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John Smelcer is the author of 60 books, including a dozen books of poetry. His most recent collection is "Raven." For a quarter century, he was Poetry Editor at "Rosebud Magazine," where he currently serves as senior editor emeritus. From 2016-2020, he was the Inaugural Writer-in-Residence for the Charter for Compassion, the world’s largest compassion movement with over five million members in 45 countries.
After fully recovering from non-Hodgkin lymphoma, I’m ready to embark on my next chapter in life doing the things I love with the people I love.
I recently celebrated another birthday — another year older; another year to experience the joys of life and love. But things might have been very different for me. Around this time last year, I had just completed my cancer treatment: six grueling cycles of chemotherapy over as many months. The toll on my body was profound. My once muscular body was reduced to rubble. My bald head reminded me of Mr. Magoo or Charlie Brown (I wish I could say I looked tough like Mr. Clean, but I’d be lying). At times, I didn’t even recognize myself. It frequently crossed my mind that I might not see another birthday.
But then something unexpected and wonderful happened. Passing days became passing weeks and passing months until a full year had gone by. They say that “Time heals all wounds.” I learned how true that is. I hardly even think about my cancer ordeal nowadays. Folks who haven’t seen me in the year remark how great I look. “Wow! You look like you never even had cancer,” they say. I agree. My weight is back. My strength is back. My dreams of a future have returned. When I look in the mirror, I see someone I recognize — someone who is fit, strong, happy and full of life. I see a healthy, smiling face and a head full of hair (albeit white). Every day, the memory of what I went through fades the way the hurt after break-ups and loss eventually fades. I don’t know who first said, “Time heals all wounds,” but clearly they lived a life with the same kinds of ups and downs, pain and challenges as we all do.
During my treatment and recovery, I wrote dozens of blogs like this about what I went through. I felt the urgent need to share what I learned with others — for those going through cancer and for those who love someone going through cancer. This may well be my last writing. Cancer is far enough in the rearview mirror that I’m ready to leave it there, small and fading in the distance. For me, Time was just what the doctor ordered. I wish you the healing gift of Time.
What will I do with my Time, you ask? Everything I ever dreamed of. I bought a pontoon boat the other day. I’ve always wanted one. There’s a lake just a few miles from my house with a marina and a restaurant with a dockside bar. Now my family, including three dogs, can play and relax on the lake on sunny days. My wife and I also just bought a piece of land to build our dream retirement house, one modeled on the best ideas of Frank Lloyd Wright. I’m building it myself, with my own two hands. I built my last two houses by myself. I figure I’ve got it in me to build one last house. Now that I’m past cancer and my body has rebuilt itself, I enjoy using my muscles.
I’m also a writer. I just finished writing my 65th book, a novel based on a myth that was told to me by tribal elders when I was a boy back around 1970. Throughout my cancer ordeal, I wrote dozens of poems about my experience culminating in Running from the Reaper: Poems from an Impatient Cancer Survivor. I always wanted to tell that story. I did just that during recovery. There are plenty of books left for me to write. So many books; so little time. But most of all, I want to spend my time with the people I love.
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