E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 30
October 5, 2021
The Potato Harvest
Some of us don’t realize how much we’re blessing people’s lives, just by sharing our story. That’s what happened for me with Shane Jackson.
He wrote through my author page, EC Stilson. “The post involving Blackfoot, Idaho and your current situation somehow captivated me and has given me strength to carry on. My problems are pretty insignificant in comparison.”
I sat drinking a cup of coffee as I read this message, so honored that a stranger had found my page and decided to share his story with me.
“I’m a single father of now a 13-year-old,” he wrote. “I’ve raised her since she was two and a half.” And as his story continued, I couldn’t fathom how my situation could inspire him. Yes, having stage four cancer is scary. But this man has been through so much more than that—and still found a way to avoid regret.
“You’ve got to beat this!” his closing paragraph stated. “So, get on with it and put this dying bullsh*t out of your mind because you’re not!”
Over the last months, I shared this story with Mike, and we felt so humbled that such a strong man would find anything worthwhile in our story—especially since we’ve struggled this month and definitely not felt “inspirational.”
“EC, some of your posts lately have left me just not knowing what to say or reply,” one of Shane’s latest messages said. “I’m hoping for a speedy recovery.”
Then, that giver must have been touched by providence, compelled to do an exceptional act of kindness that I truly needed. “I would extend an invitation to come experience potato harvest if you have never done so. To me it’s always been a magical experience seeing the crops come in. We’re digging potatoes in Pingree…. You and your family would be welcome to come out and see potato harvest from the seat of a tractor if you would like.”
I told Mike and the kids. Trey and Indy were especially excited, and after we arrived at the field, we got to ride in different machines and meet Shane in person.
As I sat in the tractor with him, the whole world thrived with magic. I waved to Mike and the kids (who sat in other machines). Watching potatoes freshly birthed from the ground, I saw God’s majesty in all of it. And even just glimpsing Shane’s view on life and farming is something that I’ll cherish forever—because THAT is how he’s made it through so much with grace. “You can go ride in the other one now,” Shane said, pointing to a machine a few feet away.
After I stepped from the tractor, I placed my hand on the earth and could almost feel its heartbeat. I love fishing because you never know what surprise God has put on your line. Well, that’s kind of how farming is too. There’s so much hidden under the ground, just waiting for someone to discover its potential.
“Isn’t it amazing how the earth can look so dead and void, yet all of those potatoes were waiting just under the surface,” I told the driver of the other vehicle as he loaded potatoes up a large conveyer belt.
“It really is,” Garrett said, beaming. Then he ended up telling me how fun it was seeing the excitement from all of us. “That Indy is a character,” he said. “And Trey asked great questions.”
“Is this what you always wanted to do?” I asked him.
Then Garrett said how he’s in medical school, but he might drop out. “I just don’t know,” he said.
“What kind of specialty… What kind of doctor?” I asked.
“A dermatologist.”
I got chills; this was providential too.
And then just how Shane had changed my life and said the exact words I needed to hear, I think I did the same thing for Garrett. I told him about my melanoma and how it was finally a dermatologist who found it—and gave me a shot at life. “Time passes. I thought my kids would grow up by the time I was in my early forties. And then I’d do all sorts of things. But look what happened. I’m fighting just to stay alive. You go for your dreams. Don’t give up. There’s a reason I’m sitting right by you, telling you my story about skin cancer.” And after I stepped back to the hardened earth, I knew Garrett would never forget those words, and I thought about the people’s lives he might save in the future…people just like me.
So, Wada Farms, who generously let Shane do all of this for us, had Mike, the kids, and I gather potatoes to keep—straight from the ground. We got several boxes of Russet Burbanks and hearts filled to the brim with wonder.
I’ll never forget our trip to the farm or Shane’s resilience and determined joy despite hardship. What a beautiful world we live in. Seriously.
We Got a Fixer Upper
October 3, 2021
A Flight Lesson Changed His Life Forever
When we chance losing what really matters, that’s when things get clear. The loss of a loved one, a dream, an ability…can magnify our “truth.”
Lately, I’ve watched my family sacrifice to trade time—possibly the most valuable construct we have. “If you want to join the Air Force, don’t put it off for me,” I said to my 17-year-old.
“But I don’t want to miss time with you. This whole thing has put everything in perspective.”
These words mean more than anyone can fathom, but as the person who’s sick, I don’t want people sacrificing dreams for me.
Mike did this. At the age of 19 he’d planned a move to Seattle. Almost more than anything, he wanted to leave Utah and get his pilot’s license. But life took a turn.
His dad got cancer, and Mike refused to leave. He traded an ideal for something invaluable: memories with his father.
It’s crazy how priorities change when weighed against the threat of death.
Time passed. Mike’s dad recovered, and he’s been doing awesome since. But Mike never moved to Seattle. He landed a job at a food-processing plant (like his father and grandfather before him), bought a house, married a single mom…who then got cancer. And it seems that fate has brought him right back where he started.
“I’ve watched him give up so much to take care of me,” I told a dear friend. “He’s worked, tended to the kids, waited on me after surgeries and treatments….”
“That’s what you do when you love someone.”
I sighed. “It’s so strange how life turns out though, right? Can you believe he wanted to be a pilot?” I briefly relayed the story. “I wish Mike could actually fly a plane someday. We must all have dreams, locked up deep inside…. He’s just done so much for me; I wish I could give him the world.”
The next day I lazily opened my computer, only to find a message from my friend. She’d set up a time for Mike to visit a local airport!
“What?” I balked at the screen.
“It’s all taken care of,” the message read. Mike would get an official lesson where he’d actually fly an airplane! “I would love to come and be there when you do this, if you’d be okay with it,” my friend wrote.
I could hardly wait to see her—and I couldn’t believe she’d done something so wonderful!
This isn’t a post to “feel bad” about regrets or lost opportunities. We all age. We all have responsibilities. But this is a reminder that life is meant to be lived—no matter if you’re 19 or 90. You’re breathing d*mn it; do SOMETHING with that ability. 😉
So, last weekend held one of the best days of my life: to see Mike step out of a plane he’d just landed. He glowed, excited about the wind and the speed. His arms moved with such animation, swooping and diving as he weaved his story. (Just look at the picture in this post—he’s such a hilarious goofball!)
And my dear friend, her smile is etched on my heart forever. “I just love you,” I told her.
“You too, Elisa.” Then she beamed, watching Mike bounce around like Tigger, telling us how grateful he felt for the opportunity.
Goodness multiplied seems like a perpetual-motion machine that can cast out any type of regret or fear. I felt such a sense of wonder seeing Mike reveling in the moment, and I’m beyond grateful to my generous friend (and her husband) who made this possible. They gave us something unforgettable: time well spent with those we love.
September 29, 2021
An Angel Named Grandma Dee
"Grandma," I said when I was in elementary school, "I keep going to church to get saved over and over."
My grandma was a different religion than me, and she didn't fully understand what I tried to convey.
"Wasn't once enough?" she asked.
"Maybe," I said. "But maybe not. I might just be bad, and that's why God is doing this to me. When I close my eyes, I can't make the words stop. I keep seeing stories in my head. I pray that God will save me and stop the words. He's punishing me for when I've been bad. That's why He's making me see the words."
She laughed so hard before trying to clarify. "Seeing the words?"
"On a keyboard," I said. "Someone's typing them."
It was always the same. I'd see these crazy hands typing more and more. A stupid red mug—with swirly paint—sat by the keys which never stopped clicking.
"Maybe it's you," my grandma said. "Maybe you're meant to be a writer."
It was my turn to laugh. "No. God is doing this ‘cause I’m bad.” Then something hit me. “If I am meant to be a writer, there's just one thing I'll need."
"What's that?"
"Someone who's really good... I'll need that person to teach me."
Anyway, my grandma died a little while after that. She's the only grandma I'd known. Whenever I wanted to give up on anything, she would be there, wearing her beloved checkered apron, and cheering me on. And to be honest, after she passed, sometimes I found it hard to keep believing in myself as a writer.
I think that's why my grandma had to send me an angel.
_____
So, many years passed after my grandma's death. I picked up writing again and even hired an editor to perfect my fantasy novel. But after I sent her the payment in full, the editor pulled out of the project. "Unfortunately, the payment was over a thousand dollars worth of dresses I sewed for her daughter," I told a friend on the phone. "Reselling them would be a nightmare. It's just such a specific size. Plus, her daughter looks so happy in the pictures. So, I just let the lady keep them. I guess they're going through some hard times."
"Oh, wow."
"Yeah, but what am I supposed to do now? There's no way I can pay someone else."
After a small pause, the woman blurted with a hint of excitement, "I'll help you!"
At the time I had no idea who this woman really was; I'd only known her a short while. She lives in Missouri, and I lived in Utah. We'd simply met through blogging and had started an unlikely friendship that way.
Although her offer to help was extremely generous, I did feel a bit cautious. Everyone thinks they're an editor, but the truth is, the wrong edits can completely ruin a book.
"This is so kind of you," I said, then committed. "Okay, if you're sure. Let's work on editing my fantasy novel together." I would give this a shot.
It's actually quite hilarious now. The woman had been an editor for a big-name publisher while she worked with famous authors. I didn't know she'd sold thousands upon thousands of copies of her book "A Cat's Life"—in multiple languages. I just thought she was a fellow aspiring artist, an intriguing ex-nun who'd left the convent decades before, and a previous professor (with a deep understanding of Latin) who I adored for even taking the time to build a friendship with me.
The moment she embarked on the project, I recognized her level of expertise. I was the student from then on—with nothing to give—and a decade later I'm still learning. She started calling me every day. Early in the morning she'd read chapters I'd written, and then at night we'd spend between one to three hours revising them together. I went from knowing little about writing to learning more than I'd ever hoped for.
Months passed like that, leading to a life-changing conversation that I will never forget.
"When I started helping you edit your book, I was amazed with how fast you learned."
I'd wanted to reply and tell her I soaked up everything I could because that was my dream—having a mentor just like her to teach me.
She went on, believing in me more than I believed in myself. "I've read many, many authors... You really have something special."
"You're so good to me." I couldn't fathom her kindness. And as she spoke, I typed some of her words into my laptop so I could keep them forever. That's when I looked at the keyboard. My crazy hands typed more and more. Then I noticed the stupid red mug—with swirly paint—sitting by the keys which never stopped clicking. And I remembered what I’d always seen as a kid: the vision I’d described to my grandma before she died.
I tried to keep my emotions at bay, but it was so hard.
I stood, remembering my grandma and how much I miss her every day. I felt such a loneliness then, a longing to have someone like her in my life again. She'd been such a wealth of knowledge.
"Elisa," my mentor, Dee Ready, paused. "I told a friend the other day...you've endeared yourself so much to me. We started editing this and we were good friends, but now I feel as if I have a granddaughter."
I cried then, huge tears, because Dee felt like family to me too—she always had!
It’s crazy to remember how I thought God was punishing me as a kid. Turns out He wasn't. He showed me a piece of what was to come—to confirm that I was on the right path. And then, to top everything off, He let me meet someone who would change my life forever.
It's amazing that Dee has been close to us for over a decade now. She's come out to help me while I've struggled with cancer. She's helped take care of the kids. And she's shown me such an abundance of love.
I needed her in my life, and I honestly think she somehow needed me too.
Life is full of so many beautiful miracles. When she last came to see us, as I watched her playing with Trey and Indy, I couldn't help being grateful that I get to have this extraordinary woman in my life.
Cutting Back to Part Time
Yesterday, I had to officially cut back from full- to part-time hours. I can’t describe how hard this was for me because it’s admitting a weakness. It’s equally devastating that I’m applying for disability—and I’m not even 40 yet!
I know I might sound dramatic, but I want to dig a hole, drink pina coladas alone, and not come out for a long, long time.
I derive so much of my worth from working hard and earning money. And I LOVE my job. This is the most amazing company. They’ve toiled with me through all of this, listened and been patient throughout treatments and time off. They even collected a donation when I had to travel all those times for radiation.
I’m telling you, if you ever need to utilize newsletters for marketing, please contact Newletter Pro because they’re marketing geniuses AND the owner is such a genuinely good guy! I don’t know how my family would have made it this far without them. (And I’m glad they’re keeping me part time.)
My nurse sighed with understanding as I spoke with her yesterday. “This is what needs to be done,” she said on the phone. “We’ve been telling you to cut back. Something’s gotta give, and unfortunately it will continue to be your health unless you slow down. I’ll fill out the disability paperwork this week.”
Anyway, I know this “new normal” is for the best, but it’ll take a minute to get used to.
Poor Mike. First he marries a single mom, then she gets stage four cancer, and now she needs to be on part-time disability. #lemon
Whatever I lack, I better make up for in personality! And I better learn some new recipes! I’m gonna make this up to him somehow. If things get desperate I just might end up writing another erotic novel.
This is a pic from when I got the job in the summer of 2020. I still miss my hair!
September 27, 2021
Mirror Image of the Past
Almost 20 years since he died…and 10 years since I’ve read my journal about that time. It’s strange how it transports me back. Sure it feels faded, like entering a sepia photo, but I still feel as if there.
Normally its words have the power to validate and heal, reminding me that if I made it through that, I can suffer through anything. But this time, reading my journal has left me bewildered.
I guess I’m a bit shocked with the similarities between dealing with Zeke’s mortality and facing my own. The same exact people have come out of the woodwork of my life to say I’m going to Hell, to explain that I ate the wrong things and it caused this, to explain that the “sins of my fathers” brought this upon me. And I have to say their lack of growth—and my own lack of how to handle this—is a bit discouraging. How can ALL of us, after 20 years, have changed so little?
There are good things to this: It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. These opinions just sound primitive—almost laughable. And I know these people are just grasping for the answer to an imperfect world. But “perfection” is perception, literally what you make it, and I’ve never lost my positivity despite harrowing situations: the death of my oldest son, staying in a women’s shelter eight years ago with my children, subsequently getting divorced, and now, fighting stage 4 cancer.
Although I’ve abandoned religion since Zeke died, and I honestly struggle to pray, I have never lost my faith in God and that He has a plan for my life. To lose that would be to lose my world.
So, it’s interesting rereading “The Golden Sky.” It really is a mirror image of what I’m experiencing now. Although I must admit, facing the death of my own son was much harder than facing my own loss of life. No one should have to watch their own child die…. No one. Maybe that’s why cancer isn’t as hard as I expected after all. Physical suffering is excruciating, but it’s nothing compared to wishing you could take your baby’s place in that grave.
If you want to learn more about “The Golden Sky,” you can find that here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B006FD16DQ/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?ie=UTF8&qid=&sr=
September 26, 2021
Handle It Your Way
But then the driver’s door completely deflated my hopes when it wouldn’t shut. “What the…?” Ruby faltered.
“Maybe try lifting it and slamming it?” I asked, thinking it’d gotten off kilter.
So, she did—sending a “crunch” bellowing through the parking garage. We couldn’t get the door to close. After using my cell’s flashlight, further inspection showed that the metal latch had busted, wedging inside so far that the door remained permanently ajar.
We nearly tore up our hands trying to get the piece out. “If we can move the damn thing, then I can strap the door closed so we can get back to Idaho.”
“How can we drive like this? The door will flap in the wind.”
“I’ll drive. And we’ll tighten ‘er down,” I said. Sure I’m still battling sepsis—and some things feel like they’re too much on top of everything, but I didn’t want to show my daughter that a door could best me. “You just keep me company.”
But honestly, the truth is that I could’ve cried. I felt so damn tired bending and trying to get the latch out—and striving once again to be strong. Finally, we slammed the door and got it closed enough—after shoving ourselves up against the cold metal—that I could slip a strap through the driver and passenger’s windows. It would be a windy ride home with a door that couldn’t close all the way, but at least we could finally leave the cancer hospital.
It was at this point that a sniveling, bald man broached us. Pointy nose prominent and beady eyes judging, he seemed personally offended. “Wanna try slamming that door a little harder next time? You could make even more noise!” He stopped to breathe deeply, obviously mad from far more than this moment in the parking garage. “You’re causing quite a scene.”
I knew he had cancer too. But he has something much worse—a mean attitude. Normally I’d feel bad for the man, reach out, and turn the other cheek. But then I thought about how instead of offering to help, he’d simply come to make things worse!
“Sorry. We’re just desperate to get back to—“
“Slamming your door?!”
“Ya know….” I said, and I’m embarrassed to admit that a little bit of fire lit my eyes. “Maybe I will slam it—just ONE more time.”
But of course I didn’t. And after I got in the passenger side and shimmied over to the steering wheel, I backed up and waved to the gape-jawed man who’d only offered cynicism.
“What is wrong with some people?” Ruby asked from the passenger seat. “He seriously came over just to be rude?”
“He must have too much on his plate. I guess he can handle his problems his way, and we can handle ours another. That’s all WE can control right now.”
So, we cranked up the music, didn’t care that: our A/C doesn’t work, the truck is missing chunks from the seats, or that the door was Jerry-rigged shut.
“It’s off to Idaho,” I practically sang—so happy to be free. And despite the fact that the wind styled my hair to look like the ‘80s, both Ruby and I smiled almost the whole way home.
Pic: Us taking silly selfies at the hospital, choosing to make the best of things.
September 25, 2021
A “Good” or “Bad” Life
I’ve been reading John Steinbeck, exploring concepts of predestination and the disturbing thought that even God could suffer from favoritism. While humanizing God terrifies me (in a lightning from Heaven sort of way), it is interesting to read queries that will always haunt the living—regardless of when or where we were born. Steinbeck asks the same questions that intrigued Aristotle. The same questions asked by Plato and many before. The same things we ask ourselves. One such question is: What makes a life bad or good?
Steinbeck explains that if people rejoice when you die, you lived poorly. If people are saddened to hear of your death, then you’ve lived well.
I thought of this as I took Indy for a walk today. Unfortunately, I only made it two blocks before we had to turn around. “Mama, you look tired. It’s okay. I’ve had a great day with you. Let’s go home and rest now.”
It’s strange to see how wise she’s gotten at the age of 11. Sad…and strange.
We just turned around, and I ended up running into someone who dislikes me very much. We haven’t talked for about a year and a half. She has no idea that I have cancer. No idea the hell I’ve been through this last year. No idea of anything.
The gorgeous woman sized me up in less than two seconds: how I walk and stand, my crazy-purple hair, and the pain on my taut face.
I knew she judged me. And although I didn’t have my glasses on, even I recognized the smug look that slid onto her perfect face. After another second, as if telepathically thanking karma for everything it has done to me, her lips twitched into a smirk and she turned away.
I hobbled back to my house, not feeling bad about the encounter but instead being mystified. In her mind, what could I have done to justify this “punishment” of such intense suffering? Does anyone really deserve to grapple with cancer—a disease that literally eats you from the inside out?
This woman will not be sad when I die.
And yet, I must be a masochist because part of me wishes we could be friends. She’s one of the most intriguing people I’ve ever met: smart, funny…gifted. But despite that, she’s also an enigma. I can’t imagine rejoicing from someone else’s pain, even if I did feel they needed to pay some karmic debt. No one deserves to suffer.
So, Steinbeck really got me thinking. How people feel when you die might shed light on the kind of life you’ve led, but it also says a lot about them. It’s interesting….
September 20, 2021
Time to Start Livin’
At some point you stop dying and start living. We all have an expiration date—and if you’re reading this, you haven’t hit yours yet.
I thought this as I sat at the edge of a beautiful river. Mike and I celebrated our 6-year anniversary, and I decided to be done dying.
I went from fully clothed to shucking nearly everything in a matter of seconds. As I floated out in the frigid water, Mike’s eyes quadrupled in size. “Well, you sure ain’t boring.”
I snorted, so happy—and cold. “Come on in. The water’s fffffiiiine.”
But he did not want to come in. And then my legs cramped up on me….
The thing with cancer is that it makes you want to do things you previously lacked the courage for, but now it’s almost too late. “Oh, my gosh, Mike,” I said. “My legs are freezing up.”
“Sure. Sure.”
“No, really.” And the current started to take me. I could just imagine myself floating straight to some farmer’s crop, where they’d make me walk out—in all my glory.
Mike, that good ol’ Eagle Scout, didn’t want to get his pants and shoes wet, so he stripped down to his skivvies—taking forever like some show in Vegas. Then, when I thought he’d finally save me, that man freaked out because of “mud.”
Meanwhile—near actual danger—a red creature (probably venomous) popped up right by my toes and almost ate my face off!
Anyway, after the second coming of Christ, Mike dipped one dainty foot in and snatched me from a future with a successful farmer.
We held each other, both of us covered in mud. Then we put our clothes back on.
I swear we haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. And as I leaned back on a rock, resting in the arms of my own personal hero, I couldn’t help thinking about how he makes even the worst situations the best time ever.
I love you, Mr. Magagna. You’re one hell of a ride. I hope we can keep on livin’ this dream together for a long, long time.
September 16, 2021
Filled With His Glory
My whole bout with sepsis has been sobering. And just the thought that I could’ve died last week has brought up latent fears about suffering and strength. I think we all want to die “well,” “valiantly,” in a way that will make our loved ones proud. I don’t want to be a sniveling person who’s begging to end the pain—or crying out for more life. I want to die…like Brave Heart.
But last week’s panic attack left me reeling. It seems that I’d finally grown a spine in 2020, and then the doctors removed a whole section of it right after that.
I thought of this at the Yom Kipper meeting last night. They talked about forgiving ourselves and others…about releasing ourselves from vows we’d felt forced to make (this has a pretty neat historical background) or vows we made but could no longer keep. I remembered my New Year’s resolution for 2020. “I vow to become as refined as possible,” I’d said quietly to myself. After over a year of Hell, refinement doesn’t sound quite as romantic. That’s a vow I’d like to forget.
When I returned to the synagogue for the second Yom Kippur meeting today, I honestly had no idea what to expect, but I did know something: It was time to let go of refinement and unattainable goals of perfection.
“God,” I prayed during one of the songs, “I get it now. We were never made to be perfect. I might as well be chasing rainbows, trying to reach my self-imposed goals. Can you please just love me, always…as I am? I make more mistakes than anyone I know, but I love you with everything. Please be with me in life and when I die too. I feel ridiculous asking for you to heal me; but please have your will in my life.”
I exhaled, feeling oddly lighter than I have in years. And when I opened my eyes, a strange light shone through the synagogue windows. “Kadosh. Kadosh. Kadosh. The whole world is filled with your glory.” The words wrapped around me like a balm—and when I looked down, the glowing stained glass started highlighting the words on the program I held!
“We are filled with your strength. The strength to bear our afflictions,” I read the accentuated words. “Add your strength to ours, oh God. So that when death casts its shadow we shall yet be able to say: “Oh Source of Blessing. You are with us in death as in life.”
Those words…I can’t tell you the power of those words: in death as in life, I suddenly knew God would never abandon me.
Not long after, a powerful musician stood in front of the congregation and blew the shofar (a horn of such beautiful resonance that it stunned me). The blast lasted much longer than I’d expected—then went up a fifth and continued until it vibrated me to the core.
I cried right there, my program still illuminated as I shook, my burdens lifted, and my heart full….
Before the “break the fast” celebration, I managed to catch a couple of pictures of my program before the lighting changed too much. Here’s one before and one after. I’m still amazed by God’s mercy and love: the whole world really is filled with His glory. Wow!
