via The Colon Club Secrets by Belle Piazza “What do you think?” I asked my husband as he put my latest blog down and glanced up at me. “You spent a lot of time writing that didn’t you?” he replied. Not what I expected nor wanted to hear. He clearly wasn’t impressed. “It’s not what you normally write. You’re dancing all over the place – every paragraph could be a blog”. He was right. I touched on many things but didn’t focus on any one. I’d achieved what I wanted to write about but not what anyone would want to read. I wanted to talk about the logistics of The Colondar photo shoot – but didn’t want to get caught up in the emotion. Mission accomplished if I was looking to write a rather barren and rote blog. But to address the emotional side of the photo shoot? No way. I can’t go there I thought, it’s too personal, too painful, too deep – even for me. My chest tightened and my eyes teared up just at the thought. I can’t go there because I don’t know how to put into words what I’m feeling. I can’t go there because there are too many secrets that can’t be told. The models shared themselves with me, with all of us, in confidence – revealing things that weren’t intended for distribution on social media or a web-site blog. And then it hit me. It wasn’t their secrets I was supposed to write about. It was mine. Maybe not a ‘real’ secret, but something I haven’t been shouting from the roof tops. Those closest to me know my situation. Tumor growth and spread on my last 3 PET scans. Chemo’s no longer working and no doctor will do surgery or radiation on me other than for palliative efforts. I intentionally scheduled my last PET scan to be done after I returned from the photo shoot. I didn’t want to carry that negative energy with me. The photo shoot is about the 2015 models. For one extended weekend in June, it’s about having an amazing experience that they will cherish for a lifetime. It’s about taking photo’s and it’s about cancer – but it’s about so much more than that. It’s about connecting with people who understand. People who get it – who really, really get it. It’s about celebrating survivorship in a safe environment where secrets can be shared and talked about. It’s about baring their scars and baring their souls. And for me, it’s about telling my Colondar family how much I love them – as it may be my last opportunity to do this in person. I waited until Saturday night and a little liquid courage to embark on my first conversation. Troy’s been the Graphic Designer for The Colondar from day one. Shortly before agreeing to work on the Colondar, he lost his father to colon cancer. Always being the sort of person to give back, this was a natural fit for him. Natural, but not easy. Troy has known every model that has graced the pages of The Colondar. Each year he updates the slide show presentation honoring those we have lost. As the night got rolling, karaoke was in full swing and everyone was feeling quite fine, I sidled up next to Troy on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. I leaned into him, put my arm around him and did my best to express how much he means to me. I told him I wanted him to know now – while I was still there and able to tell him in person. Before I was a face in the slide show, a memory and a name. I did my best. I wanted nothing left unsaid. Later that evening Troy, myself and Trish joined together to sing “Annie” by John Denver. We were pathetic, but Troy later told me how much it meant to him and we agreed that “Annie” would always be “our song”. Sunday morning Mark McCarty (the photographer) pulled me aside “lets take some pictures” he said. I adore Mark and he knows it. I’ve always made this clear to him. He’s been taking Colondar photos since the 2nd Colondar – with the 2015 shoot marking 10 years he’s been working with The Colon Club. Like Troy, he knows most, if not all, of the models we have lost. I was wearing no make up, a less than flattering peach colored t-shirt and he asked that I wet down and slick back my hair. “Sometimes I enjoy the process more than the pictures” Mark tells me with a smile. “Sometimes I don’t even look at the pictures!” I sit in front of Mark’s camera and relive my memories from three years ago when I was one of the models. “A little to the right, down now, that’s it”. He goes through his process of finding just the right light, the right angle, to capture the vision he sees in his mind. “Okay we’re done” he tells me as he sits down next to me. I ask to see the pictures. I’m struck by what I see. It hurts. I tear up. He looks up slightly puzzled. “I just see a face that has seen a lot of pain these past few years” I tell him. “Cancer has really taken a toll on me”. I glance briefly at my freakishly blue eyes that stare outward, glowing like an alien. The only sign of fight I have left in me. I don’t like what I see and secretly hope that when we part he’ll delete them. Mark asks me what’s going on with me and I tell him. My time is running short – we just don’t know when. Mark takes it all in stride. He has to. How else could he continue to show up year after year and give his all to each new model that comes before him? He gives me a long deep hug and I know that he knows how much I love him. Sunday night I stayed up late with my roommate Angie – a former Colondar model who lives in Portland. We’d attended the Grand Ole Opry together, traveled to the shoot together, worked on our writing together and pretty much had the best time we could have possibly hoped for just hanging out. Angie reached out to me about six months previously, so I haven’t known her for long, but I feel so close to her we practically finish each others sentences. “I can’t imagine you not being here” she said. “It’s not that I’m in denial – it’s that you look so healthy”. She’s right. If you didn’t know otherwise, you’d never guess my cancer is slowly and steadily spreading across my body. Angie and I are very close and I can talk to her openly and honestly about my cancer. We’ve done so many times. I didn’t have to tell Angie how much I love her, I do it every time we’re together. Monday morning the staff sat together at the long tables in the dining room signing thank you cards for each other. As I got to Krista’s I realized I couldn’t write all I wanted on her card – there just wasn’t room. So I sat next to her, put my arm around her, pulled up “I Will Stand By You” by Rascal Flatts on YouTube and said “Krista – this is what you mean to me”. I cried hard and held her as the song played and the words displayed across the screen. I couldn’t help myself. If you haven’t heard this song, look it up and you’ll understand. By Monday afternoon the staff had left for the airport and the retreat was empty except for Deb (our Chef) and myself. My flight had been delayed until Tuesday. The people, the energy, the magic was gone. Deb drove me to my hotel room in Nashville. When she dropped me off she asked if she could pray for me. She reached for my hand, closed her eyes and said a prayer for us both. I thought about Deb. About Mark and Troy and Krista and Angie. About the 12 new models and the experience we had all just been through. I thought about cancer. I thought about the secrets the models had shared with me and the secret I had withheld from them. I wanted them to be empowered by sharing their secrets and I wanted to protect them from hearing mine. I hoped they had enjoyed – thoroughly enjoyed their weekend. The weekend was about photographs and interviews, sure; but it was about so much more than that. It was about strength, love and perseverance. It was about survivorship and tears and laughter. I thought about Mark’s comment – it’s not about the pictures – it’s about the process. Some secrets aren’t meant to be shared; others are. We need to tell those we love how we feel about them now – while we’re still here. Our love for our friends and family should never be a secret we hide from them. colonclub/category/the-colon-clubs-blog/
Posted on: Mon, 30 Jun 2014 10:35:48 +0000
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