New Life for Easter

Diagnosis

Yesterday was the anniversary of my diagnosis of liver metastasis. A truly momentous occasion and reason to celebrate re-birth. For I have been born again — not in the common sense that I have adopted Christianity as my fundamental belief. But in the true sense, my soul has come alive in the past year like no other time in my life. I am grateful for life, for love, for music, for family, for friends, for ancestors, for breath, for the Earth and all its beautiful inhabitants.

Why JOY?

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been wondering about why I called my Christmas CD of 2007 or so, JOY. That was not my modus operandi! I was constantly battling mild depression and though I loved what I did in life, I was not aware (shall we say) of just how meaningful and full it was. I was driven. Now I know. As I mention in JOY’s liner notes, my memory of Christmas Eve services in San Carlos CA were magical. Candelarios, hundreds of them, lined the roof and porch of our church as the congregation emerged from service singing and carrying more candles. I feel now like that was the most gracious and ritualistic moment of my youth. An annual call to feel life in its profound richness: light/dark, music/silence, congregation/individual presence.

My parents were deeply religious and active members of our Presbyterian church. They reveled in their new-found freedom from their deep roots in Texas and the southern Baptist and Lutheran denominations. But they did not care for ritual. The church was there to promote social good and service. The minister was to inspire congregants to do good work in the community. Raising money for a new organ or choir director was frowned on. And so joy itself was not central. Personal growth was relegated to private prayer with God.

I embarked upon adulthood with a fierce determination to do good in my way, and to pursue personal growth however possible. As most of you know, that was primarily a music-related pursuit: guitar lessons, breathing lessons, voice lessons, lute lessons, expanding my repertoire in unexpected directions—be it folk songs, medieval chants or Renaissance polyphony, while premiering contemporary works on the guitar by various Boston composers.

And so all that ground work, in all its madness, glee, and frustrations has brought me to where I am: a profound presence in the joy of life that surrounds me.

Guest blog

Let me conclude with a guest writer. My wife Nancy posted this yesterday on CaringBridge for our devoted friends and followers there. She says it much better than I…

Today marks the one year anniversary of Frank’s Stage Four diagnosis. We are all so proud he is still with us in spite of his rare and virulent ocular melanoma.  Although he tires easily, has tumors inside and out, has digestive issues and is now on hospice, he is still doing his two-hour morning meditation and yoga, playing gorgeous guitar, writing blog posts, editing his new compositions and updating gyremusic.com (home to all his work), as well as clearing paths in the woods and hanging with me and our sons.

Adam left yesterday after being here over a week and Gus arrives today. Our greenhouse is getting warm enough for Frank to record his wonderful new pieces. With this heartwarming family time it is hard to keep up with thank you notes to all who have sent us their love (in myriad ways). We will write soon, but meanwhile please know we love you right back and you are all making a big difference for us as we navigate our way.

We both hope you are healthy and finding some peaceful moments in these strange times. The unknowingness around cancer has been one of our family’s biggest hurdles for the last three years, and one of the hardest feelings to express. The world now joining us in a state of unknowing is oddly comforting.