The lives we love are not so different.
My two adult children. My retired single friends. My husband.
My dearest friend has cancer and I am sick with fear for her. I spent the weekend with her and brought food and fruits with me. We spent several hours talking and then we drank tea and each one of us curled up, me on the overstuffed armchair and she on the sofa, and napped. I was exhausted from a week of work and she was exhausted from the fear and dread that the word cancer generates.
How could this happen? There were a few months of tiredness, some backache, other telltale signs, but how could it become cancer? I am still in shock. But for my friend, Chris, the fear, the shock are magnified to the degree of night terrors.
She has two granddaughters whom she adores, I have no grandchildren. My kids aged twenty-three and thirty-three are both crafting their own lives. The youngest is going to grad school; the oldest is working hard to pay off school debts. These people in my life are the future and I have always assumed that I will be there when the joyous moments in their lives bloom.
And now Chris has cancer and I weep for her knowing that it is very possible that she won’t see how the future will play out in the lives of those she loves.