Dec. 4th, 2012 04:44 pm
Fuck Cancer
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mizarchivistWe already knew that.
We know someone who's gone through it- is going through it... It's a thing. It sucks and it's not fair.
One of the people I met when I was a freshly minted archivist, fresh faced and idealistic in 1998 was Susan, a woman well established in the field, a very active member of our regional archive group, and generally the kind of person you want to have as a mentor. We served on the outreach committee for a number of years and then as one does, talked less when we were not working on the same thing.
A few years ago, she started showing the clear and obvious I-have-cancer signs, had some success in managing since she had a year or so of looking like her old self, then at our meeting last month was looking frail and carrying around oxygen. I'm glad I stopped to say hi to her and ask how Kim was, how their son Gus was doing- if there was still soccer in the mix. One of the things about Susan was always that she was matter-of-fact and not interested in bullshit. So if ever there was someone not to fall into the traps people who are not intimately involved in disease maintenance fall into when talking to someone with cancer- she was one of 'em. I policed myself carefully to not treat her like a delicate flower, to not treat her like she was her disease. Try to keep talking about the stuff we'd talk about normally. Kids. Work. Our group. Also when I saw her in November, she was with a group of other people and I did not want to pull her away from their established conversation more than what felt reasonable.
When I saw the listserv email go out today with her name as the subject, I didn't want to open the email. I knew. What else could it be?
To speak to her with the sentimentality one usually reserves for weddings, baptisms, and funerals may well have made her profoundly uncomfortable, so here I am. After her death saying what I should have braved her gruffness and just said:
Susan: your kind attention and guidance all those years ago made me feel very included in my new profession. You treated me like a peer, and not some dumb kid. When I went off track, you told me and you were clear that these were things I should consider for the betterment of myself and my career. You never minced words. Ever. Kind and generous without sentimentality. Practical and resourceful. Living your life without apology or a thought that it should be done any other way. You demonstrated archival professionalism and adulthood to a still immature, young 20-something. On top of all those excellent qualities, you also provided a model of gay married life that everyone should see, that it just is, and should not be remarkable. Just two people making a family that's not anyone's goddamn business but theirs. Even with my exceptionally liberal background, my own experiences outside hetero-normative, being able to see that also helped me formulate what kind of adult I wanted to be.
Susan: you are already missed. Your influence truly made a difference in my life and I know that you fulfilled this role for so many more beyond me. I am achingly sorry I was a coward and never said all that to you while you could hear it. I am more deeply sorry that fate dealt you this impossibly hard and painful, too-soon end. My heart breaks for Kim and for Gus. I can only hope that if there's an after, it's not too organized so you can help sort it out.
We know someone who's gone through it- is going through it... It's a thing. It sucks and it's not fair.
One of the people I met when I was a freshly minted archivist, fresh faced and idealistic in 1998 was Susan, a woman well established in the field, a very active member of our regional archive group, and generally the kind of person you want to have as a mentor. We served on the outreach committee for a number of years and then as one does, talked less when we were not working on the same thing.
A few years ago, she started showing the clear and obvious I-have-cancer signs, had some success in managing since she had a year or so of looking like her old self, then at our meeting last month was looking frail and carrying around oxygen. I'm glad I stopped to say hi to her and ask how Kim was, how their son Gus was doing- if there was still soccer in the mix. One of the things about Susan was always that she was matter-of-fact and not interested in bullshit. So if ever there was someone not to fall into the traps people who are not intimately involved in disease maintenance fall into when talking to someone with cancer- she was one of 'em. I policed myself carefully to not treat her like a delicate flower, to not treat her like she was her disease. Try to keep talking about the stuff we'd talk about normally. Kids. Work. Our group. Also when I saw her in November, she was with a group of other people and I did not want to pull her away from their established conversation more than what felt reasonable.
When I saw the listserv email go out today with her name as the subject, I didn't want to open the email. I knew. What else could it be?
To speak to her with the sentimentality one usually reserves for weddings, baptisms, and funerals may well have made her profoundly uncomfortable, so here I am. After her death saying what I should have braved her gruffness and just said:
Susan: your kind attention and guidance all those years ago made me feel very included in my new profession. You treated me like a peer, and not some dumb kid. When I went off track, you told me and you were clear that these were things I should consider for the betterment of myself and my career. You never minced words. Ever. Kind and generous without sentimentality. Practical and resourceful. Living your life without apology or a thought that it should be done any other way. You demonstrated archival professionalism and adulthood to a still immature, young 20-something. On top of all those excellent qualities, you also provided a model of gay married life that everyone should see, that it just is, and should not be remarkable. Just two people making a family that's not anyone's goddamn business but theirs. Even with my exceptionally liberal background, my own experiences outside hetero-normative, being able to see that also helped me formulate what kind of adult I wanted to be.
Susan: you are already missed. Your influence truly made a difference in my life and I know that you fulfilled this role for so many more beyond me. I am achingly sorry I was a coward and never said all that to you while you could hear it. I am more deeply sorry that fate dealt you this impossibly hard and painful, too-soon end. My heart breaks for Kim and for Gus. I can only hope that if there's an after, it's not too organized so you can help sort it out.
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