Put It There

A friend of mine dropped Tim and I a note on the eve before Christmas Eve. She sent some "recipe cards" (yes, I'm gonna leave that in quotes) that most foodie-types are very familiar with. (They live here ... and do yourself a favor and notice that the tab names change with each new fabulous dish. I especially love that part.)

I responded to her in the fashion with which we typically communicate ... in staccato - dribs and drabs. She's witty and quick and, most of the time, we say things specifically to crack up the other. So my response was something like "that first card looks like something may be infected. I dunno that it'd be going anywhere near my mouth".

She responded with a 5 line, 6 sentence reply. "Guess who's mom has breast cancer? Give up? Yeah. It's mine. She has lump surgery on Friday. Say a prayer." and it made me sit upright as I took in the words and hit "reply". I wrote not as a patient, but as a daughter. I didn't stop to think - I just typed.

I wrote things that I wish I could have said to my friends, to my family, to those who meant well ... things like "yell and scream and cry and freak out as necessary - and often - but, inbtween those times, be the strong daughter she raised" and "laugh with her about the lack of privacy, the wonderful new terms you'll both be learning" and advice like "do NOT whisper around her, do NOT tiptoe. If she wakes up one day and looks like hell - and if you woulda told her so in the past, tell her so again. Make future plans - for next week, next Christmas, for eight years from now. When she's blue, don't talk her out of it. When she's overly confident, don't tell her she's brave. When she's tired of talking about 'it', change the subject."

The day after Christmas I received a reply. "The lumpectomy went well with no sign of cancer in her sentinel nodes. The lab will return results in a week but things look very good. By the time we got the good news at the end of the day, I wandered into a bathroom so I could have a good, relieved 'thank you god' sob. I mean, I know it's all going to end someday, but I'm just so not ready to lose her yet." She wrapped up by asking me how I was doing.

This was days ago, as I've said. I haven't replied yet. The honest truth is that being told this news - not because of anything I've experienced but because I am a friend and she wanted to tell a friend - was exactly the kind of thing that I needed, and exactly what I was trying to convey in my response. I'm not a patient. I'm not a survivor. I've said all along I have no designs on becoming a face or voice for breast cancer.

But "friend"? That's a title I'll very willingly embrace. I can be "friend".

Give me your hand, I'd like to shake it. I wanna show you I'm you friend.
You'll understand, if I can make it clear. It's all that matters in the end.

"Put it there, if it weighs a ton." That's what a father said to his younger son.
"I don't care if it weighs a ton. As long as you and I are here, put it there.
Long as you and I are here, put it there."

If there's a fight, I'd like to fix it. I hate to see things go so wrong.
The darkest night, and all it's mixed emotions, is getting light so sing along.

"Put it there, if it weighs a ton." That's what a father said to his younger son.
"I don't care if it weighs a ton. As long as you and I are here, put it there.
Long as you and I are here, put it there."

- "Put It There" .... Paul McCartney