My friend Kay

March 24, 2019

Twenty years ago she was given a death sentence: inflammatory breast cancer, a rare and aggressive form of breast cancer. She survived. Since then it has come back three times, most recently a year ago, and she’s still thriving.

I first met Kay 50 years ago in high school. I was 17, she was 15, and we both were newly minted Buddhists. Being young and full of idealism and naivete, we enthusiastically embraced the goals of individual enlightenment and world peace. I was to eventually learn that our Buddhist organization had a darker side, but at the time I saw our efforts through rose-colored glasses, and Kay was with me every step of the way. One time, in 1972, we had both been desperate to go on a group pilgrimage to the head temple in Japan, and went to the airport with bags packed even though we were not on the list. When the plane took off without us, we were momentarily deflated. Then one of us had an idea: why not go to a restaurant in Berkeley and celebrate our defeat? And so we did, laughing about our disappointment and making further determinations to advance the cause of Nichiren Buddhism. We even donated our Japan travel money to our organization, even though in my case I had earned it through many long hours of washing dishes at $3/hour.

Kay went away to college in Oregon, and I stayed in Berkeley as a student at the university and as a kitchen helper/dishwasher. We stayed in touch by letter and phone, and I went to her wedding in 1977. But although both of us have continued our Buddhist practice, she has remained a loyal member of Soka Gakkai International, and I left the group in 1984. In fact, that divergence in allegiance caused us to lose touch for many years, and I thought I might never see her again.

Then in 1999 I ran into her mother at a grocery store, and her mom told me of Kay’s cancer diagnosis. Shocked, I put aside my past reservations and called her. I didn’t want to have any regrets about having her die without saying goodbye. But instead of saying goodbye, we said hello, and picked up right where we had left off: laughing. And so it has been ever since.

Kay is one of the most positive people I have ever met. She makes Pollyanna seem like Ebenezer Scrooge by comparison. Even the ever-present specter of death doesn’t faze her. I spoke with her by phone earlier today, and we talked candidly about the possibility of the cancer finally claiming her life. And that’s why she has decided to travel and enjoy her life now, rather than looking forward to retirement. She still works four days a week, and has been visiting her kids and grandkids and traveling with her husband. She treats every day as if it might be her last.

To validate her decision to travel as much as she can while she can, I told her the story of my aunt Maria. My uncle John and aunt Maria loved to travel, but were saving their money to enjoy traveling in their retirement. John had already retired, but Maria was still working full time when she learned that she had terminal cancer. She became a recluse, so I wasn’t able to speak with her, but I later learned that she was bitter about never being able to retire and enjoy seeing the world with John. She died a few months after her diagnosis, disappointed at having postponed her life for a future that never arrived. Kay and I both see Maria’s story as a warning: live for today, not tomorrow, because tomorrow may never come.

Kay credits her Buddhist chanting for her survival, and it certainly has contributed to her fighting spirit and her joie de vivre. But I think her sunny disposition has played an equally important role in her longevity. She’s ready to die, but even more importantly, she’s ready to live. Now.