Celebrate the Ordinary

This was written two years ago. Since my husband’s cancer diagnosis, I haven’t posted much at all. Mark passed away January 15, 2025–two years from the date of this post, so the timing is bittersweet. But I think there’s a message here we can all hold onto.}

Celebrating the Ordinary

At first glance, 2023 was not a friend to me. I daresay it was the worst year of my life! If I focused on all the bad things that happened that year, the black space under my bed, now occupied with dust bunnies and cough-drop wrappers, would become my cave of refuge.

Here’s how 2023 began the assault.

My husband was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.

Instead of the extremely slow progression of the disease we were led to expect, his body started rebelling almost from the beginning, landing him in the hospital four consecutive months for two weeks at a time, devolving a vibrant athletic man into one who can no longer walk without assistance.

My mother’s health (pre-frontal dementia) began to decline more rapidly this year.

And the day before Christmas Eve, I was hospitalized for emergency gall bladder surgery.

How easy it would be, for me, to look back on that year, and focus on those dark moments, submitting to a sense of depression or negativity.  I should be raising my fist and shaking it at the heavens, screaming, “WHY ARE YOU PUNISHING ME?”

And in transparency, there were times when I did just that. I am, after all, human.

And yet, if I am truly viewing the year through a slightly more neutral lens, absorbing the totality of the events of 2023, I must also point out the truly remarkable things that occurred.

My book, The Boy in the Basement was published.

The book did really well, and I received some soul-affirming reviews and a thrilling honor. The Boy in the Basement won first prize in the psychological thriller category at the Bookfest Awards, validating my desire to pursue my writing.

As that new chapter unfolded, I met and collaborated with other authors across America and the United Kingdom, which has been exciting.

The message of Secondary Trauma for Social Workers (which has always been a passion of mine and was paramount subplot in the novel) is being recognized on a world stage.

Therefore, in retrospect, I have experienced some awful and some amazing days this year. Much like a quote by L. R. Knost, “Life is amazing. And then it is awful. And then it is amazing again. And in between the amazing and the awful it is ordinary and mundane and routine.” 

You know, we always talk about the amazing or the awful.  But I have learned to cherish the much-maligned ordinary. It is during this flat patch that we can truly breathe and notice the beauty around us. As we stroll through the ordinary, we can finally exhale and prepare for the next hill. To put it another way, it is in the ordinary that we truly live.  

If you spend time around me, you will notice that I tend to juggle three or four things as I navigate the fast lane to my next task. My wheelhouse exists in the world of efficiency, positivity, and accomplishment. Happy with my own strengths and aware of my shortcomings, I feel called to help others whenever I can. 

This year, the Universe put me in a position where I had to slow down. 

I mean, REALLY SLOW DOWN.

For those who have also navigated cancer treatment, as caregivers, you will understand when I explain that weekly treatment day is comprised solely of waiting…waiting…waiting.

Wait to get labs

Wait to check in

Wait to see the doctor

Wait for the chemo pod

Wait for the chemo drugs to be delivered to the pod each time (why they don’t order ahead I do not know)

Wait while chemo is being injected

Wait to see if there will be side effects

Wait for the car to be returned

In other words, you may arrive at 7am, but sometimes you do not leave until 4:00. 

By now you may have surmised: I DON’T LIKE TO WAIT.

For anything.

Picture a souped up auto, grinding gears and revving the motor all while waiting for an incessantly long traffic light to turn. That was how I felt when we started the regimen.

For the first few months, I thought I would just scream! I brought work with me. I brought books with me. I brought my I pad so I could write. But the constant revving of my motor rendered those activities ineffective. I smiled on the outside, and assured my husband throughout each treatment, but inside I was practicing my vagal breathing in an attempt to stop the inner scream ordering me to run.

Then, over a period of several weeks, an interesting thing started to happen. I began to relax during those waiting periods. I can’t put my finger on just when it started, but little by little, the wait became bearable. I started noticing more of my surroundings and realized that this was not at all about me. Watching other’s waiting in their own little hell ignited the empathy in me for their plight. I watched nurses and doctors running to help everybody all at once and wondered who was caring for their needs. As I wondered at this little self-sustaining universe of treatment, I began to join the tribe and share affinity with them. In that belonging, I was able to read, write and work during the down times without the revving motor or grinding gears. I had learned to idle.

As I applied the newfound skill of idling in other aspects of my life, the art of noticing and appreciation joined. Taken in collectively, I was amazed at the circle of support that had gathered and surrounded my family. Where did they come from?

Don’t you see? I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THE ONE WHO SUPPORTS! How did all of these wonderful supports develop around me? I never asked for help (another fault I am working on) but help came anyway. And with the help came the acknowledgement that it was OK for me to not have to be on top of everything at the same time.

Most amazingly, my 29-year-old daughter metamorphosized into the most efficient, responsible and competent care giver. When I couldn’t take Mark to appointments, she always jumped in. Watching her empathy and gentleness with him filled me with wonder. They began to forge a stronger bond throughout this ordeal as her kindness, patience and love towards him fostered a blossoming relationship between stepdad and stepdaughter. Then at Christmas, I became temporarily incapacitated after my surgery. Without complaint and without needing to be asked, she stepped in and took care of both of us. 

So, 2023 had some dark moments for sure, but if I am looking back and can capture the bright spots, I must admit, I can see the blessings that came my way this year as well. And the most powerful moments were not in the amazing or in the worst .

The Joy Came in The Ordinary.

Angela Lacy McClintock