I wanted to take this opportunity to address an issue I have been wrestling with for quite some time. I want to apologize. I was not a very good friend to you.
When your mum was first diagnosed, my world was rocked. She was the most vibrant, youthful women I had ever met. She could have easily been one of those women who pretended to be your older sister, but when people gushed over her appearance, she would smile modestly and accept the compliment. She was probably the closest I had been to cancer, and I couldn't deal with what that meant for you. I'm close to my mum, but you guys had a pretty crazy bond. It was like you shared the same brain sometimes. I knew that her cancer would be a devastating blow to your family, but you - being so delicately sensitive - would take it worst of all.
I remember being in Victoria, getting ready for my wedding and talking to my dad about her. I remember how he sucked in his breath and shook his head when I said eleven tumours had been removed from her legs and it had spread to her liver. I knew that this meant her prognosis was terrible and I was devastated, but still hopeful that you would come out for the wedding. When you informed me that you had to stay with your family during this difficult time, I was pretty mad. Well, disappointed and mad. I selfishly wanted you to be there and felt that you could take the four days away and it wouldn't affect your mum that much. I didn't know, I didn't understand and I am sorry.
I came down to see you shortly after I returned from the West Coast. I wasn't sure what to expect when I saw your mum, and to my surprise, she seemed much better than I thought she would! She was laughing and looked the way I remembered her to look. She was weak, but she was still Sandy. Your poor dad was a mess, and he got so angry at the thought that I wouldn't have any protein with my dinner (you were having a BBQ). God, he is a sweet man. I was so frustrated that your family was bending over backwards to feed me and some cousins and grandparents when we should have been looking after you. I showed up empty handed. I didn't know, I didn't understand and I am sorry.
Summer turned into fall and fall turned into winter. Kris and I settled into married life. I toasted Sandy's success of having a glass of wine at Christmas with several glasses of my own, but I never told you that. We got a dog. I changed careers. I found excuses to not go and see you. I would attempt to visit when you popped into town, but I would go begrudgingly and whine about the lack of notice. I told myself I was still mad about the fact you didn't come to my wedding but I was scared of you. I was scared of the burden you were holding. I was scared that your mum would die. I was scared of what that would do to you. I didn't know, I didn't understand and I am sorry.
It was springtime and I was sitting in my office at FTC, one month into my full-time volunteer gig when I got your text saying Sandy had stopped chemotherapy. Hot tears flashed into my eyes and I went to the bathroom and bawled like a baby. Every wall in this bathroom was a mirror, so everywhere I looked I saw this shame-filled woman. Why are you crying, shame-filled woman? Because Sandy was going to die and I was thinking of all the things I should have done for you and your family. I don't even think I replied to the text. The second text came through the next day saying she had passed with grace. I immediately started making plans to come down to her celebration of life party. I threw off the shackles of my shame and I was going to be there for you. I cried pretty much the whole way down in the car but I told myself it was good to get it out before I saw you. Not so much. I saw you before you saw me and I started crying again. I made a quick pit stop in the bathroom before I attempted speaking. It didn't help. I don't know what I said but I know it was all wrong. I kept telling your sisters how gorgeous they looked and thanking Heather for all her old bras. I know. I cringe just thinking about it. I remember the look on all your faces so clearly. You and your sisters really did look wonderful, but there was a hardening in your features. This experience had taken a toll on you, but you were all still standing, still smiling. I almost couldn't believe it. I think I had thought that if your mum passed, you would die too. You would simply somehow cease to exist. I didn't know, I didn't understand and I am sorry.
I realize now that I made your mum's illness and subsequent death all about me. I couldn't deal with how you would feel, and I pulled away from you. I didn't know what I could do to help, so I did nothing at all. I still feel terrible about all of this, and I really want to apologize. It took me going through my own harrowing experience to realize how ridiculous I was. I am sorry, and you are in my thoughts and prayers often. I truly hope you can forgive me.
I am writing this as an open letter because I know there are many people out there who, like me, are paralyzed by these types of situations. There is a sense of powerlessness for bystanders who care so much, but are unable to act. And to them I say, it's okay. Cancer is fucking scary. When cancer affects someone who is loved very deeply by another person, it is a really hard thing to process. On the one hand, there is a person (Eleanor, Sandy) who is fighting an uphill battle, and on the other hand is the primary caregiver (me, Katelyn). How do you deal with two breaking hearts? How can you possibly make a difference in their life? It's pretty easy. Send a note. Drop by with a coffee. Say you care. Don't be afraid. Be compassionate. It's normal to be scared, but we don't bite. Kindness is always appreciated.
Oh, and if you still can't, I don't hold grudges. Katelyn, I really hope you don't either.
All my love,
Kate
Kate Squared - circa 2005
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