Requiem

John Updike died this week. He died of cancer. An article in the New York Times described him as a "sometimes acerbic literary anthropologist." An Op-Ed piece by Lorrie Moore wondered if he wrote about his death. She offers a quote from a friend: "I'm sure it will be discovered he was taking notes, for he was gifted at describing everything."

Turns out he did write about his death (perhaps keeping a notepad near his death bed?) The NYT published his poem titled "Requiem." His words are deeply personal, self-effacing, simple, exposed. The poem is below. (The typewriter image is also from the Jan 29, 2009 issue of the New York Times. )

I am a late bloomer when it comes to literature, as my undergrad education was a very Reagan-esk, 1980's type of curriculum: the 4 P's of marketing (that would be Price, Place, Product and Promotion), segmentation, positioning, branding, etc. It is only through all of the media coverage about Updike's death, that I learned of his ability to observe and write about the ordinary with the skill and precision of an anthropologist.

I often wish I had studied English and Anthropology. Perhaps I have a new hero? A new author for my "hope to read" list?


REQUIEM by John Updike

It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
"Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise--depths unplumbable!"

Instead, a shrug or tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
"I thought he died a while ago."

For life's a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.


No, his death did register, even if it was a belated introduction for some of us.

What year would YOU give up?

Recently, several friends said they missed my blog entries. I have been busy with work and family, but more importantly, I have frankly questioned my ability to keep this blog compelling. I can no longer write about cancer treatments. Now my stories are about cancer survivorship--meaning life after cancer--meaning life like it was, but different. Do I still have stories to tell? Observations to make? Here's one...

The other day David asked if I could eliminate a year from my life, which year would it be. Of course, most people would eliminate the year they were diagnosed with cancer. Not me. The year I was diagnosed changed my life. I gained an appreciation for life (all the little things). I confirmed what I knew: that I have a loving and supportive family plus simply the very best friends.

No surprise that I gained a greater appreciation for life, family and friends. But I gained another unexpected benefit. I experienced the healing power of creativity, in my case, writing. Instead of feeling blue about my treatments, my days were spent thinking about possible blog topics and writing drafts in my head. Oddly, those months of profound physical exhaustion were some of the most most creative and reflective times of my life. I had written before, but this was the first time that I wrote from my soul while others listened.

No, the year I would eliminate from my life would be one of the many years that I struggled to finish my dissertation. Yes, I would gladly remove from my memory all that time spent in intellectual purgatory. The memories of me slugging through the underbelly of the "uses and gratifications" theory of media consumption are still raw. They were lonely years-just me and my computer, stacks of journal articles, SPSS and empty coffee cups.

While my blog entries flowed effortlessly from my heart, often with tears in my eyes (from crying or laughing), the final version of my 250 page dissertation came out of some dark place on my computer's hard drive. Sometime I would use an egg timer just to keep myself at the keyboard.

Genice, a good friend of mine, recently started her own blog. Check out her perspective on my illness. She recently wrote an entry called "Taking Nothing For Granted" about me on her blog. You'll need to scroll down.


Genice's Blog