...to a good acquaintance who has a deadly brain tumor? I'm not one to say "You're going to beat it" or "Thoughts and Prayers" or "There are other doctors". I'm not that person. What I have in common with those people is the wish to make it less sad and less terrifying for her -- but the fact is that it IS sad and it IS terrifying. That is what it is by its nature. And, if it were me, would I have the courage to do what I would advise were I to advise it? I doubt it. "And what is that, Martha?"
Well, simply, that she has no choice but to live this moment. It's there. It's real. It's not negotiable. And all who love her are in their corresponding moment.
And why do I think I should say something? Ah...that's out of the desire to help which is the same instinct that leads to "You'll beat the statistics!" "So many love and value you" etc. Because, in reality, there is nothing at all helpful to say. Life itself is a mortal wound, we all know it all the time. What have I said? Something I could say from my heart with no confusion or equivocation, "I'm so sorry."
I woke up the other morning after a sleepless night, and I could hear my dad's voice say, "YOU don't have a brain tumor. Go enjoy your life!" He was right. Just as my friend is confronting HER moment I'm confronting mine with its own bizarre challenges, confusions and, -- so far -- unknown future as are we all.
A poem by Rilke really says it all... The last stanza of the 4th of the Duino Elegies
Who shows a child, just as they are? Who sets it
in its constellation, and gives the measure
of distance into its hand? Who makes a child's death
out of grey bread, that hardens, - or leaves it
inside its round mouth like the core
of a shining apple? Killers are
easy to grasp. But this: death,
the whole of death, before life,
to hold it so softly, and not live in anger,
cannot be expressed.
I made a box, diorama, several years ago of this section of the elegy...
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