Someone I know was recently diagnosed with melanoma. Her doctor went in a week or two ago to remove what they could. She left, guaranteed that they “got it all”. Well, they didn’t. We can live a happy, cheerful, well-intentioned life, and still be struck over the head with words like “melanoma” and “we didn’t get it all”.
We go through this really fantastic grace period in life, or least I did, when you think you’re invincible and your loved ones never seem to get really sick and your grandparents are still alive and remember everything – and you just can’t understand bad things happening to anyone you know.
And then you grow up. The analogy I use is that we are all basically little eggs running around this rough world, trying not to crack our shells.
Russell and I had dinner with my parents the other night. I looked around our table full of wonderful food, thought about how we all have our health, and how I had just talked to my sister who regaled me with stories of her perfectly healthy 6-month-old son – and I felt so lucky and mostly undeserving of it all. Wondering why our shells hadn’t cracked/wondering when they will.
I can’t do anything for my friend with melanoma. I can’t make her feel any better about how she’s going to have to heal and go in for the same damn surgery. I can’t tell her everything’s going to be fine. But I can bring cake. Flowers are cheerful, but put rosewater in your cake and then it’s the best of both worlds.