The Fragility of Life
My wife and I are both 41 years old. We’ve been together over 20 years. Through our relationship we have created a new being - us. There is my wife. There is me. And there is a third presence that inextricably binds us, a shared brain, a shared being, a shared spirit. I can’t imagine life without her. If anything were to happen to her, part of me would be lost forever.
A friend of ours just died, less than an hour ago. A contemporary. A wife. A friend to many. A mother of two. A wonderful, strong, vital woman, the kind of person whom you couldn’t imagine could ever be struck down. But ultimately she was. By cancer. A nasty, virulent strain that wouldn’t succumb to even the most aggressive experimental protocols. And she got the best treatment this planet had to offer, being a loved, respected, highly accomplished oncology nurse with relationships at some of the premier cancer centers in the world. But in the end, none of it mattered. And all it took was 15 months. All the chemicals. All the radiation. All the pain. All the love. All the support. All the prayers. None of it worked.
And our other friend, her husband, is left with two beautiful little girls, the same ages as my boys, without his partner. Without his best friend. Without his life companion. Without part of himself. He is surrounded by so many people that love him, adore his daughters, and love the memory of his wonderful wife. He and his daughters live in a small, tightly-knit community, a community that has stepped up throughout his wife’s mortal battle. But no amount of support can make any sense of this to our friend or compensate for what he has lost. It will help him get through, and will certainly help to support his children, but the bottom line is that his wife and their mother will never be coming home. And my heart breaks.
One of the most remarkable things I witnessed during our friend’s painful decline was the support of her friends, some of whom we know very well. They became extensions of our friend’s family, helping her husband, taking care of the kids, sleeping at the hospital with our friend when her husband needed to be at home, shuttling her between home and treatment so many times. We should all be so fortunate to have friends like these, those who you can count on when the going gets tough - really, really tough. Sadly, this story didn’t end for our friend like it did for George Bailey in It’s A Wonderful Life. He at least had a chance to see his friends come through and live to enjoy the revelation. Our friend didn’t.
During the past few weeks, when it became clear that our friend was going to die, I’ve been looking at my wife a little differently and hugging my children just a little bit harder. Because if you are reading this right now you are fortunate. I am fortunate. Sure, you may have some unhappy stuff going on in your life and it sucks. And I’m not trying to minimize it. But the blessing of life, loving and being loved is like none other. And I feel so, so sad for my friend who died, and for her husband and her children. Because it will never be the same. And I just want to hold onto my wife and kids and never let go.
