Final Destination: Who Cares?!

by Kerry Blair

I’m not entirely sure I’m still welcome here after wandering off for so long without explanation, but my name is still on the mailbox and my key still fits in the lock, so . . . here I am! (It’s okay if you don’t have a fatted calf; I’ve been trying to stick to a diet of fruit, vegetables, and whole grain anyway.) How is everybody? I’ve missed you!

To continue the conference/Whitney theme: Since I couldn’t be in Utah last weekend, I threw myself a grand pity party and thoughtfully invited my whole family and part of my ward. Even though it was all over by Monday, I find myself still cleaning up a little here and there—mostly ripping up photos of the big event that people have thoughtlessly left laying around on the Internet. (Not that I’m jealous or anything.)

But by way of good-for-me news, I am now almost optimistic enough to say: “There’s always next year!” (I’m halfway through the latest round of chemo and, due to a change in schedule, almost coherent on a Friday!) Looking toward next year is a big step in the right direction for me. I’ve been rather . . . fatalistic . . . of late. I blame TNT.

About the time I learned that the cancer had advanced to the next stage, I spent an afternoon alone, on the couch, sleeping with the TV on. During one of my more-or-less wakeful periods, TNT showed an edited-for-almost-everybody version of Final Destination 2. The storyline involved a group of people who are saved from death in a horrific highway pile-up by one girl’s premonition. The thing is, you can’t cheat Death. One by one, the people who were spared the accident begin to die in some of the most, um, creative ways imaginable. (Imaginable by Poe, I mean.) And, to be honest, I can only assume they died. I didn’t see it. It was early afternoon—and TNT—so every scene ended before the pendulum met the pit. But there was dripping red Karo syrup and I never saw the actor again, so I feared the worst.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about how my diagnosis was almost like a premonition. From there I “naturally” extrapolated that taking chemo could be considered cheating death. (Lower case this time.) Was that what I was trying to do? Was I torturing myself and bankrupting my family only to postpone the inevitable? Heck, I don’t even cheat at Monopoly. (Usually.) Also, I’m not afraid to die. Then, because I have way too much imagination, some of it twisted, I was able to coax that passing fear of making the wrong choice into an obsession which I then raised to an art form. Not only did I agonize over whether or not to continue treatment, I spent odd hours imagining all kinds of marvelously ironic ways to perish at the end of hundreds of hours of
chemo-induced misery and thousands of dollars of medical bills.

I’m better now, thank you. The anti-psychotic drugs really help.

Okay, so I’m not serious. Or at least I’m mostly not serious. I did think about the whole why-am-I-postponing-death thing a little. I do think about it still sometimes. But it doesn’t haunt me. In fact, as much as I love irony, I think I could appreciate being hit by a bus the day I’m pronounced cured of cancer. That said, I am cautious around bus stops—and I will continue to use chemo to “cheat” just as long as I can get away with it. I don’t know exactly how the time and place of anyone’s demise is ascertained, but I’m very certain—and happy—that I’m not in charge of mine. (My imagination is too good.)

Today, in fact, I am not only going to look forward to next year, I’m going to plant a cherry tree to prove it. It’s Arbor Day, after all, and my long-and-not-very-interesting blog has reminded me of one of my husband’s favorite quotes. Some of the brethren of Wilford Woodruff’s time asked him when he thought the Savior would come and the world as we know it would end. President Woodruff is said to have replied, “I would live as if it were to be tomorrow—but I am still planting cherry trees!”*

Any of us could face the end of life today, tomorrow, or many years from now. I think President Woodruff’s attitude covers all possibilities. What really matters is what we do right now. When we plant cherry trees, we sow faith and joy in the day and hope for many morrows to come. You've got to admit: it beats watching horror movies.

And, speaking of bright new futures, a little frog told me there might be a major announcement coming a little later today. If you're reading this before that, come back! I promise, it's not to be missed!


*Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Wilford Woodruff; pg 250)