When I was 28 I had cancer.
I was a third year associate at Linklaters LLP, a global law firm where I spent pretty much all of my time. The day that changed everything was like any other before it. Unremarkable. I was clicking through and tagging documents by subject and relevance to help the senior lawyers on the team identify “hot docs.” The task was arduous and boring and also necessary and important.
My landline office phone rang.
I answered in my most professional voice “this is Danielle” —to a kind “hello, is this Ms. Randazzo?” “This is she” I answered. And, then the news. The pathology report had come back with “atypical cells that upon analysis are cancerous” and it was necessary to have another surgery imminently because the cancer was close to my lymph nodes and if they spread further it could be “problematic.”
The next call I made was to my husband (we were married the year before). He met me right away and I cried in his arms on a NYC street corner. Unsure how to begin to process this news, I took action. I walked right into an overpriced NYC Deli and ordered a freshly squeezed green juice. It was 2008 and the juice cost $13. I meant business. I was not going to let this news take me out. With time and reflection I recognize that being diagnosed with cancer was the opening for my deepest healing and the beginning of my spiritual path. I am grateful I was faced with the opportunity to redefine.
The first book I read after I was diagnosed was You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay. I was introduced to concepts that changed my life and expanded my awareness in every way. The notion is “if we are willing to do the mental work, almost anything can be healed.” Louise Hay believed that limiting beliefs and ideas are often the cause of illness. This meant that I could take control of my own healing. I became a student of intention, always searching for the good. I began meditating daily. I started practicing yoga. I became disciplined in positive visualization, vigilant about the foods I ate, and the energy I put out into the world. I learned how to love myself.
Cancer did not take me out. Grief did.
My brother Ryan had a fatal fentanyl overdose last December. The news of my brother’s death came on December 29, 2023, but I do not know for sure when he actually passed. Fentanyl is lethal every day.
Siblings are lost in the hierarchy of grief, often overlooked. The pain of never speaking with my brother again has been debilitating. I have experienced loss before, my father passed 14 years ago—but losing my brother is achingly different.
We are coming on the anniversary of Ryan’s death. Since he died I have been in incredible pain, retreating inwards often missing out on what is right in front of me. Unable to find joy in the day to day. Frustrated and angry, sad and despondent at times. Sobbing when I am alone in the car. Furious really. At my brother. At the time we lost. This year I have completely succumbed to the grief. It has been a year of inaction and when I did make moves it was often in the wrong direction.
But it cannot be this way forever. I am blessed with friends who love me enough to hold up the mirror and force me to see the truth of how lost I’ve been—reminding me of my strength. Loving me through it all.
I am a mother. My children need me back in the world. Now is the time to do what I know how to do—take action.
To start:
I will reread You Can Heal Your Life—it won’t be the first time this year, but maybe this time it will land differently.
I will start taking care of myself again, nourishing my mind, body and spirit. Allowing for the spaces in between to whisper what I need to know in order to evolve.
Once I articulate a plan, I will share here in case it sparks something for you. One thing I will do for sure is take The Class regularly, which is an incredibly special methodology that always leaves me feeling lighter and clearer.
I will a Take a Deep Breath and Drink Water and listen over and over again to Jon Batiste’s music because it helps me exhale.
Perhaps you may have felt a bit lost this year--in the final weeks of 2024, what can you hold a mirror to and really look at? What are you ready to dissolve in order to evolve? With so much love, Danielle
You have already sparked something in me. You are the second person this week to mention Louise Hay to me. I think the universe is tapping me on the shoulder telling me to read her book. And so I will. Thank you for this. And I'm so sorry about the horrible anniversary you are about to experience. No matter how hard we brace for a grief wave, it always seems to knock us into the deep. Sending love during this difficult time.
Love these posts and your vulnerability to share exactly where you're at along the journey of grief. Next time I'm in your area, I would love to take The Class with you. So much love.