Isn’t the will of man, God made?
Healthy living is a tad short of meaning when I think of cancer.
It is a disease that urges one who watches a loved one deteriorating from it, to rethink the use of insensitive words such as healthy living.
Cancer is a tough shock on families, spouses, and children especially. I always look at my sister’s kids and wonder how high they have climbed mountains within to find relief from fear.
It is much like running from a wave that keeps following till you cannot climb any further. God is at your mercy and the ocean of darkness below is your fate.
Here I am sitting in the kitchen watching a pot of chicken being made. Yes, it is sad that they are raising the tax again for this white meat.
But it is even sadder that there are people worse off in my country, where my tears of empathy seem uncalled for, if I consider them.
Isn’t the fate of the lowly a good advantage for the well off? Poverty seems to justify the fancy dancing and the injustice of careless decision making.
Yesterday my ill-struck sister posted her support for FACEBOOK due to love for striving cancer patients like herself and for those caretakers who want to feel the warmth of another one’s genuine will to survive for her own loved ones.
Needless to say, that the powers of love fill a page with messages of empowerment, of real suffering, and of magical truths about family courage.
Sad also that there is a real threat for Facebook to be denied from Samoans near and far who have the common goal to support each other, with virtuous politeness and a sense of togetherness.
Aren’t these Samoan inborn traits?
But Facebook is a tool, and it seems a movie script I recently saw fits the situation of fFacebook in Samoa quite well: “ Men have made tools that control them.”
But isn’t the will of man God made?
To end this short rag, I reflect on the recent months of my life as a caretaker to my sister.
Well, it would brighten this aspiring writer’s face if I could honestly say it was easy.
But the fact is, it is never easy to be staying beside a cancer patient. You have to accept that darkness is an important part of the journey because you have no choice anyway. You have to take into your mind that the darkness the cancer patient carries is deeper than yours.
So when someone asks me, “ How are you?” I naturally respond as a matter of fact, “ Who cares?”
Thinking of yourself in such a light is too much if you are willing to convince the skies that your health is not as important, your heart is not nearly as vital, and your life is not nearly as brilliant if the one you care for whose fate is cancer, is slowly dying.