 |
| One Two Many Ways ©Deb Koffman |
Sunday, August 10, 2014
IWOW August 5, 2014 Theme:Choices
This month's theme was 'choices'. Hosted by Maggie Mitchell. Please forgive me if your picture isn't the most flattering. I love having a record of your presence. The set is called 'One, Two, Many Ways' .
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
David Wade Smith
David died this July. I will miss his spirit and stories and smiling face.
David posted this on FB at the end of April.
I haven't gone public on Facebook about this, but today seems to be the time. Some of you already know something of my situation, so this is mostly for those who don't. In October of 2012, I received a diagnosis of Stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer. What this meant, of course, was that it would eventually and progressively worsen. Some treatments could be undertaken that would potentially slow its progress, and I went through them one at a time, some less comfortable than others: hormone blocker therapy; chemotherapy; and finally radiation. But the results of a recent CAT scan indicate that there's been significant spread and that the condition has become more aggressive. How much time I have left on this beautiful but troubled planet is an open question--not long, however, seems to be the general consensus. I need to stress that I'm not sad or afraid. Death itself holds no terror for me. It would have been nice, of course, to have lived a long life in good health. I was blessed with the birth of my amazing granddaughter, Oona, just at about the time I received my initial diagnosis, and I won't be around to see her grow up into the intelligent and gorgeous being whom she is surely destined to become. There's a Zen Buddhist saying: "A long life is good. A short life is also good." I firmly believe in the essential truth of this, and, to be honest, I don't feel as though my life has been short; since my birth in late 1944, I've been privileged to witness an incredible time of unprecedented change. As most of you know, I've studied and taught T'ai Chi Ch'uan for the last forty years, and if it's taught me anything at all, it's that the combat model to which our species has committed itself for timeless millennia is obsolete at best; the clash of force against force has caused only agony and endless strife. So I don't believe that I've been engaged in a battle--certainly not one in the sense we're accustomed to using that word--but in a process that's no different from life itself, merely intensified and compressed and containing grit and difficulty and also amazing and lovely surprises such as the great gift of selfless help from people some of whom I knew not well or even not at all before this process began, and to whom my gratitude knows no bounds. Two things I must say before closing: To anyone who writes an obituary of me saying I "passed away after a long [or short or medium-sized] battle with cancer," I will come back to haunt you. And please, don't send me "inspirational" or "uplifting" messages or information about "miracle cures." My entire aim right now is to live the rest of my life seeking joy and pleasure wherever I can find it--telling jokes and stories, singing songs, taking photographs, and giving thanks for the miracle that is this life.
I haven't gone public on Facebook about this, but today seems to be the time. Some of you already know something of my situation, so this is mostly for those who don't. In October of 2012, I received a diagnosis of Stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer. What this meant, of course, was that it would eventually and progressively worsen. Some treatments could be undertaken that would potentially slow its progress, and I went through them one at a time, some less comfortable than others: hormone blocker therapy; chemotherapy; and finally radiation. But the results of a recent CAT scan indicate that there's been significant spread and that the condition has become more aggressive. How much time I have left on this beautiful but troubled planet is an open question--not long, however, seems to be the general consensus. I need to stress that I'm not sad or afraid. Death itself holds no terror for me. It would have been nice, of course, to have lived a long life in good health. I was blessed with the birth of my amazing granddaughter, Oona, just at about the time I received my initial diagnosis, and I won't be around to see her grow up into the intelligent and gorgeous being whom she is surely destined to become. There's a Zen Buddhist saying: "A long life is good. A short life is also good." I firmly believe in the essential truth of this, and, to be honest, I don't feel as though my life has been short; since my birth in late 1944, I've been privileged to witness an incredible time of unprecedented change. As most of you know, I've studied and taught T'ai Chi Ch'uan for the last forty years, and if it's taught me anything at all, it's that the combat model to which our species has committed itself for timeless millennia is obsolete at best; the clash of force against force has caused only agony and endless strife. So I don't believe that I've been engaged in a battle--certainly not one in the sense we're accustomed to using that word--but in a process that's no different from life itself, merely intensified and compressed and containing grit and difficulty and also amazing and lovely surprises such as the great gift of selfless help from people some of whom I knew not well or even not at all before this process began, and to whom my gratitude knows no bounds. Two things I must say before closing: To anyone who writes an obituary of me saying I "passed away after a long [or short or medium-sized] battle with cancer," I will come back to haunt you. And please, don't send me "inspirational" or "uplifting" messages or information about "miracle cures." My entire aim right now is to live the rest of my life seeking joy and pleasure wherever I can find it--telling jokes and stories, singing songs, taking photographs, and giving thanks for the miracle that is this life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)