There are times when I imagine that God is up in heaven, looking down with a “this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you” parental expression as he drops a single feather down towards the over-sized load I’ve already got slung on my back.
It falls gracefully, blowing gently this way and that until it comes to rest squarely between my shoulders.
“Dad has cancer. He didn’t want to worry anyone that he was going in for a biopsy, because we were sure that it was nothing. The doctor wants to see us today, in person.” The words came out between sobs, and I held my mom’s shoulders and tried to keep from falling apart. We were at the flower show, huddled in an alcove so she could hear what he was saying on the phone. She looked so lost, so completely confused right then…I took her bags from her suddenly-limp arms and her friend and I led her outside to the car. For half an hour we talked about cancer and doctors and insurance and how they had both assumed it would be a false alarm, and then she dropped me off at home.
And so now I have to ask the universe, “Really? Cancer? On top of everything else? You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”
And I’m angry, finally. At the universe, at God, at the trees and the rocks and the sun, because, really, there’s no one to blame, and they’ve been very forgiving in the past when I needed a place to scream.
And I have to say – please, if you have a friend going through anything like this…the correct answer is not “well, he’s pretty old, isn’t he?” or “I hear the survival rates are really good,” or “at least you caught it early.”
The only correct answer is, “I’m so sorry” and then “is there anything I can do?” or “do you want to talk?” or “I’m here for you.” Because, when it’s your dad, of course there’s no age that’s old enough and even 95% isn’t good enough and there’s nothing you’re gonna say to make it better at all, but there’s a whole hell of a lot that you can do to make it worse.
But you can listen. You can hear. You can show me that someone gives a shit that this fucking load is one god-damnned feather too heavy and walk alongside me for a while.
Because a god in the clouds can’t help me, but a friend down here on Earth can. We fragile, emotional mud-babies, we’ve got to stick together. Ultimately, we’re all we’ve got.
I love you and I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I don’t have the ability to carry your feathers, but I’m happy to give you respites throughout the day where you can forget about some of them, even for a little while.
I love you, I’m here for you, you don’t have to be strong all the time, cry on me, vent at me, I can be a rock when you need one.
So sorry to hear this…
– Someone out here who wishes your load weren’t so heavy. If that’s a goddamn feather, birds could never get off the ground.
I’m so very sorry. If we were closer you’d feel my hand in yours.
I’m so sorry Roxy. I’m here if you need to talk.
If I were there, I would hug you. I’m not, so I will simply say, I’m sorry. And it sucks. Oh hell, here’s a hug anyway (((((hug)))))
My grandfather’s in his late 70s and he is still not old enough. My grandfather is more important to me than my dad is and I’ve been in and out of the hospital for him over the last year, expecting him to be okay because he always ends up “okay”, yet knowing that one of these days he will not be okay. One of these days he will not end up okay. And no words of consolation or advice are ever adequate. Just being confronted with having to *conceive* of a life without that person is unbearable at least and overwhelming at best.
Hold on tight, Rox. No matter the outcome or the path, this next chapter of your life will be a crucial one. Savor all of it, for better or for worse, and do what you do best: honor your feelings and experience throughout.
And, I forgot to add, I’m here (albeit a stranger) if you find yourself wanting to talk or scream or vent or borrow a bottle of scotch.