Tag Archives: Cancer

What I Learned from Obi

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“If we learn to open our hearts, anyone, including the people who drive us crazy, can be our teacher.” ― Pema Chödrön

Anyone can be our teacher, even a dog.

Two years ago today, we had to let Obi go.  Nine months earlier, he had been diagnosed with t-cell multicentric lymphoma, a treatable but incurable canine cancer.  We’d had Obi since he was eleven weeks old and he was our first dog.  That experience, from the moment our vet spoke the words “I’m so sorry, but it’s lymphoma” until he was gone, planted the seed for the life-rehab I am doing now.  I couldn’t stand for such an amazing being to have lived and loved, then suffered and died without it having an impact.  I had to change my life, otherwise it was like I was saying none of that mattered, that he didn’t matter.

Obi was my teacher, in both his life and his death.  Here’s some of what I learned from him:

Most of what you fear isn’t worth the energy, isn’t even real. Obi never outgrew was his fear of loud noises: fireworks, gunshots, wind and thunder, fans and hair dryers. Sometimes he would get himself so worked up, panting and shaking, that his teeth would chatter. Watching his fear take him over when I knew there wasn’t anything real to worry about, I learned to see that my own fears were monsters created by my own imagination, tragedies written and cast by me.  I became aware of how and where I was generating my own suffering.

Picture by Cubby

Make friends with everyone. This was Obi’s strategy about life: when you meet someone new, try to be friends, and stay friends, and the more friends you have (people, dogs, cats, foxes, birds, etc.), the better. He was all about the love. I learned from him that things just go better if you can make someone your friend.  Once they are your friend, you can relax, not worry or be afraid or on guard. You can just hang out in the backyard or look out the window together or cuddle, and everything will be good.

This moment is all there is, and it is more than enough. I have learned this from all my dogs, actually.  They absolutely and always live in the present moment.  To them, there is nothing better than what is happening right now.  My dogs have taken thousands of walks, and yet every time I suggest one, they act like they just won the doggy lottery.  They dance for their breakfast, even though I feed them the same thing every day.  When I come home, even if I was only gone for an hour, they act like we haven’t seen each other in years, wiggling and jumping and kissing, sometimes almost knocking me over with their joy.

None of us knows how much time we have, so make the most of it. One reason we rescued a mixed breed dog is because they are supposed to live longer, have fewer health problems.  And when we took Obi to the vet to have a small lump in his shoulder checked–not even worried about it enough to make a special trip, but rather “since we are here, why not check that too”–Obi had just turned seven years old, and as far as we knew, was super healthy, in the prime of his life.  Nine months later, he was gone.  We just never know what is around the corner, what will happen tomorrow.  The nine months we had with Obi when we knew he would be gone soon were intense and amazing.  We did all of his favorite things and spent as much time together as we could. I was right there with him, in those moments, no matter how sad or scary, and it was worth it, every minute, including the last one.

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
~Mary Oliver

There is a “This I Believe” essay called “We’re Getting Another Dog.”  It is so good, so right. It explains why Obi, as special as he is and as sad as his loss has left me, wasn’t the only dog, and explains why what Obi ultimately taught us is that there will always be another dog.  It’s okay to let go and do it again, even as your heart is breaking.

“Because getting another dog is the decision to run full bore towards love and commitment. It’s knowing that in 8, 10, 12 years, FOR SURE that dog is going to die and you’re going to be writhing in pain again…And even knowing how devastating that loss is going to be, even though it makes you sick to just think about it, you CAN’T WAIT to do it again…I believe that getting another dog is a physical act of pure hope and resilience. It’s a statement that I can and will bounce back from the worst of it…Getting another dog is believing in life and the real meaning of it. I can’t think of any other decision I have made in my lifetime in the name of love with such an inevitably painful outcome…Getting another dog is an act of unconditional optimism. It’s seeing the goodness and being grateful for all the blessings…Knowing this simple truth makes me appreciate all I have at this moment and makes it easier to face all the inevitable grief that is part of life.”

Heather Ann

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While Kelly was the most recent friend I lost to cancer, she sadly wasn’t the first.  I was reminded by a dear friend that today is Heather Ann Sherman-Galasso’s birthday.  It makes sense now that I think about it that these two would have birthdays so close together.  They both were strong, smart, creative, cheerful and compassionate.  Even though Heather passed away 20 years ago, she continues to inspire me.

When I was in the second grade, our teacher partnered with another in a school district to set up a pen pal program.  The school was only in the next town over, but it might as well have been on Mars.  I was matched with Heather, and I loved her instantly.  It breaks my heart that the letters she wrote me that year have been lost over time, but I remember their spirit.  She was so smart, and made me laugh, and I called her my best friend.

Towards the end of the year, the teachers arranged a meeting.  Heather’s class took the trip to visit us at our school.  I remember seeing the big yellow school bus pull up to the front of our building, and feeling so excited I was afraid I might throw up.  She was here! Oh, but what if she saw me and didn’t like me?  What if she thought I was weird? Or boring, or ugly, or stupid?  I couldn’t stand it if she didn’t love me.

This next part I can’t be sure of, but in my heart my memory is that she was wearing a white dress, and she ran to me and hugged me.  That summer, (or maybe the one after?), Heather and I went to summer day camp together.  It’s still true, even now, that Heather was able to make me laugh harder than almost anyone, ever.  Over that summer, we got in trouble a lot, were separated many times because we were making each other laugh and unable to stop, couldn’t calm down or control ourselves.

We ended up at the same high school.  Heather was so brave–she was who she was and didn’t care whether you liked it or not, didn’t need your approval because she was having a great time.  Not that she was a jerk about it at all, she was kind to everyone. High school is stupid, and as the friend who reminded me that today was Heather’s birthday would be able to tell you, the people who are worth loving, who deserve our friendship, our kindness, and our time, aren’t necessarily the people we spend those years with–we miss out on so much.  We are so caught up in trying to fit in, or comforting ourselves because we can’t fit in, that nothing really works.  And by we, I mean me.

I found my safe place in choir and drama.  Heather and I were together in some of those moments and events.  We also took a lot of classes together.  I especially remember Sewing and Health & Family Matters (or whatever that class was really called), and as always, the way she could make me laugh.  There were lots of other moments, and she was always around, we were always around together, but we weren’t as close then as we were when we were younger.  And yet, I continued to love her.

Graduation came and we didn’t keep in touch.  To be fair, I didn’t really keep in touch with much of anybody.  I was going through my own struggles and felt so removed from those years, like it was a whole other life.  I got married too young, moved to Arizona, moved back to Oregon, got divorced, had a long string of bad relationships, drank too much, didn’t sleep enough–was too busy “smashing myself to bits.”  I was so lost.

One day, my mom said, “Did you know that Heather Sherman is sick?”  I had no idea what she was talking about.  She explained that Heather had leukemia and was very sick.  I was stunned.  Just a few days later, there was an article in the paper about her.

I was in shock, and felt like a jerk.  This person I loved so much, I had essentially forgotten.  I was so caught up in my own stink and struggle that she’d slipped away from me.  But now what did I do?  “Hey Heather, I know we haven’t talked in awhile, but I heard that you were sick–you wanna hang out or something?”  After thinking about it, I finally decided that I would write her a letter, give it to my mom to give to her dad (at the time, they worked at the same middle school), who could give it to Heather.  That way, even if she didn’t want to see me, she’d know I was thinking about her.

But I waited too long.  I was still writing the letter when the newspaper published her obituary.  I walked around that whole day in a daze.  How could this have happened? Why was I so stupid, so slow?  The guilt, the shame, the sadness froze me in place and, (I will always regret this), I didn’t go to her funeral.

20 years later, I try to give myself a break, try to forgive myself.  I was only 22 at the time, and pretty screwed up.  And when it happened again, with Kelly, I made sure she knew how much I loved her, and I bought a plane ticket and flew to Kentucky for her memorial service.  I might not have realized how important that would be if I hadn’t made the mistake of staying away from Heather’s.

Heather’s loss woke me up.  I cleaned myself up, stopped dating, moved back to my parent’s house and went back to school.  I wasn’t going to waste my life any more.  Heather didn’t have a choice, but I did, and to honor her, I was going to start living and making better choices.  And I still find myself on many days, when I feel like giving up, reminding myself that Heather can’t, so I have to.

From ‘In Blackwater Woods’

To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

~ Mary Oliver ~

  • Who are you missing?  Who are you honoring with your life?