To my friend who is living through cancer_
For. S.C.
How can I get closer to you without trivializing what you are living? How can I ask you “how are you?” wanting you to tell me, “fine” but also wanting you to tell me the truth?
I want you to tell me that you are afraid so that I can comfort you. I want to tell you that I am afraid so that you are the one who comforts me.
How can I tell you everything I think and not burden you with more things to think about? How can I tell you — without sounding cruel or pessimistic — that it doesn’t matter if you live or die, that your life is complete?
I know this is not about me (although the fact that I am sending you these words can be seen as if it is), but I would like to know how are you living and integrating this experience. With all the infinite physical pain that you have, the double infinite existential pain that you feel, the triple for knowing that you are a mother of small children who could lose you, I would like to be assured that you are living this present moment with the deep awareness of the beautiful being that you ARE.
Even with the pain and discomfort you have all the time, having to think about the daily logistics of medicine, food, doctor’s appointments, hospital admissions, statistics, the cost of everything you have to pay. I want to know if you also have time to see yourself from the outside — without judgment, without fear — with the existential contemplation of what your life is. What life IS.
How can I get closer to tell you that I love you without pity or shame? I’m not telling you I love you because tomorrow I might not be able to. I’m telling you I love you for the simple reason that I find all humanity in you and that with your name you make this world and this plane of reality more pure and full of meaning. And I hate that this truth — which has always been true — might not have been shared if there was no diagnosis involved.
How can I get closer to tell you how sorry I am that you are experiencing this? That there are so many people experiencing this every day. That this human tragedy hurts me so much and at the same time, I know that it may be seen not as a tragedy but as a deeper dimension of the mystery of being alive. And that even with so much medicine, so much technology, so many languages, so many philosophies, we cannot even glimpse how delicate and magnanimous this miracle of life is.
How do I reach out to tell you that we both know that the cancer narrative can be changed without trivializing what you are living? Without callously cheering you on. Without harping on the privileged position I have for being on this side of the disease? And at the same time, I have the certainty that I am not the healthy one and you are the sick one. Everyone in this society, everyone, is sick-healthy. There is no dividing line between these two spectra and I am not the one who writes from health to that friend who is in disease. It is existence writing to existence, it is cancer that writes itself and reminds us — that in the uniqueness of all life — we are all cancer too.
How can I send an emoji that isn’t cowardly? A poem that doesn’t sound cheesy? A photo that doesn’t hurt? A few words that are not empty? How to make my words — which are a cry of despair and helplessness — not a cry of despair and helplessness for you?
How can I tell you that you give me strength? And more than strength, that you take away the burdens and the banality of my sorrows and worries. That I see myself through your experience and I get angry with myself when I think that I am not enough. You give me strength because it is easy to give strength to the weak. But you also give me strength because I see your courage. I see it because you keep appearing in zooms. Because you keep sending Whatsapp messages. Because you’re still connected to everyone, supporting us all with the news you give us to keep us informed. And not because you are trying to share the weight of what you are carrying, but because you are living more awake to life than many of us.
It now occurs to me that I can get closer to you because I am dying too. I am dying just as I am existing — just like you. And so, we are on the same plane and I can get closer. And I can talk to you. And I can tell you what I want. From mortal to mortal. From boy to girl. From light to light.
I want to thank Claire de Laszlo for helping out on the English version of this text