A friend of mine is dying of cancer. He is someone I used to game with on a very regular basis before I moved to Seattle. He was and is still a good friend. He has been battling cancer for some time now but, until recently, he's been winning—a pyrrhic victory it seems. Instead of the projected years of life before him, his life is suddenly measured in weeks. Weeks. Months if we are lucky.
We.
I rail at myself because this is not about "we." It is about him and how he will end his life. Yet, it is about "we" because he has affected us all and we have affected him. We will lose something precious when he dies—and he will die—and there is nothing we can do about it except be there for him until the end. Be there and help support his wife who will lose her best friend in the world.
I have not been dealing well with this fact of death lately. I have sent emails expressing my love and care for my dying friend but, really, there is nothing more I can do. I cannot imagine what he is going through. All I can imagine is what it would be like if it were my husband dying instead of my friend.
