silensy: (Ohana means family)
When you see this, quote Leo McGarry

"This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out.

"A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

"Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on

"Then a friend walks by, 'Hey, Joe, it's me can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'"

I have a huge and wonderfully close family but more than that, I truly believe that we live in an era when it really is about the family we make for ourselves. The people that we choose, the ones who come through, the ones we call in the middle of the night.

This year has been hard. It's been the next thing to impossible. Christmas shopping is a constant reminder that there's one less gift to buy. I see so many things that would be perfect for Victoria and it's always just a few seconds before I remember why I don't have anything for her yet.

I don't have any nutshell revelations to follow that up. My feelings are still messy and unresolved. There's no movie-style inspiring narrative that results or even a Hallmark 'go hug your family'.

I'm grateful for the family I have - the one I was born to and the one I've been fortunate enough to build. That's got to be enough.

Merry Christmas, for those who celebrate. Love and Peace to you all.
silensy: (Ohana means family)
I've been trying to stay busy and not think. But I need to black and white this someplace for myself and Facebook doesn't count.

On March 28, my very dear friend lost her battle with breast cancer. It's the end of three very long years and far far too much pain. We're planning a party for Friday night, the funeral for Saturday morning at 9am. If you'd like to come, you're welcome, though most of you aren't close enough to make it.

I keep trying to make sense of it. None of the things people say, that I say, help at all. Yes, she's not in pain anymore. Yes, I got to say goodbye, tell her I loved her and that it was okay. But the only thing that's keeping me from giving in to the need to scream and scream and scream is sticking close to the sense that this is all not real. Just a bad dream from an overactive imagination. Like Russians.

I don't want it to be real.

I'm leaving the comments open but I don't really want any more sympathy or offers to help. If you want to help, make sure that you let all the women in your life know that their health is in their hands. If you think there's something wrong, demand tests. Push for the ultrasound, the biopsy. Don't assume that youth is a safety net. Victoria was 25 years old when she found the lump.

The doctors told her she was too young. That she couldn't have cancer because cancer didn't hurt. That she wasn't an urgent case. They were wrong every single time.


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December 2011

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