To the woman who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.
The woman whose particular cancer, the doctor said, is the “bad kind.” Whatever the hell that means. Is there a “good kind” of breast cancer?
To the woman who had triple negative markers, which meant the chances of her cancer returning were high.
To the woman who had to look the doctors directly in their eyes, maintaining her composure, when they told her she needed a double mastectomy.
The same woman who has been undergoing chemo. Who has quarts of toxins coursing through her veins right now, killing her cells, both good cells and bad cells.
I’m talking about the woman who isn’t used to being The Patient. Who used to be so full of dutiful energy for helping others. Who would do anything for anyone. And did.
This heroic woman once made sacrifices for nearly everybody else. This woman once crawled out of bed each day and hit the floor running, living for the betterment of her people.
This same woman now has a hard time getting off the sofa. She feels sickly, nauseated, and weak all the time.
I write this to the woman who used to occupy her waking hours doing busywork for others, who always put herself last. Who was happiest when she was functioning as a caregiver. Who was most comfortable serving someone else.
Whose purpose in life, arguably, was others. Who was a mainstay for her family. Who is, who has been, and who will forever be her clan’s touchstone.
The same woman who currently feels as though the universe has turned a blind eye toward her. Who feels—even though she might not admit this to herself—that God is indifferent to her. Who feels like God is being unfair. The same woman who might not even want to read His three-letter name right now.
That woman.
The woman who, over the span of her lifetime, has given so much love to other humans, to each soul who has crossed her pathway; each child, elder, and animal. Who gave until she had nothing left. And then kept giving more.
I have a message for you, ma’am.
It’s your turn.
Don’t ask me how I know this, but I do, somehow. That’s the message. “It is your turn.”
Right now is your time. To receive the same love which you have so amply given to others. It is your turn to sit in the proverbial passenger seat of life, and feel the unwavering care and self-sacrifice of your friends and loved ones.
It’s your turn to be an onlooker, as your people find the sacred nectar of human kindness within their own hearts, and learn precisely what to do with it.
That’s why I’m writing this to you. To send you this message. I’m a lone voice in the technology wilderness, I have no credibility, and I am not even a vary gud riter.
But you know what I’m saying is true. You know. And so I’m gently reminding you that it’s okay to take this love that’s being given to you.
To drink it in. To slip beneath its surface and let it cover you like warm water in a bathtub. To let others do for you what you cannot do for yourself. To be a recipient—perhaps for the first time in your life.
So feel it. Feel this love, wholly and entirely. Experience the vast expanse of benevolence and devotion that is about to be heaped upon you by those in your life who want nothing more than an opportunity to adore you.
Take it all in. Because Love is a three-letter word.
