many women feel on occasion with such openness and honesty. Thank you for giving so much of yourself – and to strangers like many of us – at this difficult time. I hope it gives you some comfort to know that you comfort us – and, please, take today off and just don’t!!
I think many people who have suffered from depression can relate to these words today. Thank you for finding the strength to share with us Lisa.
Again, you have put words to your harsh reality. Even during your moments of profound sadness and despair, I am glad that you are able to crawl out from under the sheets and go to those doctor’s appointments in hopes of getting every minute out of your life that you possibly can.
Dear, dear Lisa, I hope that your putting your thoughts to words gives you some comfort, because that’s what your posts do for me. My heart goes out to you and I hope things ease and improve for you. Sometimes you just have to put one foot in front of the other, and try to stay open to anything good that comes your way. You give this huge gift to us every time you share a post, and I don’t know how you do it, but you manage to put buried feelings to words. Wishing you brighter days ahead and your getting a treatment /chemo that will help.
Thank you Lisa for sharing your feelings and your brutal honesty. Be gentle with yourself.
Sending hugs ((((Lisa)))) – not sure what else I could do to help.
Your strength amazes me, daily:-)
Weeping for you and all of us facing similar moments.
I’m grateful for the way you captured “that which shall not be named.”
Much love,
Jody
Beautiful just beautiful.
I wish
I could take it all away
Wave a wand or a prescription or a treatment
and give you health.
I wish
I lived next door so
I could bring dinner and hugs and tears and
love
over every day.
I wish
it was different.
I know
that your powerful soul has
taught me so much that I meet each day
differently than I did before I knew you.
I know
that I love you.
Love to you. I know this feeling (or a version of it, to be more accurate) from my own treatment days, from scary times with my parents’ health.
You are dear and admirable always. <3 <3 <3
I was diagnosed stage 4 a year after you and feel I am following in your footsteps somewhat on treatments, at least the initial ones, for me Afinitor and exemestane followed by Xeloda. The Xeloda has worked well until now, but a new supraclavicular nodal metastasis has started since I’ve been on it, alerting me to the day that it will stop keeping my liver and bone mets stable. My oncologist has told me the next step will be infusion chemos.
Despite your suffering, you are a source of strength for me, to be ready for the possible ups and downs that this disease brings, to choose life as long as possible, to live on the angels’ side of our human nature (per Abe Lincoln’s dictum to let “the better angels of our nature” lead us).
I’m pulling for you, too. Thank you.
Your words are so beautiful and powerful. Thank you for sharing.
Your strength amazes me. Hoping for better days for you. You have taught me so much.
Eloquence in the face of so much uncertainty.
Each day.
You are here.
Pressing on in the face of all of those “don’t” feelings is about the best definition of courage I’ve ever heard. Thank you for continuing to share your story despite the “don’t”s. I hope things go better!
You are in my thoughts Lisa. I know your writing has, does and will continue to help and inspire others. May there be strength and peace in you, your home and your family during this time.
Big hugs to you, my friend.
Your words are a light to the souls of so many! You reach into the very depths of our hearts and find the fear, the uncertaintity and the hope tucked away there. Words alone cannot express the profoundly personal way you help me and all of your readers Lisa. You are a gift to us all. Gods peace and His grace be yours today.
Wonderful thoughts, Lisa.
I imagine all the time “what it will be like after?”. I do not believe in an afterlife, just that when I die, I will be gone. Will my grandchildren think that I have just left and abandoned them? Charlie thinks that if you blow on a dead insect, it will come back to life.
I am a very nosy person, so the thought of leaving people behind and not knowing what they are doing with their lives is tortuous.
Since my diagnosis, I have divided my friends into “those who can talk to me about death” and “those who cannot talk about death.” Needless to say, the first group is the one I love the most.
A most eloquent poem. My husband who is only in his fifties suffers from a rare cancer that lodged deep in his tongue and has taken away his ability to eat and speak. It has spread, metastasized and recurred in spots already treated. He is in great pain but yet he too rises every day no matter what. I love hearing your stories and reading your blog. I am a first time responder but have been listening to you for a long time. You give life to the struggles we are all facing in the cancer world. I think you are amazing. You give a voice so often to what we are living through. I hope someday none of us have to hear the horrible diagnosis you have cancer. Remember your words are soothing, no matter how sad they are, to me and to all those that follow you because you are our voice. I have the greatest respect for you and I hope your blog has given enough to you that you feel not only proud of yourself but feel strength from knowing how many people you are affecting. Wishing you the ultimate-better days.
Thank you.
The way you share your thoughts and experience are so powerful and make such a difference to our lives. Thank you for the dedication and consistency in which you have reached out to the large community of followers. Prayers and hugs.
Lisa –
As always, thank you for sharing. Your words are powerful. I don’t agree with you on some things (isn’t that always the case in life), but…you… more than anyone, have made me question what is important in life…what do I want..how do I feel..and what do I want to accomplish? Thank you for that! My thoughts are always with you. I’m in the cheering section…
TX
S
Lisa – You personify strength, resilience, hope, and courage. Your voice has helped so many people, and all of us, are holding your hand, hugging you tight, and sending you love.
Deep breath. Another. Appreciation.
Thank you.
Still thinking and praying for you Lisa. I love this honest post.
Thank you for sharing your poem.
Well, what about some do ! ……Get up and bloody do it. Or at least try….I’ve been trying for the last 4 years….. It’s hard, I know,
but I’ve been bloody trying ! xxxxxx I love reading your blog, but you are very fortunate to have the care that you have…you have to remember that some people are not privleged like you are….we cant always have what we want in this world…maybe the next…
I don’t believe in a next world and I don’t know what you mean by “get up and bloody do it” since the whole point of the piece (did you read to the end?) was to say that even when I might not think I can, I press forward anyway. As for “privileged” I don’t think most people would view anyone with incurable cancer as such.
Hi Lisa,
My thoughts are with you during this most difficult time. I hope the harsh side effects from the new chemo are beginning to subside by now. I wanted to let you know that I took your advice and “persevered” yesterday. Following your example, but not coming anywhere close to your level of expertise, I wrote the first poem of my life (at the age of 67). I couldn’t have done it without both your daily mantra and all of your lovely poetry to motivate me!
Thank you,
Maureen
Once upon a time ( when you still had curly hair) we spent a summer working together at Park City. I just wanted you to know that, over here in Hershey, PA, yet another mom is thinking, praying, and hoping for the best for you,
Lisa – Thank you for saying the words that I sometimes can’t.
You are of great comfort and I hope you find the right
drug cocktail or procedure to give you much more time here.
Lisa – A gentle suggestion that you not waste your energy responding to posts that aren’t helpful or supportive. I’ve read you try to answer other posts that were judgmental about treatment choices or how you are approach a new issue. Thank goodness they are few and far between, and I have no doubt that each one thought they were well-intentioned and being helpful. When you are dealing with the roller coaster of Stage 4 breast cancer, fear and anger can come out in hurtful ways. And by you caring enough to share your thoughts with us, it leaves you vulnerable to being misunderstood, or a subject of judgmental thinking. or a target for fear-filled anger. Your most recent post meant so so much to me, because at times I am right there. Please just know that you are surrounded by a legion of folks who care about you,appreciate you, and are so grateful.
I stumbled on your website and blog by typing in “I hate people who don’t have cancer”. Boy, am I bitter. Yet, just reading a few entries and your home page has given me comfort. RIght now, I am pissed off that my life has been put on hold because of a cancer diagnosis and chemo treatment. Yesterday I didn’t want to see anything but black, bleak scenarios as I have lost my personal agency. You acknowledge the depth of grief and don’t move quickly to a “Oh, find the ‘happy place’.” My brain and emotions say ‘oh shut up, that happy place is for idiots who don’t feel deeply and think critically. So thanks. And today is a different day, a day with purpose.
I met a 40 year-old young woman today in a local coffee shop…she had very short, curly hair. I started talking to her and she told me her hair was a result of chemo. She had her 2-year old daughter with her. She had her first mammo at 38 and breast cancer was found then— and further tests showed that she already had metastases to her liver and bones. My heart ached. Damn fucking cancer.