I felt better yesterday, got in a long run in the sunshine, picked up my smiling kids from daycare, hugged my husband when he came home. Life felt alright again. I made my peace, I put things in perspective and I moved forward.
Today I received a forward email from my mom, the unraveling story of a little boy, around the same age as my girls. He had been so sick, and then, like magic, he was better. As she told me he was in remission a few months ago, tears streamed down my face for this woman I barely know, for her husband for her baby and for that baby’s brother. It felt like sometimes prayers are answered when enough people are asking. But yesterday, they discovered that the cancer is back, this time with no hope of survival, just quality of life. This time, it’s not an answered prayer, but a nightmare. I wonder if it’s worse this time, because she had a grasp on something more concrete than just hope.
I sit here, sobbing for her. A woman younger than me. And in my innocence, with my crudely intact heart I wonder how people go on. She did it, and she did, too. And the girl I know who lost her son in a car accident two summers ago, and my childhood babysitter whose daughter choked in front of her and died in her arms, and the list goes on and on and on and it’s so heartbreakingly cruel that they have to, people have to go on.
It’s here in writing, that with this life my deepest wishes have come true. And though I’m naive, I’m not so naive to think there’s anything I can to to help someone I barely know heal.
As my tears fall and hit this wooden desk, as they stream from my eyes, I pray, I ask anyone who’s listening, Bring them peace. Please, bring them peace.