friends with benefit.

i remember that we were eating dinner when the telephone rang. my mother answered. it was my grandmother. my aunt had breast cancer. my best accounting puts this at about 10-12 years ago, seeing as my grandmother is gone 8 years already. it was, luckily, our first real encounter with a close friend or relative being diagnosed with the disease. but still, it was distant for us. or at least it was for me. i was young enough that my mother felt the need and desire to shelter me from the gory details. i remember visiting with my aunt once after a surgery. she hadn't even lost her hair yet. i'm sure my mother visited more frequently, and it i'm sure it was undoubtedly difficult for her to see her sister sick. but for all intents and purposes in my life, my aunt seemed better and like herself again by the next set of holidays when we were all together. our family's first encounter with cancer, and we came out rather unscathed. (and although my mom does not have a relationship with her sister anymore, we do know that she is recovered and healthy, a good outcome all around.)

i skated through the next several years seeing cancer at a distance, despite the significantly increasing rate of diagnoses. hearing about it -- friends of friends, grandparents of classmates, etc. never anyone close to me. and i was thankful for that. so, so, so, thankful.

then, i was sitting at my desk at work one afternoon two summers ago, chatting with my best friend shannon on AIM. she had just graduated college. we were making plans for the summer, dreaming about all of our grand adventures to come. she had to tell me something, she said. her mom, who had become like my own family, found something in her mammography. we weren't supposed to worry. we had strict orders. 'don't worry about it. it'll be fine. it's nothing."

and it wasn't. and i suddenly went from being a person with relatively no knowledge (beyond the basics) of cancer and treatments to a 21 year old desperately trying to console her best friend. attempting to figure out what the hell i was supposed to say to her to not make her feel like the world was falling out from under her. i let her cry. i made stupid jokes. i brought margarita cake to her house and sat with her and her little sister and brother and cousins while grandma and aunt pat were at the hospital during the surgery. the next few months were easier. it's funny how you just sort of adapt to the obstacles around you. Mary's wig, a source of initial apprehension on her part, became a fun accessory for us all. my point is this: it wasn't easy. i can't imagine if it were my own mother. and i'm not saying it was anywhere as difficult for me as it were for shannon and her mother and siblings. but i was there for my friend and her family. and i truly learned what it was like to be there in that supportive context, and see the toll that this disease has on people.

but yet when lauren called me in hysterics friday night, confirming that HER mother's testing had come back as cancerous, i again, had no words. it's not any easier. there aren't any better words to tell her than there were when i comforted shannon. so i let her cry. i told a stupid joke, and i offered to drive to connecticut to spend the night with her. it sucks just as much the second time around. hopefully, i'm a little better equipped this time around.