March 25, 2007
what would you do with the rest of your life?
Bathroom, finished.
I’ve been thinking all weekend about Elizabeth Edwards. On Friday, in the Dallas airport, I picked up an abandoned USA Today and read that she had been diagnosed with stage IV cancer, that it had metastasized, working its way into her bones. I read that women with this type of cancer have about a one in four chance of surviving the five years after diagnosis. I read that Mrs. Edwards’ children are 25 and 8 and 6.
And I read that she wants her husband to keep campaigning for the White House.
Over the weekend, I read the criticisms of John and Elizabeth Edwards, the claims that he is selfish and ego-driven, the worries that he would be unable to function as President with a sick or dying wife, the gloomy pronouncements that the death of a First Lady is not what the country needs right now. I read about how Elizabeth Edwards is in denial, about the seriousness of her illness and the difficulty of being the First Lady and the abandonment her children will feel if she leaves them to go stump for her husband and then dies.
And I thought, yes, that’s all probably true or accurate or right, to some extent.
But when I try to imagine myself in Elizabeth Edwards’ shoes, when I try to think about having a terminal illness and small children and a husband who has dedicated himself to public service, I understand why she has chosen the road she has, why it is so important to her that the campaign go on. If John Edwards gives up the White House right now, it is an acknowledgment that the cancer has won, and if they admit that defeat, then what is left?
This winter, for the second time in three years, I was diagnosed with an ovarian cyst. I went for an ultrasound, without telling anyone but Wade, and then waited to hear if it was something or nothing. It was nothing, again, and my doctor said, as she has before, that we will continue to keep an eye on it, but that she’s not worried. But in that two weeks, between the first appointment and the test results, I thought about what it would mean to have cancer, how it would change my life. And more than anything, what I wanted was for it NOT to change my life.
Elizabeth Edwards’ story is staying with me for a lot of reasons, but mostly I think because her son Jack and Henry are about the same age. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have terminal cancer or to have a husband who believes that he is qualified to run our country, but I know what it’s like to have a six year old, right now, today. I know what it’s like to wonder how that boy would grow up if he were to lose his mother.
“I think the best thing you can give your children is wings,” Mrs. Edwards said, to teach them to “stand by themselves in a stiff wind.” I hope that I can do that, with the rest of my life. I hope Elizabeth Edwards will be doing that for a long long time to come.
Posted by Susan @ 9:30 pm • Uncategorized
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March 25th, 2007 at 10:34 pm, Stephenie Says:
I think you’re exactly right. I believe that as mothers, no matter what is thrown at us, we must always persever for the sake of our children. I admire Elizabeth for her strength and unselfishness–that will be a true testimony to her children of the kind of wife and mother that she chose to be.
March 26th, 2007 at 12:18 am, Annika Says:
Damn it, Susan, stop making me cry.
March 26th, 2007 at 5:20 am, daysgoby Says:
Wow.
March 26th, 2007 at 5:48 am, Anonymous Says:
Susan, EE has been on my mind as well. I do not have children and can’t imagine what this all will mean to her family in the future. But I admire her courage and confidence, as well as the example she is setting for herself and her family. She is EXACTLY the example our country needs right now. Thanks for your blog— love it. Debbie
March 26th, 2007 at 6:14 am, cce Says:
First, I’m glad you’re scare was not CANCER. And second,I’m so tremendously bummed out by EE’s cancer news. I kept thinking that the Edwards family must be just so flipping shocked and appalled and ‘woe is me’ about the whole thing but they seem to be pushing on and head above and all that. I applaud them and hope EE’s crisis can give her husband wings b/c we really need him in the White House.
March 26th, 2007 at 6:42 am, Mir Says:
Amen.
March 26th, 2007 at 6:53 am, Amy W Says:
Great post. Being here in North Carolina, we are getting bombarded in the news with this story. I am with you, Cancer wins if he quits.
March 26th, 2007 at 7:22 am, The June Cleaver Diaries Says:
I don’t think think that Elizabeth Edwards in in denial— I think she’s firmly grounded in reality. She’s helping set the stage for her family’s life once she’s gone.
March 26th, 2007 at 8:55 am, Mark Says:
They seem so real, unlike most of the people who run for president. I watch with fear, affection, and prayers.
I got to meet John Edwards when he was running four years ago, and I was very impressed.
March 26th, 2007 at 8:57 am, Mrs. Chicken Says:
I”ve had such a hard time with this story. My dad died of cancer at age 54 in 2004. He had a slow-growing colon cancer tumor that the docs speculate began growing in his late 30s.
I am going to be 36 this July and I have a colonoscopy every three years.
I worry often that I won’t get a chance to see my girl as a woman.
So I find it hard to swallow that this wife and mother will spend what are possibly some of her final moments away from her family, and without the presence of her husband as she faces her chemo.
As I commented on another blog, my husband and I put off our plans for grad school while my father was dying so we could spend his last moments with him.
It was not enough. I want more time with him.
I hope Mrs. Edwards finds peace and I hope this decision really is what she wants in her heart.
Still. I struggle with it.
March 26th, 2007 at 11:02 am, Tuesday Girl Says:
I had a cancer scare last year at 31 and it made me think of so many things differently. It made me stop just going through the motions of life and living it.
I hope Elizabeth’s strength and courage help women everywhere and I pray for her and her family.
March 26th, 2007 at 12:32 pm, Java Junkie Says:
My dad is a survivor of stage 4 cancer for 6 years now. Had even one of us uttered a belief that he wouldn’t make it, even though we all worried about it secretly, I don’t think he would have had the strength to go through what it takes to have stage 4 cancer. Last summer, and again here recently, he’s had two very real scares. Last summer he had a tumor in his lungs and recently another was found behind his eye. The one in his lungs was benign, the one behind his eye they cannot even biopsy because during his surgery for cancer the first time around he contracted MRSA at the hospital. It’s stopped responding to all treatment and will more than likely end his life much much sooner than cancer could or would. He told me last month that he’s moving to Australia on April 18th because he’s always wanted to go and if he doesn’t go now he won’t be strong enough to go in the future. He’s already lined up a job and a place to live, has sold most of his belongings and bought his plane ticket. He *IS* going. My selfish side wants to be angry at him and cry and tell him to spend his time here with his family. But I understand something that not many (thankfully) ever have to understand. When you’re way too young to be looking at the “What to do before I die” list but you’re forced to look at that list out of circumstance, it reads “What to do while I can” and eventually becomes “What to do with my life” and sometimes even “What to do to live.”
Shame on any of those who jump to judge poor Mrs. Edwards. I only hope that fate doesn’t backhand them with a good dose of “Judge not lest ye be judged” and put them in her shoes.
March 26th, 2007 at 8:42 pm, mausfrau Says:
First off, glad *you’re* all right.
I’m not sure what I’d do if I were Elizabeth Edwards. I think if I truly believed that my husband should be president, and not just because he was my husband but because he was what the country needed, that I would feel that I had an opportunity that few people ever get to shape history by helping him achieve that goal. But y’know, if it were my own mundane life, I would want to be at home with my baby as much as I possibly could.
Of course, this isn’t necessarily an immediate death sentence, either. My mother had advanced colon cancer when she was 30. She went on to have another child (me) at 38 and she’s 79 now. At the time she had it (late 50s) they didn’t think they could “cure” the cancer either. She wasn’t pronounced “cured” for 30 years. Who knows what kinds of treatment will be available next year?