It's my birthday today.
To my amazement, people turned up who I hadn't seen for years and years. School friends from my teenage years; people I shared my home with decades ago (when we lived in the L'Arche community in South London); colleagues who had moved out of London.
They travelled from Holland and all corners of the UK. I was deeply touched.
Between them, they contributed musical performances and poetry recitals, beautiful handmade things to be auctioned and raffled, home cooked food, organisational help, enthusiasm - and raised over £2,000 for charity. Extraordinary.
I thought that this was the most eventful time of my mid-life. And I thought that this was the biggest demonstration of shared friendship and love I would ever get.
But I was wrong on both counts.
I look at that picture of myself, just one year ago, and I think: You have no idea what's coming.
I marvel at all the things that have happened since then...
First off, I went to Iceland with my best friend.
We planned that trip a decade ago. "We'll do it when we're fifty," we promised ourselves when we discovered that we would both love to go. By then, I reckoned, my children would be old enough to be left behind.
When you have a five year old, it seems impossible that one day he will be fifteen. New parents, take heed. It happens, and it doesn't take a decade. It happens overnight.
This country is amazing, I thought. I must come here with my husband. We will need an excuse. Perhaps in six years time, for our 25th wedding anniversary?
Then, during the winter months, we planted 1000 trees.
Earlier that year, we had taken over a couple of fields in East Sussex. Planting a wood was a vague plan that seemed slightly ridiculous ("Wouldn't it be nice if..."). But then suddenly the Woodland Trust, jumping at our idea, declared that they'd help us out by sourcing and delivering these trees for us.
"You need 150 oaks, 100 hazel, 100 wild cherry..." On it went. We were clueless, so we nodded, impressed.
"We can deliver them next week!" they said. This was just before Christmas, but how could we refuse?
Instead of being given a mince pie, Christmas guests were given a spade and put to work. Friends and family gave up their time to come and help out. Over the next six weeks, we dug 1000 holes, planted 1000 tiny baby trees, tied up 1000 protective tubes.
Just as well we seized the moment and didn't leave it another year.
This picture was taken at the end of January, only two months before my cancer diagnosis. Having become a bit of a dab hand at it, two of us planted 250 trees in less than two days.
Now, I cannot imagine ever having had such energy.
You already know about the rest of my eventful year.
The cancer. The lumpectomy. The mastectomy. My mother dying. Chemotherapy. Five months off work, with more to come. Quite possibly, in a few months' time, radiotherapy (my fate is not yet decided on that front).
Utter exhaustion. (I am tired just thinking about my year. I promise you, it's not normally this eventful.)
But also: an outpouring of love from family, friends, acquaintances. Even from people I don't really know.
Take this Sunday, for example. I was handed a get-well-soon-card by some people in church I have nodded to, but never spoken to. Thank you Irene for all the pleasure you give us with your music, it read. We are praying for you.
How amazing is that?
I may have thought that my 50th birthday celebration was special, but it was nothing compared with the love I have received during the past five months.
And sitting here, at the close of my 51st birthday, minus a mother and a breast, tired from all the cancer treatments, I am left with an extraordinary realisation.
Despite the losses, the worries, the exhaustion, I am no less happy now than I was a year ago.
I am counting my blessings. They are easy to count, because they are prominent. Overflowing. How can I be unhappy?
Besides, our trees are growing. I go and sit among those trees whenever I can get away from London. And that, I can tell you, is just pure joy. I am a lucky woman.
When I turned 50 last year, the milestone seemed rather arbitrary but nevertheless warranted attention. I'm not a great fan of parties (I can't dance, for starters), so I threw a fundraising bash.
 |
| At my 50th birthday fundraising event |
They travelled from Holland and all corners of the UK. I was deeply touched.
Between them, they contributed musical performances and poetry recitals, beautiful handmade things to be auctioned and raffled, home cooked food, organisational help, enthusiasm - and raised over £2,000 for charity. Extraordinary.
 |
| One of the many performances |
 |
| My school friends selling Dutch cheese for charity |
 |
| For auction - all contributions hand-made by friends and family |
I thought that this was the most eventful time of my mid-life. And I thought that this was the biggest demonstration of shared friendship and love I would ever get.
But I was wrong on both counts.
I look at that picture of myself, just one year ago, and I think: You have no idea what's coming.
I marvel at all the things that have happened since then...
 |
| Hot springs in Iceland, October 2013 |
We planned that trip a decade ago. "We'll do it when we're fifty," we promised ourselves when we discovered that we would both love to go. By then, I reckoned, my children would be old enough to be left behind.
When you have a five year old, it seems impossible that one day he will be fifteen. New parents, take heed. It happens, and it doesn't take a decade. It happens overnight.
This country is amazing, I thought. I must come here with my husband. We will need an excuse. Perhaps in six years time, for our 25th wedding anniversary?
Then, during the winter months, we planted 1000 trees.
Earlier that year, we had taken over a couple of fields in East Sussex. Planting a wood was a vague plan that seemed slightly ridiculous ("Wouldn't it be nice if..."). But then suddenly the Woodland Trust, jumping at our idea, declared that they'd help us out by sourcing and delivering these trees for us.
"You need 150 oaks, 100 hazel, 100 wild cherry..." On it went. We were clueless, so we nodded, impressed.
"We can deliver them next week!" they said. This was just before Christmas, but how could we refuse?
Instead of being given a mince pie, Christmas guests were given a spade and put to work. Friends and family gave up their time to come and help out. Over the next six weeks, we dug 1000 holes, planted 1000 tiny baby trees, tied up 1000 protective tubes.
 |
| Planting 1000 trees in East Sussex, winter 2013-14 |
 |
| On a roll with the tree planting, February 2014 |
Just as well we seized the moment and didn't leave it another year.
This picture was taken at the end of January, only two months before my cancer diagnosis. Having become a bit of a dab hand at it, two of us planted 250 trees in less than two days.
Now, I cannot imagine ever having had such energy.
You already know about the rest of my eventful year.
The cancer. The lumpectomy. The mastectomy. My mother dying. Chemotherapy. Five months off work, with more to come. Quite possibly, in a few months' time, radiotherapy (my fate is not yet decided on that front).
Utter exhaustion. (I am tired just thinking about my year. I promise you, it's not normally this eventful.)
But also: an outpouring of love from family, friends, acquaintances. Even from people I don't really know.
Take this Sunday, for example. I was handed a get-well-soon-card by some people in church I have nodded to, but never spoken to. Thank you Irene for all the pleasure you give us with your music, it read. We are praying for you.
How amazing is that?
I may have thought that my 50th birthday celebration was special, but it was nothing compared with the love I have received during the past five months.
And sitting here, at the close of my 51st birthday, minus a mother and a breast, tired from all the cancer treatments, I am left with an extraordinary realisation.
Despite the losses, the worries, the exhaustion, I am no less happy now than I was a year ago.
I am counting my blessings. They are easy to count, because they are prominent. Overflowing. How can I be unhappy?
Besides, our trees are growing. I go and sit among those trees whenever I can get away from London. And that, I can tell you, is just pure joy. I am a lucky woman.
I've changed my mind on one thing. I'm not going to wait six years before heading to Iceland with my husband. We should go, I have suggested, as soon as all this is over. Cancer is a marvellous excuse for almost everything, and recovering from cancer is just as good.
Carpe diem. Seize the day.
Comments
Post a Comment