I can’t come up with a name for this post. Is it because I’m still in shock? My mind doesn’t seem to be functioning at full speed the last few days (well, actually, that’s not entirely abnormal, but right now I feel that I need my mind to click on for once). A couple of days ago I found out that my dear friend and former matron of honor, Emilie, has cancer. Which is impossible. I just saw her a week ago at her adorable little son’s first birthday party. She looked so pretty, so happy. And I felt so envious (yes, I’m a shit–it’s just that I want a baby of my own so desperately). Now, only a few days later, this.
I am really angry with You, God, over this.
I keep thinking about what a horrible word “cancer” is. Look at how we use it in everyday language. “The Justice Department is a cancer growing on our democracy.” “She flashed him a malignant look, and he knew there would be no hanky-panky tonight.” I mean, it’s as though the damn word takes on a life of its own, becoming yet another burden those afflicted by the disease have to carry around.
Sorry, I know I’m rambling…
My heart is just bleeding for Emilie and Stephen and little Daniel. I love them like family and just cannot believe this is happening.
Emilie, I’ve got my aunties and the Jesuits (New Orleans Province Prayer Circle, that is) praying for you, and George’s family, and George and me, of course. I wish I could carry some of this burden for you, dear. If I could have my way, I’d take it and carry it all for you myself. You are the last person in the world this should happen to. Please remember that we will be here for you every minute of every day.
You CAN do this. You are not your cancer. You are still the same beautiful Emilie as always.