Update #31: Beauty Mark

Dear Shekinah’s “The Worst” Substack Community–

This is Adam, her husband, prefacing her most recent and, devastatingly, final post(s) with the sad news that Shekinah passed away last week, surrounded by her loved ones and tender hospice care in her final days. Shekinah had written this piece before she was admitted to UNC Hospital, looking ahead to her 42nd birthday approaching on July 15. Of course, her loss is impossible to put into words in this space. What I can say is that she loved this community that she and all of us created and sustained over the past seven months. Early on she wrote that “writing is a place where I can collapse into how I am actually doing.” For thirty-one weeks Shekinah expressed how she was actually doing in these posts. I know she appreciates each and every one of us for reading, that she indeed felt that we “make this writing possible.” It breaks my heart to tell you that there will not be more, more, much more after this. Nevertheless, here is one more reflection from Shekinah. May her life continue to be a light for us all. -Adam

I was born with large dimples that were deep on both sides of my Cupid’s bow lips. I’m an elder millennial so it’s been quite some time.

I know that a common adage in the United States is that children and younger people can’t wait to grow up and that older adults wish that they were younger, and the society certainly imposes a tax on women, including all sorts of medication with the goal of reliving the past in the name of beauty.

I have always wanted birthdays. One year more. At some point in middle school I thought having a party was some status symbol like a teenager might. But it’s really been all about how old I can get.

During my first trip to Mozambique I turned 25. I told everyone. I was so excited and emerging at this pivotal age. One of my friends said bluntly “who asked you?” “I asked myself,” I snapped back. It’s unusual to so openly document your age as a young woman, but this was absolutely the most important thing about a birthday for me. It’s been just the same for me at every age, particularly because I’ve had cancer from the time that I was little to now, with breaks in between.

We often think of birthmarks as the dimples that I mentioned or a small dot of extra pigmentation on the upper lip or near the wrist. Certainly, these absolutely qualify. But my real birthmark is the tp53 gene that has made my life so unique and has marked a journey through cancer from many sides. I lack one of the copies of gene that prevents cancers of all types from springing up in our bodies. The gene was discovered in 1994. My first cancer was before this and my family does not seem to share the same unique birthmark.

But as with so many things, our lives are our lives. Were there a way to have the life that I’ve had and not include all of the cancers that I’ve had, I would strongly consider it. But I don’t think there is such a way. Past has been so acutely prologue for me. And so I am who I am. Beauty marks and all.

I look forward to taking some time to digest the birthday cake for Monday (July 15) and think more deeply about how others must think about a birthday. Not just advancing in age, maybe not even in wisdom, but a chance to be oneself, to reflect, enjoy, and perhaps to dance.