Not so peachy

by Hilla Duka

Deep thoughts and heavy curls (portrait)

You know, when it’s just not so fucking great? What do you do then?


I decided to keep writing this blog after I got the cancer blow, in order to document… the rest, I suppose. No one wants to go unnoticed, or at least to go without leaving your own individual mark. I don’t want someone else to sum up my life with their own words, I don’t want to be subjected to a rewritten history, relegated to the past. So I kept writing, and through writing have been able to keep some sort of sanity throughout the madness that has become my life. I feel as though I’ve been able to regain a lot that the initial cancer blow took from me. Compared to those early days (ok weeks. Fine, months) when I pretty much just felt as if I’d already died I have more than I thought possible.


But then from time to time, it’s just not fucking fine anymore. I deal with chronic pain, less energy than normal people, my own thoughts about death and those that my kids and people around me have, and then I work 50% again, go to the physiotherapist and my regular therapist, and some days I literally cannot get out of bed, and I think that it may be that it is in my nature, indeed in the human nature to strive for more, for better, to improve, but that I just need a break from it all. When meditating is one of the things that stress you out, you know you’re in trouble. My day doesn’t have enough hours, my calendar is full, and the chance I will ever get to see retirement is so slim it’ll be a miracle.


But what do you do when the person you love asks you what you’re thinking and the truth is, you’re trying to picture him finding a new partner after you’re gone? Because here’s the deal, you’re either honest about it, and then you’re the biggest Scrooge ever, or you’re a liar, and then you’re dishonest and all of a sudden, you feel like the loneliest person in the world.


I have no answers to anything. Today is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, and I think about poor children washing up on the shores, I think about cancer and its horrors, I think about the last in a long row of lovely women I’ve come to know a little bit who passed away today, because there still isn’t a cure out there.


Tomorrow I will put myself back together, I’ll try to be a great mom and a good co worker and a nice wife and all of that. But right now I feel naked and miserable about the state of the world, the state of my own life, the mess to which I've brought three lovely children. I’ll go to bed and pray for a new year filled with more love, and less horrors, and maybe, maybe, some more justice and forgiveness. 



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