Live In The Moment

While organising photos from the last two weeks, it feels as if a lot has been going on, so it makes sense why I’ve felt so tired lately. These photos of my recent Friday Lates Drawing Class at the V&A were again taken by my ever-talented friend Wen Xue, who has a knack for capturing me in fascinating poses! I’m so grateful for these wonderful photos, which had me reflecting on this life I have now and how fortunate I feel to have been gifted with life after cancer.

As the years roll on and I leave that cancer experience behind, I also seem to drift further away from the end of my brother’s life. Unless this has happened to you, too, in that you’ve also lost a sibling while fighting cancer, then I can’t fathom how to express what this feels like. Losing a sibling in adulthood is losing a past, present and future and is not comparable to losing a parent or other relative. However, I suspect it is very similar to losing a child. I often look at myself in photos like those above and recognise my brother’s facial expressions on my own. His physical absence seems like a brutal amputation that no one can see, much worse than the actual amputation I endured from cancer.

I reflect on this because it is there in this moment and all moments, and that is life. I am not “down” on myself in these statements. I think grief can grow to be other forms of feelings as we grow away from the time of the loss. Another way of relating to that physical loss is by getting to know a loved one in spirit form instead. I always knew my little brother was more of an “old soul” than me growing up, so it makes sense; he has become my greatest teacher of how to live in the moment.

I look back on my life before cancer and feel that though I did have incredible experiences, I didn’t really “live” like I want to now, and this is directly because of my brother's example of what it really means to live in this life. This realisation dawned on me when I was walking one morning, and within a few moments of this realisation, a robin landed on my shoulder. We exchanged sideways looks at each other, and then he hopped to the bench beside me and spent some time watching me. My brother was always devoted to wildlife, especially birds of prey, and though this little robin was not a bird of prey, I felt that my brother was the instigator of this encounter.

I look at these photos of myself teaching my class and feel gratitude and excitement because these captured moments represent everything I was fighting for when sitting in a chemo chair in 2021. It feels life-changing to see such wealth in these moments. As I write this, I’m listening to the birds chirping in the graveyard and catching glimpses of them flitting between the trees and gravestones. Even with the abundance of rats in the attic, I feel happy to be alive in this moment, writing my blog on this cold, clear day.

Something I learned when in the painful process of chemotherapy and surgery and sibling loss was that if I could look inward and meditate at the source of that pain, then I knew I could survive because pain is growth, and growth is life.

So, I will continue to seek out new experiences that pull me out of my comfort zone and allow me to grow to live.

Thank you for supporting me by taking the time to read my blog post. I’m certain that everyone can relate in some way to what I’ve shared, as we’re all of one collective.

Peace and love to all,
Franceska