I called a man I didn’t know. The reason doesn’t matter. When no one answered, I left a message, but not before hearing the cleverest recorded invitation I’ve ever encountered. It ended with the words:
You leave it, I’ll retrieve it.
I did connect with the fellow a day later, but he said that a meeting between us would have to wait until he returned from Europe. He died soon after his trip home. The six-word sentence had transformed into a non-sequitur, an illogical request given his demise.
He could no longer “retrieve it.” He had “left” the message and all else. Whatever remained would have to be retrieved by someone other than this person, divided among his heirs, or thrown away. One hopes those words were not his last for those he cared about.
The stranger had a prolonged bout with cancer and defeated it, or at least knocked it to the ground for a long while. Some cancers enter remission, partial or complete. These multi-formed monsters can be tricky devils, pushed to the mat and unconscious after they have been drugged out or cut out. Time passes. If they spring up with renewed strength, the disease has been known to take no prisoners, sweeping a life away as if it were a breadcrumb on the dinner table.
I have lost friends and relatives in this way, but have dodged the menace myself. It remains unimaginable to me. Of course, I can try to imagine it, but there must be a difference between thinking of it from the outside and living the invasion from the inside.
We don’t own complete awareness, not even those who have overcome it. I have suffered close to unendurable physical pain for other reasons, but I lack the words, the memory, and the feelings to describe those episodes even to myself. The capacity to retrieve past agonies in visceral form would ruin most futures. Recreating them in full would poison time.
I do know the fear of its return remains for many who have survived cancer. A different thing from anguish, but by itself, terrifying.
We all watch children whose joy is without such concerns. Those with loving parents, good health, and food on the table live in innocence, free of life’s terrible possibilities. The kids are like Adam and Eve before they ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Their bodies flip, leap, bounce, spin, laugh, and smile.
God bless them.
If I could, I would wave a magic wand and make this simple purity permanent.
I helped adults and teens achieve better lives, but magic was not my specialty then and is not now. If it were, two boys — my grandchildren — would be first in line to benefit from my prestidigitation.
Love is a wonderful experience, but innocence — the opposite of nightmarish disease — cannot be rendered in words or memory. We watch the wonder of our children’s joy and are filled with gladness.
Perhaps that is what remains of innocence past childhood.
A gift for us, too.
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A Small Car For Kids by ekstrazabawki.pl, sourced from Wikimedia Commons.
My first read of the day and it leaves me wondering about life and death; and the end. I am on the downward side of life’s sloping arc… and sometimes my thoughts wander. I imagine in your line of work, you come across people who are struggling with life and death as well. Hopefully you are able to help them retrieve it. Peace.
Yes, I worked on this, Clay. Thank you for your thoughtful comment. Awareness of death as our universal end is not a sign of psychological disturbance unless it is haunting and present in the extreme. Indeed, as we begin to lose people, it is quite natural to think about it. The best we can do is to allow time’s urgency to cause us to make use of whatever remains.
Two things, dear Dr. Stein:
First…your two opening sentences – “I called a man I didn’t know. The reason doesn’t matter.” I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s immense evocative power in those words. Like the beginning of an epic poem. Or a thoughtful essay…😉
Second…this observation: …”innocence…cannot be rendered in words or memory.” Oh my. Quite right. Fleeting…so much so that it’s hardly memorable. Just a whisper.
Many thanks. 💝
Your two comments are also no small thing. I am glad you liked the opening. I don’t think I’ve ever written one quite like it, but my opinion is far less important than whatever the reader makes of it. As to #2, yes fleeting, and impossible to capture, like the mist. Thank you, Vicki.
You’re very welcome…thank you! 💝
Beautiful words. Wonderful sentiments. I too have undergone cancer and the effects of treatment. The pain was obscene and the fear of its return from dormancy remains in my consciousness and in my dreams. But if I had the opportunity to do it over, I would appreciate my physical being but not the state of being a child. At least not the child damaged by toxic parents. But it’s still great to be alive today.
You are convincing, Enid, in your desire to live. I am glad to hear that the cancer is dormant. As to childhood bliss, I probably came out pretty well, though my own parental issues, those I remember, were later. Thank you for your kudos, Enid. And keep enjoying the life you have!
Caro Dottor Stein,
Again!
Again!
And again!
The amazing magical Jung’s synchronicity!
Just finished, 5th or 6th time, the last page oh Solhenitsyn’s “Cancer- Pavillon”.
How the most profound Humanity pervades this text in a world of despair, terror, pain!
One of my best friends is going through chemotherapy just now, and I lost mid-June my dearest friend, the one you meet early in your life, the one you share with teenager’s difficulties and joys. Brain-cancer.
I feel terror to have cancer. I try to have an healthy, and spiritual! life.
Music helps, prayers too, believing I will see one day my beloved again, after death and share eternal Joy with them, too
Only God knows the moment, the hour.
I try to keep my own infant’s innocence, joy every day, even on the greyest days.
Even one only second is enough to keep on honouring the life who was given to me.
Grazie di cuore per la Sua umanità, dottor Stein.
I’m sure it’s exactly the same one as Vega Gornilieva’s.
Thank you for your touching kindness, Micaela. All my good wishes concerning your loved ones, and my condolences on the loss of your lifelong friend in June. With all my support that faith and your music reinforce the joy you find in each day.
Dr. Stein, if only all of the world’s children could grow up “with loving parents, good health, and food on the table [and] live in innocence, free of life’s terrible possibilities”! My neighbors’ children and grandchildren I’ve witnessed grow up to young adulthood have all suffered the loss of one parent (including my own sons).
I agree, if only all children could grow up innocent and free from the troubles of life.
I am sorry that your neighbors’ children and grandchildren, as well as your sons, have been impacted by life’s darkness early on in their lives. If indeed there was no time that they found joy in their early years, Rosaliene, that circumstance is a great misfortune.
I can only speak for my sons, Dr. Stein. I did everything possible to add joy to their lives.
I am sure you did, Rosaliene.
My youngest granddaughter had cancer, twice. The first time she was 4 months old and lost a kidney. The second cancer was when she was a year old, that one was stage 4 lung cancer. My daughter blamed herself, thinking she must have done something during pregnancy, and it took her a long time to stop blaming herself.
Miss T, as a baby was happy and laughing all the time for the nurses, one wouldn’t think that child was battling cancer. When she learned to talk, whenever she had a good day, she would pronounce it “the best day ever!” Her older sister questioned why she did that, all the time.
We told her that even though Miss T had been tiny when she had gone through both battles, her spirit knew what she had experienced, and she had become very grateful for each day. My daughter and I learned profound lessons from this child.
A story of tragedy, resilience, and the capacity for joy. I hope she survived beyond her childhood, Tamara. My condolences if she did not.
Wonderful post, Dr. Stein. Observing the innocence and purity of children is definitely a gift. It passes so fast, and we’ll miss those moments if we don’t pay attention. It also makes us think about our mortality. Your commentary reminded me of Jesus’s words in Matthew: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Thank you, Edward. If only we could sustain some part of that innocence. We seem to be falling rather short lately.
Sadly, you’re absolutely right. It’s appalling what we’re seeing right now.
What a beautiful, beautiful essay, Dr. Stein. I watch the joy my kids experience every day with such amazement and wonder and you’ve captured it here. I suspect that the pain I’ve gone through helps me to appreciate the moments I can lean in to joy.
I think you do possess magic — the magic of words that can deepen our experience of gladness and remind us that we can survive pain. Thank you for your magic!
Well, no one has called me a magician before. Thank you for your kindness in saying that, Wynne.
What a lovely, evocative post, Dr Stein.
My 97yo neighbor passed away this morning and i am happy for her as she was ready to go and had been for quite some time.
As for innocence, I am daily blown away by the beauty in Kepler. His affection and caring heart are more than i ever imagined experiencing as a mother.
This post is a gift to the world, or for sure at least to me.
Thank you so much, Susan. I am glad it touched you, and especially for it evoking your son. Those who encounter him surely will be fortunate.