A friend placed her hand on mine to tell me her father-in-law with brain cancer has taken a turn for the worse. I placed my free hand on hers.
“Please know that I’m praying for him,” I said.
Someone else she loved recently was diagnosed with breast cancer and will undergo a radical mastectomy.
“Cancer sucks,” she said. And then thanked me for my work as a cancer advocate.
As a leadership volunteer for the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network, I am proud of the work we’ve done to impact the cancer burden in our country — regular increases in federal cancer research funding, closing a loophole in Medicare to stop people from getting surprise bills for having polyps removed during a screening colonoscopies, and passing legislation to increase access to clinical trials to people in underrepresented communities.
All good, impactful things. But it’s the small moments where I feel I make the most impact.
Earlier this month, a memory from three years ago popped up on my Facebook timeline. A day I’ll never forget. My friend Lewis called me. His sister, Sharon, had late-stage colorectal cancer and her prognosis was grim. She got a shot at a Hail Mary treatment at the University of Tennessee. They were coming to town. Would I meet him for breakfast and then meet Sharon before their appointment?
Of course, I met with them.
I loved Sharon. We knew each other for 15 minutes but she touched my heart. In that short time, we bonded over shared nicknames for our colostomies, and shared the weariness of cancer treatment. She passed away a few weeks later.
In July, I travelled for work in Richmond and Petersburg, Va. Before I left, I put a call to guys in Man Up to Cancer-The Howling Place, a Facebook group for men in cancer treatment or who are survivors. I knew I would have a few hours to myself. Might someone want to meet for breakfast or lunch.
A guy named Adrian, a retired firefighter, met me for breakfast at a diner. We are both stage-3 rectal cancer survivors. We bonded over shared stories of rectal malfunctions, needing to wear adult diapers, and the struggle of post-treatment life. We met as strangers and left as friends. He and his family are coming to the region soon, and we plan to meet up while he’s here.
A few years ago, my friend Belinda, who had late-stage ovarian cancer, was getting a colostomy of her very own. She had no idea what she was up against, so she asked me to come to her hospital room and show her. I went, and when I got to her room I literally dropped trou to show her what my colostomy appliance looks like.
Passing legislation makes a huge impact in the fight against cancer, but the small moments can be equally impactful.
Our small moments don’t have to be cancer related.
Lunch with a friend can be a laugh-filled meal or a serious conversation about a personal struggle. A phone call can be an opportunity to share a life memory. A random interaction in an art class can result in a long-term friendship.
Life, my friends, is lived in the small moments. We make those moments meaningful by being open to and present for them, and by sharing love and kindness in the process.
May you find life in the small moments this week.
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