M for Moxie

Webster’s New World College Dictionary defines “moxie” as:[slang] courage, pluck, perseverance, etc.; guts.

I have a friend named Mary who is fighting stage 4 cancer.  It has been controlled in some areas, ravaged organs in other areas.  She, and I, read incessantly on new procedures, new “cures” and medicines.  We see each other when she is well enough and compare our findings.  Yes, Mary is just one of hundreds of thousands who face the big C.  She seems to console herself with this fact—she isn’t alone out there with an alien and unknown disease.  If this makes her feel better about her situation, I say go for it!

Mary and I met a long time ago.  I cannot tell you exactly how long ago—first because I am super bad at time.  Secondly, because both she and I in our friendship, refuse to acknowledge TIME.  We celebrate the here and now.  Because you see, Mary has MOXIE!

We talk on the phone, over a cup of coffee at Starbucks, in each other’s homes.  I always say, “How are you doing today, dear one?”  She always—ALWAYS— responds with “I’m okay.  How about you?”  Then we look at each other, reading each others’ faces, the eyes, the way we posture ourselves.  And it is usually myself who says, “COOL!  Now—how are you really doing?”  Her head will duck so I cannot see her face and her voice lowers and I hear, “I’m hanging in there.”  I know then that it has been rough—but her moxie has carried her through again.

We discuss doctors appointments, tests, results and speculations of test results by the learned doctors.  We pull them down from their pedestals as keepers of life and death and laugh because regardless of what they claim to know, they do not know my friend Mary.  They do not know the drive, the perseverance, the MOXIE Mary carries within her that will not die nor go away.

Mary is a slight woman physically, dark haired, pale complexion, unsteady gait.  She is modest in her use of make-up, and always well-groomed.  When she approaches, I know how she feels before she reaches me.  I see the tiredness, the pulling in of her arms to protect her body, the mouth forcing a smile as her eyes spot me, waiting.  And unbeknownst to her, I too, force my mouth into a smile as the tears and scream of pain at seeing her pain stick in my throat.

You see, Mary and I play this “game” repeatedly to bolster each other, to avoid what seems to be a relentless truth of being out of control of emotions and body with this thing called “stage 4 cancer.”  Truth?  I don’t have the moxie Mary has.  Were it not for her wonderful MOXIE, I would crumble and not be able to support her, make her laugh, love her with all my heart and more.  No.  I would run and selfishly hide to protect myself from her pain, the knowledge we share that there are days ahead when I will sit at Starbucks alone, missing her.  But not dear Mary—she has MOXIE!

We talk about kids, hers, ours.  We talk about issues around us.  We talk about a trip to the beach that she can no longer make without rearranging doctor appointments and lab tests.  We talk about grandkids.  We gripe about politics, how the homeless are criminalized, how so many are marginalized today.  We talk about the hypocrisy of the “church” and the Christians who avoid her and judge her illness as a result of her doing something “bad” that God is punishing her for.  We laugh.  We get angry.  We get loud!  And we hold hands and share love between our spirits and souls and none of the outside world matters anymore—only what we share heart to heart.

Mary also uses her moxie to discuss things with us that she says she worries about.  Her grandson that she wants to see grow and loves with all her heart.  Her brother who wants to know if she has made out a will to designate who gets what and always asks, “Is the funeral paid off yet?”  Her hubby who gets angry when the treatments and the cancer take over and she cannot do the bills or cook or do laundry because he refuses to acknowledge he is powerless against the cancer and losing her and he rages.  He rages not only against the illness but against her.  Ironically, when she is doing fairly well, he dotes on her like he is trying to milk every happy moment he can out of her feeling well to return to rage when her body becomes tired again and he walks away.  Mary cries when we talk about these things.  And I listen.  My heart breaks for her and I feel the urge to gather her loved ones around her and scream in their faces—“Stop protecting yourselves and protect and love HER!  I KNOW your pain, but she is the one dealing with it daily!  Nightly!  NOT YOU!  Ease her pain with your LOVE!”  But instead, I listen, nod, hold her hand literally, and then say something inane that makes her smile, then hopefully laugh.  The hour we had each set aside to meet and be with each other becomes, two hours, three, sometimes four as we share.

Today, this morning, I will meet with Mary again for coffee.  I make no plans for the rest of the day.  I cannot, truly cannot, tell her I have to leave and “get busy” or go somewhere else.  No.  We don’t lie to each other.  We play the game, yes, but we DO NOT LIE to each other.  As I have already stated, I will see her, evaluate her health status, and then we will discuss matters of the heart and soul.  And it will be good.  It will be rich and full.  I will take a tiny bit of Mary away with me, and her moxie, and I hope I will be able to give her something she can take away with her from our meeting until we come together again.

MOXIE: courage, guts, pluck.  Perseverance.

My friend Mary.  My Truth.