Painting by Pamela Heater
The latter part of 2024—the lead up to being told I wasn't just burned out from work, but in fact had a fast-progressing lymphoma with one growth the size of a softball... and then the ensuing battle to treat it—six chemo sessions—left me little feeling for love or wanting to be in a relationship. And it wasn't only this: for many years I had been working on healing myself, trying to figure out what life was really all about. This involved many years of individual therapy, being open to trying new things to determine what interested me, living abroad in India and Nepal for seven years, and learning to be more comfortable with myself.
After being married for 16 years, having children, a house, the usual, I got divorced in 1999. During the years that followed, I had numerous relationships and a second, short-lived marriage. Even after all that, I don't think I yet fully understood what a long-term relationship could be, but age, experience, and distance have now given me a better idea. I feel a relationship can actually be healing in helping me—and I would hope my partner—to find those blind spots, the parts of self too close to see without a "mirror."
Although I'd started thinking more about a future love relationship, anything substantial didn't really seem possible given my current life circumstances as primary, live-in caregiver for my 97-year-old father. But other passions have risen in me since chemo ended: on my own and also through a college course, I'm learning ceramics, working on the potter's wheel and hand building, something I've become passionate about. Coaching adapted sports, something I've done for going on two decades, continues to be very important. I've also started baking cookies and pies and am always looking for a new dessert to try out. All of this helps me to feel more connected to life, and in some sense, has readied me for a new relationship.
When I decided to go to an October reunion of friends who attended Boston College, I contacted a former colleague on Facebook and asked if she might like to meet up while I was on the East Coast. I had known S. when I was married and living in Connecticut in the 90s. I hadn't ever really thought of her as a potential partner, but I remembered her laugh, a kind of goofiness, which caught my attention all those years ago and which I still thought of fondly.
We had briefly connected a few years back when her son had died from a drug overdose. My sister and her friend were killed by a drunk driver when I was in my 20s, and I felt like I could relate at least on some level to what she must have been going through. It wasn't just about being sad a feeling that doesn't really lessen even with the passage of time. Whenever I think about my sister, I feel this emptiness deep within my body, something which can never be filled. I'm sure we both frequently look at pictures of our loved ones and it brings up that sense of loss all over again. A feeling of what would my sister or S.'s son have done with their lives if they had lived.
Because I didn't hear back from S., I decided to book my flights. Just before I left for Boston, she contacted me and told me more about some of the things going on in her life. She said it would be nice to see each other, but she was going through many transitions and didn't think it made sense to meet at that time.
A few days after my return to California, S. and I started talking daily, not just a little but a lot, especially about things that mattered. Her voice was very sweet and melodic, and she was quick to laugh. I felt as if I could just listen to her for hours on end. She told me of the physical pain she had been experiencing and that she had taken a lease of six months in a small house, closer to her job but further from her live-in partner of 10 years from whom she was trying to get some distance. We talked about her son and my children, about relationships, work, and what we individually care about. Our conversations were full of talking and deep listening. We seemed to feel each other's pain. Everything was on the table, and there was a very easy feeling in sharing about our lives. Given we had never really talked this way before, I felt at ease and wanted to share even more.
In a matter of moments, we seemed to have become good friends who had not spoken in a long time, the kind of friendship where even if you hadn't spoken to that person in quite some time, you just kind of with no hesitation, picked up where you left off. This all just seemed to be such a strong open connection, which I've experienced with only a few people.
We mostly did video calls, and the conversations flowed. S. looked the same as I had remembered her so many years ago. She still had a young face, and although she experienced a lot of pain, she had maintained her very vibrant personality. On one of our phone calls, she showed me her haircut, which I thought was very cute. I sent her a letter telling her more about my life, trying to catch her up on the things I hadn't mentioned when we spoke, along with one of my bowls which I made on the pottery wheel. On the outside the bowl included butterflies, pieces of shells and glass. On the inside there were some Native American symbols along with rose petals from the India Day celebration I attended at the Self-Realization Fellowship Temple in Hollywood. S. was going through her disentangling from her partner, though, and no matter how much I wanted to develop a relationship, it just all seemed somewhat surreal. How could anything really occur if I was living 3,000 miles away and she probably not being emotionally ready.
And then as quickly as it started, it stopped. We both realized she first needed to deal with all the loose ends of her current relationship and determine what she wanted in this next phase of her life.
Despite being on opposite coasts and having no physical contact, the verbal intimacy touched something deep within me. There was a mutual vulnerability and comfort in speaking with one another as we shared things close to our hearts without judgment or expectation.
Through this experience with S., I learned authenticity and real connection take more than two people sharing the same physical space. It's about a deeper intimacy, especially in conversation, and a willingness to be together without hesitation, an openness to the possibilities in daily life and a passion for wanting to go forward together. This goes beyond saying "I love you," something I might have been thinking but never said out loud.
Dealing with life-threatening illness, whether yours or a loved one's, is scary. Even if we make it through, we don't really know what's going to be on the other side. Maybe new passions will awaken, maybe something inside says, "Don't be afraid, put your true self out there for others to see." The future at times sometimes feels wide open, and I hope a part of it includes a deep and lasting connection with another person.
