There Was No Funeral

There was no funeral

No flowers
No ceremony
No one had died

No weeping or wailing.

Just in my heart

I can’t. . .

But I did anyway,

and nobody knew I couldn’t

I don’t want to. . .

But nobody else said they didn’t

So I put down my panic

and picked up my luggage

and got on the plane.

There was no funeral

This was a poem I found in a book for MKs (missionary kids. Another post for another day) I really connected with it. Moving countries is hard, especially when you have no say in the matter.
Recently, I came back to this poem because it applies on another level.
I had no say when the tumor came, made me pack my bags, and travel to the country of Cancer. The plane landed in the middle of a field, at the foot of a huge mountain. The natives wore white lab coats.
Cancer is a different culture. You learn a different language, and how to navigate new territory.
You're told that there is no way around; you have to climb. This is when the strange irony sets in. You're in a different country, but geographically speaking, nothing has changed.
Your friends cheer as you start hiking. Days go by, and the echo of their words fade. Close friends keep up with your progress, and supply you with energy bars. (In Cancer, energy bars can be visits, encouraging notes, or prayer)
You have a goal: Go through radiation, surgery, whatever it takes to ascend. Finally, the peak is in sight; hitting the mountaintop is being told you're cancer free.
The thing is, after the declaration has been made, you can't get on a plane and leave the place it brought you to.
You're still stuck in another country, on a mountain, and the only way off is to trek down.
Only you feel like you have nothing left, nothing more to give. Even your tears have been used up.
There aren't quite as many people cheering, because the worst is past, right?
The assumption is once you hit the top, a helicopter comes, life returns to normal.
It doesn't.
The natural high from reaching the peak fades quickly. You sit down, confused, engaged in a different kind of struggle. There was a wide, clear cut trail leading to the top, but now, a forest stretches ahead, and you realize you have no compass. The air is thin, forcing you to get back up, and keep going, though the destination is unclear.
You find an overgrown deer trail and start bushwhacking. It's dark, and sometimes lonely.
Again, the contradiction of Cancer washes over you. You still hang out with friends, and try to do normal stuff, but nobody can see the forest. Life has gone on normally. Yours has continued in the sense that you eat, breathe, try to sleep, and meet new people. But it also involves forging new paths, and being unable to shake a deep feeling of loss. Then guilt sets in over feeling that way. Everyone is asking when you're going back to work, telling you that this was only a small part of your life, and look to the future!
But the trees.
They can't see the trees.
As you continue hiking, your daily interactions reveal fragments of an answer.
There was no funeral.
Somewhere along the way, innocence was lost. Nightmares of intense, traumatic pain became real.
Dreams died.
The whirlwind of your experience engulfs you, ripping through your body, leaving exhaustion in it's wake.
Dazed, you look around, wondering where to go, who to talk to. How to mourn.
Fear sets in. Will anybody want, or try to understand?
There was no funeral.