I’m not one for using violence against violence, even when it’s for a worthy cause.

This rang even more true for me, when I stumbled upon this quote…

“Fighting for war, is like fucking for virginity!”

Read it again.

That made so much sense to me. How do we possibly think violence quashes violence.

John Lennon was on the right path when he sang – “make love not war”.

If everyone was busy making love, loving themselves enough, there’d be no time for war.
Nor the extra energy to put towards it either!

In all seriousness though, I don’t understand why we use violence, to describe what our loved ones are going through, when cancer interrupts their lives.

“Keep fighting this ugly beast, you’re so much stronger than it is.”
“You can do it, you can beat the bastard.”
“I’m in your corner, one more punch to its core and it’s a knockout, you’re the winner.”

Slightly exaggerated, perhaps.

Especially, when it has taken the living from them.

“You put up a great fight”.
“Sorry you lost the battle”.
“You fought the best you could”.
“You fought so hard, for so long”.

For me, this conjures up a weakness of sorts, as our dearest wasn’t strong enough to win.

Although I have to tell you, I’ve known and known of, many a beautiful being whom were well and truly strong enough, yet they still left this realm too early.

What if we were to look at cancer then, as if it were a dance with life. Sometimes the cancer would lead, sometimes our beloved would lead. Until one day, the music simply stops, and the dance is over.

Fill it with love, not hate.

An interesting point of view, if nothing else.

That’s how I’d like to view an experience with cancer.

An experience with any form of ill health really.

That’s how I’d like to remember the ones I love. Dancing a glorious and gracious dance. Daring and yes, dangerous at times, sweet, seductive, tantalising, joyful at others.

I guess we could take it one step further (no pun intended) and view all of life as a dance.

Sometimes the tempo is fast.
Sometimes the tempo is slow.

Sometimes we get to dance in this physical form for decades.
Sometimes we get to dance for only days.
Sometimes we get to dance for but a fleeting moment.
Sometimes we don’t get to dance at all.

Why am I writing this today?

Because yesterday, a beautiful woman I had the joy of dancing with; her song stopped playing. Her dance with cancer is over.

Gail, may wherever you land next be playing the music of your choosing.

Thank you for the memories. I’ll cherish them always.

Big love & huge hugs.

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