The Unwinding of the Miracle - Julie Yip-Williams Page 0,84

for yourself what you are capable of; no one else can, not even Mommy or Daddy.

So Mommy worked really, really hard and exercised a lot of discipline. I studied a lot, and then people started to realize that even though I couldn’t see well, that didn’t mean I was dumb or that I couldn’t do anything with my life. I got really good grades in school and ended up going to a good college. I traveled all over the world by myself, which isn’t easy when you can’t see well. I found a good job. And do you know what was the best part, Mia? Finding Daddy and then having you and Belle. I never thought I would be able to find someone like your daddy who would love me so much, and neither did anyone else, it seemed, and all because I couldn’t see like everybody else. I never thought I could get married and have kids. I never thought anyone would want me. You, Belle, and Daddy are the best things that ever happened to me. But everything good in my life started because I was willing to work hard, to be determined and disciplined because I wanted something for myself so very much. That’s why I want you to learn the value of working hard. Don’t ever forget this story, okay? I want you to remember Mommy’s story forever.

Mia was quiet for a minute, and I knew she was processing in her quick brain what I had just told her. Then she said, “I won’t forget, Mommy, but you should write it down. Then when I’m bigger and I can read better, I can read the story and remind myself.”

29

A Game of Clue

Lately my thoughts have been trapped inside an exhausted mind.

I’ve been busy thinking about bathroom tiles and flooring and gilded wallpaper, calculating costs and pondering the finer details of the proposed layout. How I wish that my life was made up entirely of mundaneness, for I am so sick of existentialism. But alas, simplicity and normalcy have never been and will never be my destiny.

The cancer part of my life has dominated of late. In early September, I sank into the darkness of a new abyss, one characterized by anger, bitterness, hate, and paralyzing loneliness. The recent loss of two true friends, combined with the horrible side effects from my most recent treatment plan, has pushed me over the edge.

These were friends whom I saw from time to time, and whom I visited a few weeks before they died. Chris was a kind soul, beloved husband, father, brother, son, and friend, chess player and teacher and, least of all, my mentor of sorts on this cancer journey. He listened to my ramblings over lunch or tea, observed how I had grown over the months from the belligerent warrior who was determined to beat this cancer to the more contemplative philosopher who seeks above all else to find meaning, peace, and acceptance in a life over which I have little control. Cancer, at least for me, truly is a journey that makes me question and analyze all my beliefs about myself (as in whether I am strong or weak, brave or cowardly), about the existence of a higher being and its role in the affairs of mankind, about commitment and love (as in how far will I go to stay alive for my family), about the meaning of my life and life in general, about death and what awaits.

If you are open to these inevitable questions, which only something like incurable cancer can force into the forefront of your mind, if you allow yourself the time and patience to mull over these complex, baffling, painful, and impossible queries, the journey will both change you (for the better, I believe) and make you more of who you have always been.

Chris understood that long before I did. We shared a similar philosophy, heavily influenced by Buddhist thought, but he was wiser than I, and so he was a teacher to me. I went to see him as he was entering hospice care. We sat on his terrace with a view of the Atlantic Ocean and talked of his sadness and expectations, and I marveled at his genuine lack of bitterness, anger, and fear; he was grace and dignity personified. As I said my final farewell, knowing that I would never see him again, I hugged him and asked him to wait for me on the other