Laura Corddry’s 2023 TEDxAmoskeagMillyard Talk
When asked to describe herself in three words, TEDxAmoskeagMillyard speaker Laura Corddry said, “Relationship-builder, partner, and problem-solver” — and that was Laura, putting as much of herself into a bit more than three words that she could. She always did give as much as she possibly could to everyone, and what she wanted so much this fall was to deliver her talk on the stage of The Rex on October 19.
Laura had terminal cancer, and it was barely a month ago when she finished her TEDx Talk. She felt good about where she landed with it. When she last spoke with her speaker coach in mid-September, she was ready to deliver her talk. What we weren’t ready for was what came next.
Laura died on October 1, 2023. Here’s what she wanted to say.
I’m going to be honest with you right from the start.
I wanted to be here today talking about successful parenting and raising emotionally intelligent young men. I am the mother of two incredible children and have a loving and supportive wife. I wanted to be here describing the memories of raising my sons that I hold close to my heart.
But now I find that I can’t focus as much on how I raised them, but rather what I’ll leave them with. Because, here is the thing – I’m dying. I’m dying, and what I say and do now will have as much of an impression on them – and hopefully you – as anything I’ve done up until this point.
You may be thinking, well, Laura, we are all going to die someday, aren’t we? Yes, but I am on the express train.
As a result, I live my life in a different way and have learned important lessons that I want to share. I’m not looking for pity. I’m only looking for open hearts and minds because if you listen to my experience and what I’ve taken from it, I can promise you will live your life with more intention.
As I went about writing this talk, the words didn’t come right away. Death is not something that we are comfortable talking about – it causes anxiety, sadness and fear. I know… Newsflash! I AM facing it, and I am not always comfortable talking about it. But, there is so much to be learned.
Eighteen months ago I had a very different life, and what transpired next changed everything.
In May 2022, I had a routine surgery at my community hospital. The following day my surgeon came into my hospital room and closed the door behind him. He asked me if I had seen any pathology reports in my patient portal, and to be honest, I hadn’t looked. I had my gallbladder removed – what was there to worry about? He said that he would look himself, and what he told me next changed my life.
“What you have is a pancreatic head mass with atypical cells in a background of desmoplastic stroma and necrosis, features most consistent with adenocarcinoma.” Well, what the hell does that mean?
Then he looked me in the eye, with a level of sadness – “I’m sorry, you have pancreatic cancer.”
Fuck!....Fuck! I was in this hospital room by myself – what was I supposed to do? Anxiety gripped me as I immediately began thinking of the extreme. How was I not to? Fuck!
Suddenly, everything I thought to be true about my life and my future radically shifted. The questions started, what if — why me — how did this happen --what’s going to happen next? Everything felt completely out of control.
In time I was able to battle past the self-pity, the fear, and the overwhelming panic. This isn’t fair. Am I still scared? YES, you bet I am.
I began treatment, made a plan for surgery — and as hard as it all was, there was this strong belief, or maybe it was just extreme hope — I believed I was heading in a positive direction. I did a great job of balancing hope with realism. As a result the fear began to fade, and the true fight began.
In December 2022, not long ago, but what now feels like a lifetime, I had a successful surgery and they were able to remove the cancer… or so we thought. It turned out that the cancer had spread into my liver. This was the big time — a stage 4 terminal disease.
When my doctors told me the cancer had metastasized, I was scared to death. Or perhaps, I was just scared of death.
After I had a bit of time to digest the news and understand what my treatment plan would look like, a small piece of me began to feel like this news was actually a gift. I know, I know that might sound crazy…I’ve been told I am dying and I am mad as hell, and I’m starting to think of this as a gift?!?
But, here is the thing — time is a gift, no matter how short or long, and we each have this gift, time to be present each day with the people we love, time to live each day with intention. I have been given the gift of time, an opportunity to be fully present with the people around me. We all believe we have all the time in the world but, in fact, time is finite. I have been given a better sense of that. And being able to sense time more acutely than most people…that is the gift. I am not squandering any of it.
Knowing that this disease, along with my life, have been categorized as terminal, as a wife and mother I feel compelled to prepare my family for my eventual death, as well as my colleagues and friends. I hope they can begin to see life through the lens I had thrust upon me — and that they, and each of you, can benefit from what I’ve been forced to realize.
First, don’t put off challenging conversations.
I thought I’d had some tough conversations in my life but nothing compared to telling people I love, people that love me, some of the worst news they’ll ever have to hear. Telling my kids, my wife, my family and friends I have cancer, and then…later on…that it was terminal…have been some of the most heart wrenching conversations I’ve ever had.
But, unlike so many other tough conversations, these couldn’t be put off — I had no choice. Why do we hold back from having ANY tough conversation?
I don’t know how many weeks or months I have left, and I don’t want to deprive myself or someone else of a conversation that could happen now, however challenging.
Second, develop, nurture, and draw upon your networks.
I have been blessed in this life to have the most incredible and supportive family; BUT, sometimes we need more than JUST family; SOMETIMES we need our network.
Our network is the family we have chosen. They are the family outside our family who loves us and who we can be completely honest with in a way that might burden our family unnecessarily.
Journalist, educator and author Jane Howard is quoted as saying, “Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.” She is right.
I have a core group of close friends, my nucleus. My network.
I have a professional squad, a parent squad, and a cancer squad who I rely on and care for deeply. Networks inside of networks inside of networks.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, I was provided with a strong team of professionals to help me manage my disease. When it comes to cancer, these are my people. This network knows my medical condition, my fears and anxieties, my hopes and my wishes. It is important that I stay connected to them and inform them of changes or challenges.
I also have a professional network. You know, some people think it is important to keep your work and personal life separate. That’s never worked for me. When I show up anywhere, I show up as my whole self — and having my network, MY PEOPLE, in all aspects of my life makes a huge difference.
It’s hard facing a terminal illness, yes, but life is tough for all of us in unique ways. And everyone needs a network to rely on.
Life is tough for all of us.
Third, be intentional.
So much of our lives we just pass through. We’re active in them, sure, getting stuff done, multi-tasking, just checking off the to-do-list. I have had days that I wished I could speed through.
Sometimes, looking back, we see how important some moments were but there’s a million more we missed or hadn’t made special because we just weren’t intentional or fully present. I have missed these moments in the past, but not anymore. Time is a finite resource, and once it is gone, you can’t get it back.
Some days, living with terminal cancer is extra hard and emotionally draining. I think about the things that I will miss when I am gone. I worry about the progression of the disease, and it makes me angry and sad. When I find myself getting into this dark place, I actively shift my energy and attention to what is right in front of me — the people, the sounds, the smells. I listen more intently and share more openly.
When I heard my disease was terminal I thought I should create a bucket list and do everything on it. One of my sons pointed out to me that planning a vacation would be fun; who doesn’t want to see the world’s largest ball of string. BUT, that we could appreciate the time we have just as much building a puzzle, watching a movie or getting an ice cream together.
If there are opportunities for me to share my emotions and feelings, I do it.
You can start now and live each day with intentionality and focus, being present for the beautiful and powerful moments around you.
Lastly, care deeply and with vulnerability.
Living with cancer sucks. I know, not much of a bomb drop there.
I hear from people around me who say, “You are so strong, Laura,” and I think about all of the times that I break down in tears or find myself panicking. I want to protect those closest to me from the grief they will feel when I am gone, because I am experiencing that grief now.
It would be easier to bury my head in the sand and ignore what is happening to me, but if I do that I am missing the opportunity I have to care deeply for the people around me. I want to help my children and my wife and family now, while I am still here, and that takes vulnerability.
What I found was that the more vulnerable I am with those around me, the easier it is for me to manage those emotions. By demonstrating vulnerability, you open your own heart to love and care from others. I would estimate that about 1-in- every-3 conversations that I have these days includes tears on my part. I care deeply about the people in my life, and I want them to know that.
I know that conversations will get more difficult as this disease progresses, and the emotions will be more intense. What I don’t want to happen is to be sitting in my final days, worried that there are words that have gone unsaid, time wasted, or that the people around me don’t know how I feel about them.
I know that no matter how much time I have left, it will never be enough time. What I won’t miss is today and tomorrow. Cancer has taken years from me, but I will not let it take the days and hours I do have away from me.
Knowing I am dying has become a prized possession. But, I don’t want to keep this gift to myself. If I can tell you anything, it’s this: don’t shy away from the hard conversations — find and cherish your network — be there for them as much as they are for you; be intentional and present each day and don’t be afraid to care deeply and show your vulnerability.
None of us really know how long we have together. Don’t let anyone or anything take these precious days and hours you have away from you.
