And the horse it rode in on

Content warning: 
This post contains harsh language. I am angry and sad and I use four letter words. For those of you looking for my usual thoughts about grief and returning to life, this week I need to write about something else.

David Bowie died from cancer this week.

So did Alan Rickman. I'm sure there are others of whom I am not aware. Some are likely people you know and love.

This past Monday I had my bi-annual MRI to make sure the cancer I had at 26 has not returned. I was in the same facility where Kevin had his chemo, where he had to use a wheelchair because he could no longer walk more than 15 feet and where we briefly thought there was some version of hope.

This past Monday was the anniversary of the death of my new man's father, lung cancer.

Tomorrow, Saturday, is the third anniversary of the death of another friend, pancreatic cancer. Early this week was the anniversary of another friend's mother, glioblastoma.

And on this coming Monday it will be two years since Kevin, my sweet, strong, smart, amazing husband, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

It's everywhere. Cancer is fucking everywhere. 

I can only think it's in the water, the air, our food, clothing and very cells. I can only think it's waiting for us all, the punchline to some terrible joke of our own misbegotten humor. And yes, I know the mechanisms so I understand that yes, it is technically waiting for us all. I am not interested in recommended cures or preventatives at this moment, nor am I interested in theories about who is responsible and why. Right now I am angry and I need to rage. I held my anger in check while he was ill because it wouldn't have helped. Since his death I have been careful about what anger I have vented in front of witnesses. Right now, in this moment, at this writing, I am angry.

Pancreatic cancer used to be rare. Maybe it was rare because by the time it's found it's typically everywhere so people didn't know it was pancreatic in origin, but it wasn't this common. It's about to displace breast cancer as the third most common cancer in the U.S. It is arguably the most fatal and yet still research is underfunded because it kills so quickly there is little profit in prevention or cure (1). 

When Kevin was sick and fighting it was very hard to not see the cancer as having some kind of malevolent intelligence. No matter what we did it snuck around us and had a more effective counter move. It was so fast. It was so wicked. I know, it has no innate intelligence but I'll be damned if it didn't seem like it did.

None of that really matters. What matters is that someone I love/d more than my own self was eaten alive by this demon. What matters is that someone you love was, too. 

Such a waste.

Fuck cancer. Fuck the culture that teaches us that it's better to smoke and to eat unhealthy foods than to love ourselves enough to take care of our bodies. Fuck the greed that says poisoning our environment is worth the risks. Fuck the mindset that says the treatment or prevention must make back the cost of research and development, never mind how many lives it might save.

Fuck cancer and the horse it rode in on (2). Today I am angry and sad and just needed to say all of this. Because I couldn't save him. Because even with all the good in my life, even with new love and hope (the new does not replace the old) I miss Kevin with a ferocity that tears me open and leaves me empty. Because cancer is the mother fucker that stole him from me. Because sometimes rage is the best we can do.

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1. If you'd like to donate towards research, early testing and treatment I recommend these organizations: Pancreatic Cancer Action Network (which is more patient focused) and The Lustgarten Foundation (which has more of a research bent). For what it's worth, I have the Lustgarten Foundation set up for my Amazon Smile page.

2. I know many people reading this will have lost someone to something other than cancer. I am in no way minimizing your loss and pain. I'm just expressing mine. Thanks for understanding.

RIP Seamus Heaney

Digging
Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb  
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound  
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:  
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds  
Bends low, comes up twenty years away  
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills  
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft  
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.  
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.

Some thoughts on tv storytelling, James Gandolfini and why we love the ordinary villain

Not so long ago (but well before the advent of Hulu, Netflix or decent content on YouTube) I was one of the people who quite proudly proclaimed, "I don't watch television." This wasn't really true. I didn't own a tv, but I'd sneak a Simpsons episode here and there, watch Star Trek at a friend's house, you know, the standard behavior of a reformed addict. But I didn't really miss it, nor did I feel a need to watch tv regularly. It wasn't well written, it wan't compelling, it didn't tell a story I found engaging.

All of that changed with The Sopranos. I missed the first season, but by the middle of the second, I found myself thoroughly enmeshed in the trials and tribulations of the Soprano family. I kept telling myself it was just another soap opera, that my addiction didn't make any sense, but what I came to realize was this: 1) it was a really well-written soap opera, 2) the acting was superb, I could believe everyone and 3) soap operas matter to us because they tell such human stories.

At its core, The Sopranos was the story of a man trying to do right by his family, do his job, find a place in his community, all while being deeply flawed. Who among us hasn't tried to do right while being deeply flawed?

After The Sopranos, television began to change. We are now in a new golden age of tv storytelling, with many shows where story and writing really matters. You may argue with me, that there was great tv before The Sopranos, that's fine. For me, that one show was the tipping point. Before there was very little I found deeply compelling, certainly nothing that didn't also include lasers, space and maybe a giant lizard or two. Now I have to choose between riches. It's as though The Sopranos helped audiences realize we could actually consume things that weren't bad for us, there was more than junk food and the occasional laser-enhanced apple. Where before the best written show I could find was Babylon 5 (which was often spectacular and, if nothing else, had great special effects), now I am offered good writing not only in sci-fi but right here on earth. Television producers have realized that good storytelling matters. That the audience's intelligence matters. That believability matters.

Which brings me to the quality of acting we now find on tv. The Sopranos raised the bar not only for writing/filming/directing, but acting. By casting James Gandolfini, Edie Falco and others, the producers were putting a stake in the ground, stating they wanted their characters to have all the visible unspoken nuances of any living person. That takes real acting chops.

James Gandolfini made Tony Soprano more than just a standard mafia don. His acting skill brought a very human complexity to the part. The writing opened the door, but his acting meant we were able to step into Tony's shoes. We could empathize with his love of eating leftovers from the fridge because of the delight on his face as he snuck that bite of lasagna. We felt his frustration with and love for his kids. Our hearts broke as he yearned to be a good husband but didn't quite know how.

None of this would have been possible without Mr. Gandolfini's skill as an actor and the opportunity he was given by such superb scripts. Just watch this clip from the very end of The Sopranos (really the end, the end of the last episode ever). Watch the play of emotions on his face as he observes everyone coming in. Watch his hope and frustration with his son. The ordinary conversation with his wife. The very mundanity of it all makes it real and makes it ours.


That we could identify so closely with Tony Soprano means we were able to have morally ambiguous feelings when he erupted into a murderous rage. We liked Tony. We understood so much about him. Did this mean we understood his dark side as well?

Ordinary villains, well-portrayed, allow us to connect to our own darker yearnings. We all have those stray uncomfortable thoughts. By empathizing with fictional characters, ordinary villains, we can live those thoughts out, just a little, without feeling too much guilt. Truly evil villains are too repugnant for most of us to want to identify with; we need to feel sympathy for the devil to get that fictional release. We all want to be bad, but we all also want to be loved. Tony Soprano let us experience that. James Gandolfini made it possible.

Since The Sopranos, there have been many other superb tv shows, well-written, well-acted, well-produced. Good storytelling, no matter the format or topic, gives us a doorway into our own lives, a chance to reflect and identify that we might not have otherwise have had. Yes, this is wildly different from live storytelling, but there is still value here that I didn't admit to before The Sopranos.

I now own a tv. I'm hooked on a couple of shows. And I'm grateful for the life and talent of people like James Gandolfini, who open that door and say, "Look. Here you are. Here we all are."

P.S. What are you watching? What do you consider good tv storytelling? I'd love to know.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

RIP Ray Bradbury. Thank you.

"You have been put in this world to love the act of being alive." Amen.



(c)2012 Laura S. Packer