Glorious or Terminal?
Today I am grateful for today. I woke up. I have working limbs and senses. My cancer status is NED (no evidence of disease). I have fresh coffee made and breakfast ready to go. My husband is in his recliner and I am in mine.
I went to two funerals last week. One was for my 92-year-old uncle. The other was for a man who died from cancer at age 46. He lived half as long as my uncle. I have done plenty of reflecting in recent days.
I also went back to posts on my previous blog, Habitual Gratitude, and chose this one from April 14, 2014 to repost. I was reading Gilda Radner’s book at the time. She died from ovarian cancer at age 42. Life is precious, fragile, and also amazing and beautiful.
“Glorious or Terminal”
There is one more nugget from Gilda Radner's book It's Always Something that I would like to share. This quote is a powerful one:
"While we have the gift of life, it seems to me the only tragedy is to allow part of us to die--whether it is our spirit, our creativity or our glorious uniqueness."
Glorious uniqueness. We all have it. It should be celebrated, but too often it is ignored or buried. The way I laugh. The quirky way I put my clothes in the drawer or closet. The predictability of a response I am likely to give to a certain question. The scars on my body and the stories that go with them. All of this and much more comprise my glorious uniqueness. I embrace it more than I used to. Gratitude practice has helped me see this uniqueness as a positive in myself and others.
I agree with Gilda, as long as there is life in me, my spirit, creativity, and my unique traits are all gifts to be shared. Part of my job as a human is to allow others to share their gifts too, to make it safe and comfortable for them to do so.
This idea of glorious uniqueness is a far cry from a different kind of uniqueness--terminal. Terminal uniqueness is indeed deadly, as the name implies. I first learned about it from my friend Terrie. For a person in recovery from alcoholism or addiction, terminal uniqueness might sound like this: "Nobody understands me. Nobody has gone through what I have. Nobody knows my pain. Nobody cares."
It is deadly because it keeps someone from seeking help, from surrendering, from reaching out. It keeps an alcoholic drinking and an addict using. Some will die from terminal uniqueness. I was taught to look for the similarities I had with other alcoholics, not to focus on the differences. That opened doors that led to the help I needed.
When it comes to uniqueness, I'll take the glorious kind. Celebrate your own uniqueness today, and appreciate the uniqueness of others.
