hope and sorrow
Written by patty on August 4th, 2008My friend’s brother died yesterday.
Our friendship began when each of us learned that one of our siblings had brain tumors.
Her brother’s tumors were terminal. My sister’s were (are) not.
Five of my sister’s six tumors (or “lesions” as we euphemistically called them) are gone. One remains, one sad little sorry excuse for a one-inch tumor that’s shrinking as you read these words.
Her ten year cancer story, with an intense six months of surgery, chemo and radiation at the beginning and nine or ten horrifying months at the end, is drawing to a close.
She’s here in Stamford for a long visit, drinking in the love and connection and friendship and sisterhood and family she finds nowhere else. I saw her last night for the fifth or sixth time this week, talked to her on the phone three times yesterday, took for granted that she’s here and she’s healthy and she’s recovering.
Her cancer story has a hopeful ending.
J., I am so very sorry. I wish your brother’s story could have been a hopeful one too. I know I am kidding myself when I think I can imagine your grief. Because I know, I cannot.
