Some Small, Good Things
Last weekend Anna, Jenn’s niece, brought me a balrog. When I first met Anna we bonded over books: Lord of the Rings, Watership Down, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
I named him Rog. He doesn’t look like the one in The Fellowship of the Ring, but is instead a little cutie-patootie balrog she crotcheted. He doesn’t have a flame whip or a desire to cast humans down into darkness. He doesn’t want to kill Gandalf, or get past him on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm.
This balrog just wants to be hugged, leading me to wonder if all balrogs are misunderstood, living so far down in the earth. That maybe they carry flame whips and hatred because they’ve never had a good hug.
Two days ago my mother sent me a video of my grandson playing in a wading pool. He’s two and a half. He’s never been in a pool before. In the video he just stands in the knee-high water smiling. Occasionally he’ll squat down to get a little wetter. He looks exactly like a person who’s never been in water before, unbelievably delighted that things such as water exist in this world, wild-eyed with wonder at each new discovery.
I’ve watched the video a dozen times, absolutely amazed that a person can be that delighted by something as everyday as water. Which makes me wonder at what point we stopped seeing the world with child’s eyes and started seeing everything as old and jaded, as cynical and expected.
I’m reminded of this simplicity every time it rains. Every time a child plays with the cardboard box the toy came in instead of the toy. I’m reminded of simple pleasures when I see my grandson smile.
I had my cancer screening this week. Bloodwork, nurses, the tube of the MRI. I took two Xanax before we left, and Jenn white-knuckled the steering wheel the whole way.
For those who don’t know, I had surgery a year ago, and surgery the year before that. My kidneys are smaller than they used to be, both of them. Now I was back for a cancer screening, where my body goes on high alert. Last time I passed out when they drew blood. My body on its fight or flight bullshit and that time it just said fuck it, I’m outta here.
But this year I learned a new term: scanxiety, which is the feeling a cancer survivor gets when they face cancer scans again. The feeling the cancer has come back. That it will always be with you.
Which is why Jenn went with me. Why she drove, why she sat there beside me, why her face bloomed into a smile when the doctor said the screening came back all clear.
I like to think Rog, Anna’s balrog, is guarding the underworld for me. Like she sent it to protect me. It’s not the one from the movie. This one is here to keep me safe. To guard my passage.
The video of my grandson does the same thing. As does Jenn driving me to my appointments, knowing how my insides get knotted up thinking about the cancer coming back.
It’s the little kindnesses that get us through the day, like all the kind words so many of my readers left for me this week. Words that help me believe there’s beauty in this world. That convince me people really do care about one another. That there are so many small, good things out there we just need to find them and hold them up to the light and shout “This! This right here is how we do things.”
So this is just to say thanks for being here. For guarding me and giving me hope. This is just to say I’m grateful I get to be here a little bit longer.
Paul. I am 81 lbs. less. My body is busted. I understand is my point. That grandchild is all. I'm glad that you get to know them.
“You..Shall..Pass…..your cancer scans!” I love that Balrog! So glad it worked out. My brother had multiple myeloma last year and is now on the road to remission. The anxiety at bloodwork and other tests was its own special hell. And kids and babies always remind me of “Beginner Mind” - to be open and not ashamed of awe and wonder at learning and discovering the world.