Books: Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I've Loved by Kate Bowler (Part 4)

So let's continue talking about the cancer book. As a reminder, here's what I've talked about so far: I told you some before stories. I talked about the American Dream.  I talked about Today.

Everything Happens for a Reason by Kate Bowler

This book led me to do far more introspection and self-analysis than I ever expected. My therapist mentioned to me once that one reason she got into oncological social work is because she found her patients discovering their best selves at the worst of times. I can't remember if I've mentioned this before (I have a really good excuse (it's brain surgery)) but it's something that stuck out to me. The weird thing is that even though I have people telling me that I'm so strong, so brave, so inspiring, I don't feel any of that. People tell me that they see the best parts of me, and I struggle to accept that when it feels like nothing more than a facade. It's like wearing a mask. Everyone else can see what is on your face, but you can't see your own face, hidden or not.

Instead:

"There is an inchoate sadness in the pit of my stomach, hard to express" (Bowler 102).

Down in the deepest and darkest corners of my heart, I am still grieving for my future unmade and dreams dismantled. I am still grieving for an extraordinary life made ordinary. I am still grieving for a Me who is no longer Me. This grief is all-encompassing, all-engrossing, all-consuming. I'm not screaming and crying anymore. Instead, I've reached the stage of grief that is still and unmoving, ever-present, hovering quietly over my shoulder.

I grieve for the students I'll never get to teach. The adventures I will miss out on with The Husband. The extraordinary. The time that I thought I had.

"I used to think that grief was about looking backward, old men saddled with regrets or young ones pondering should-haves. I see now that it is about eyes squinting through tears into an unbearable future. The world cannot be remade by the sheer force of love. A brutal world demands capitulation to what seems impossible—separation. Brokenness. An end without an ending" (Bowler 70; emphasis added)

I am 38 years old, and until very very recently, I did not feel 38 years old. In my mind, in my soul, I am still that invincible 25-year-old that packed up my crap and moved to Texas sight unseen because I needed a change of scenery. I am still that awkward 16-year-old who dressed up as the road (all black clothes, two white stripes of tape, get it?) for Halloween. I am still that 28-year-old getting married in a courthouse and feeling the joy of forever in front of us. I am still that excited 34-year-old getting my Master's Degree and feeling excited to finally be able to work with my passion, finally able to work my dream job.


I look back, and I have very few regrets.

I look forward and I grieve.