I went through a depression period during my junior year of college. I can’t intellectually explain why that happened — but what I can do is chalk it up to a chemical imbalance because there was nothing ‘wrong’ with my life per se.
What I vividly remember is seeing life through a pair of dirty sunglasses. The hue was dark and I was unable to clearly process my emotions. One example was holding a grudge against my older siblings. I concocted a story in my head that they didn’t want to get to know me.
We live several states apart from each other — a 7 hour drive, or a 400+ mile road trip, or one overpriced plane ride with one layover included. By the time my Dad’s job transferred to the Washington D.C. area from New York when I was eight years old, my two oldest siblings stayed behind because they were old enough to take care of themselves. There is a 12-13 year difference between us.
During clinical depression, the lens in which someone looks through is not clear.
I believe that, since my oldest siblings and I didn’t talk much, if at all except major family functions, graduations, and holidays, that it meant they simply didn’t want to know me. Really know me.
As I made my way out of the year of depression, I spent the better part of the next 20 years working on achieving the closest thing I possibly could to find enlightenment without ever actually visiting a shrine or monastery. I don’t think I’ll be joining Mother Teresa and Buddha poolside when my soul meets them on the other side, but, I have done quite a bit of work to rise my level of consciousness and hope to at least get their autograph.
I eventually realized that my siblings do love me — despite the fact we wouldn’t talk very often. As we have all gotten older and the significant age gap didn’t feel quite as tangible, we found things to relate to and share common interests together. Families, children, life struggles, life celebrations, and life experiences. Today I am grateful to feel close to my siblings, even if we don’t talk daily or weekly, our bond is unbreakable.
One week ago, I learned that my oldest brother has cancer. I fondly refer to him as “#1.” He returns the sentiment and calls me “#5” — the number of our birth order. I like to think that... even though he’s literally #1 in our lineup... he truly embodies being #1 in every sense of the word. I feel the love he has for me whenever we talk, it’s nearly palpable.
He is the unlucky recipient of a genetic DNA component that makes our family more susceptible to melanoma. We have moles in places on our bodies that have never seen the sun. There are too many relatives to list who have also battled this disease, including him — multiple times over.
Despite being checked, like clock work, every 3 months, by the best doctors in the United States of America, he got cancer — and it spread — to his brain.
A family of tumors decided to make themselves at home in my brother’s head. These uninvited house guests have left quite an impression — some are small, some are large, and they’ve established a road map around the entire circumference of the most important and complex organ in his body.
I am considered an intuitive and an empath — I have an active “third eye” as they say. He doesn’t know this, until he reads it himself, but the day he texted all 5 of his siblings in a group message, that he’d like to have a conference call with our family later that evening, shortly thereafter I had a knowing come over me that he had stage 4 [cancer]. And, I knew it wasn’t melanoma in its original form, either. I knew it was something bigger, and that it was really, really bad.
I attempted to meditate, spent time clearing my chakras / energy, and scolded myself not to jump to conclusions before our phone call — because that’s the right thing to do. Stay present. But, I knew it, in my gut, in my being, I knew it and my intuition told me so.
Over the next few days, while processing the unfathomable news, I found myself in a hostile warfare with my own brain. One part, the part I know intimately, is being positive, optimistic, hopeful, and believing that our thoughts manifest. Well, that part was sharing equal space with the other part of my brain that is highly analytical, data-driven, and 100% truth-seeking based solely on facts.
All of the self development tools I’ve been collecting during the last two decades, are being put to the test, maybe more than ever before. I can decide to live in fear, I can decide to focus on numbers and ratios and percentages and clinical trials. Or I can decide to live in miracles.
Tomorrow a neurosurgeon will remove one of the tumors, which will then be tested, and ultimately determine which course of treatment he’ll follow. The phenomenal news is that over the last 10 years or so, incredible strides have been made in metastatic melanoma treatments, so he has a much, much better shot today than if this had happened in the past.
Blessings — they’re everywhere — and not a single one goes unnoticed in a very blurry moment in time.
“He who has a ‘why’ to live for, can endure any ‘how’.”
Much of my career has been spent in and around the medical field. Susan G. Komen for the Cure was a client of mine at one point, their mission is to educate people on breast cancer as well as raise funds for research and awareness. The advertising agency I worked for at the time, helped them create mantras to be shouted at the breast cancer races — “ONE IN EIGHT. BEAT THAT RATE.” had to do with the number of women who will be diagnosed with the disease in their lifetime.
So, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that my considerably large family of siblings — six of us in total — might fall victim to a pretty terrible diagnosis at some point or another. Of course I didn’t expect it, but statistically I was aware that one of us may become a figure someday. There’s a joke in my family that none of us landed in jail. Statistically, among six kids, at least one of us could have very easily wound up on the wrong track so to speak — but, every single one of us received a college education, have successful careers, and loving families. It’s truly remarkable, and only into my adult years, could I put two-and-two together that our parents did a hell of a good job raising us.
It is so easy for me to get drunk on probabilities and case studies, because that’s what I’ve been taught, matters. Peer-reviewed journals trump a subjective medical opinion. Clinical outcomes beat out educated projections. I have caught myself being overwhelmed — can’t catch my breath kind of overwhelmed— by these statistics.
I understand that deep down, it’s a safety mechanism from fear, to prepare myself for the worst. If I live with my head in the clouds, and take naps in Denial-land, then I’ll only be more upset if things don’t go in our favor. If I stare this thing in the face, then I won’t be caught offguard.
But I know that my mind is just trying protect me. Remember how complex I said it is?
What I have come to remember is that I don’t need protection. I am already protected, so, so protected. By the divine. I would say that, the singlest most important aspect of my life, is my faith.
So what do I need protection from? From my own bullshit. What has the past 20 years been for, learning to believe in the highest good, if…when it really counts, I play hooky.
I believe that life is one really long lesson. Usually there is one BIG lesson, and it is broken down into many, many, many opportunities to learn the lesson over the course of our lifetime. And, most of us, usually, choose to take the longer route to actually get the lesson.
Perhaps my lesson — on some level — is learning how to walk the walk, and not just talk the talk. My verbal game is pretty good. I can post an inspirational quote all day long, every hour on the hour, over social media…and still have more to spare in my back pocket. I can recite one liners from Oprah and her influencers. I can talk someone off a proverbial cliff with conviction and positivity. I have a piece of artwork on my fireplace mantle that reads, in all caps, NEVER NEVER NEVER GIVE UP.
But hand someone, who I love, a life-threatening diagnosis, and I nearly lose my grip.
Years ago I heard the expression, “control what you can control.” I’ve always loved that sentiment. It immediately brings me back to the present moment, and, offers logic.
If 10% of life is what happens to us, and 90% is how we react to it — and it’s really the only thing we can control, our attitudes — then it seems it’s time to go to battle with this metastatic brigade and kill every single cancer cell with an ocean’s worth of love.
Cancer inadvertently picked the wrong family. You see, we are six fiercely loyal humans who love each other to the moon and back, and then some more. I am one in six who will fight and pray and believe the best is in our future. I am one in six who will unshakably stand behind his own family, including his four beautiful children and wife. I am one in six who will give him all of my light. I am one in six who knows that if anyone in our family was to face, fight and win this — it’s Bobby. He is one in six who will overcome cancer...he is #1 afterall.
