I recently went on a silent meditation retreat that was held in upper New York. I have not had the opportunity to attend a retreat since prior to COVID. Before I left for the retreat, well intentioned people stated, “Have a relaxing time on your retreat!” However, attending a spiritual retreat – a meditation retreat- though it sounds relaxing, is some of the most challenging, though rewarding work that one can do for one's self.
My daughter was diagnosed with 4th stage cancer (rhabdomyosarcoma) in the summer of 2005. We were completely shocked as my daughter, by all accounts, was an incredibly healthy young 12-year-old. Yes, she had had innocuous symptoms for some months before – a lump on her hand (diagnosed by a doctor as a ganglion that would go away in time), extreme fatigue (cracked up to a pre-teen starting to hit puberty), pain in her bones (we thought it was growing pains), some congestion and wheezing (diagnosed as allergies/asthma). Individually these symptoms seemed fairly normal for a 12-year-old girl on the cusp of puberty. However, when x-rays were finally ordered for her lungs, we found that her lungs were riddled with tumours. Indeed, her cancer had started from that lump in her hand and had slowly encroached on her developing body. And so started her/our journey through cancer, which culminated in her death 15 months later at barely the age of 14 years.
I was angry – so angry. I was afraid…. living in fear. I did not know where to turn. I could barely breathe and felt like the core of my body and the entirety of my soul had been ripped out and torn to pieces. My chest compressed with despair and I was sure I would die. I started grasping for anything that would take me away from such agony.
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I grew up in a predominantly Christian home – my parents were Christian, and church (the United Church) was an important part of our lives. Sunday entailed attending services in the our small town and most of our neighbours attended our church - including some of my schoolteachers. I did love the sense of community that our church provided for me and for our family. I did not question my Christian ideology, as it was all that I knew.
As I matured, Christianity and indeed spirituality did not garner an important part of my life. However, my daughter’s diagnosis and death left me reeling from myself and I longed to find some meaning from such a tragic situation.
I had never had my two children baptized or Christened, as I wanted them to decide in their growing years on their own spiritual path. So as my daughter lay dying, I started to panic: “Will she go to hell because I did not get her baptized?” “Should I have her baptized?” …. Somehow, though, I knew that such a beautiful human being could not possibly end up in purgatory. She was a blessed human being, and I knew that God would never make such a judgment about someone who embodied grace, love, and forgiveness.
And so, on my daughter’s deathbed, reeling from the agony of watching her take her last breath, I really started my journey.
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Somehow, I found myself drawn to the teachings and the books of Pema Chodron. I am not clear on how I found my way to these teachings. Perhaps I was in the bookstore and happened upon some of her books; perhaps it was at the library perusing the spiritual section; or maybe someone mentioned her name to me – honestly those days/years were very fuzzy. Regardless, these two books changed my life: “When Things Fall Apart” and “The Places that Scare You” - and it all started to make sense. In fact, as I delved deeper, I knew on some level that my daughter (and indeed my surviving son) were/are some of my greatest spiritual teachers.
My daughter rarely, if at all, complained when she was going through tests, interventions, chemo, radiation, spinal taps, MRIs. I was blown away. I was complaining all the time. I was sad, angry – and part of me wished that she had been angrier – complained- fought. But she, in all her childlike wisdom, seemed to accept that her suffering/our suffering was not unique. In fact, it was ultimately what connected us to all the other families and children on the eighth floor (oncology) of Sick Children’s Hospital in Toronto. We were not special. We were on a similar journey in life that everyone else embodies. So instead of saying “Why me?” it became “Why not me?” Cancer/sickness/death is not a punishment. Indeed, this is what it means to be human. And this can become the glue that binds us and lends us to develop and grow compassion for all living beings.
Pema Chodron stated: “We can use our personal suffering as the path to compassion for all beings.” At first this even made me angry. Was I not already compassionate? Enough!!!!!!
But, as I journeyed through my readings, contemplated the lessons, it became so clear. I had given birth to my daughter – one of the scariest, painful and yet beautiful joyful experiences of my life. I felt euphoria the moment she took her first breath in the world outside my body. I cried; her father cried. Incredibly sacred.
I had watched my daughter die – it was terrifying, agonizing, and yet so sacred. My sister helped me wash her body, anoint her with lotion, and dress her with fresh clothes. I felt her soul leave, the minute her heart stopped. I cried; her father cried. Incredibly sacred.
“Birth is painful and delightful. Death is painful and delightful. Everything that ends is also the beginning of something else. Pain is not a punishment; pleasure is not a reward.”― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times
So, at this retreat at the Garrison Institute, after studying Buddhism for many years, I finally took the plunge and dedicated myself to “the path” by taking my Refuge Vows. And every day, I thank my daughter for taking me on this path of awakening. And I see and feel her in all the wonders of this world.
So I encourage you, in your suffering, to find your path. It may be Buddhism, it may be Christianity, it may be Islam, it may be Wicca…whatever it is, find solace in a spiritual teaching that resonates for you. Contemplate, read, immerse yourself, and follow the wisdom of those who inspire.
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