It happened again...

So... it just happened again. My eyes welled up with tears. That lump, there it was again, in my throat. I wasn't sure I heard the words I thought I heard. But... he continued. "No," I cried inside, "not these words!" When will I stop hearing them? I walked out to my car. I sat in my seat stunned. My husband was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear his words. No, I could only hear the words I didn't want to hear. I could only focus on those awful words. "Why, Lord? Why? I trust your sovereignty, I do. But, why? Why do I keep hearing these words that sting & burn to my very core. "

I don't have any answers to my heartbroken questions. I don't think this side of Heaven I ever will. I love my friends. Each one is so dear to my heart. When my friend hurts, I hurt. That's just who I am. I am unable to dismiss myself from the heartfelt tears my friends cry. It's that "c" word. You know, the one the plaques say cannot steal your faith, rob you of your joy, steal your memories, etc. It's the Little "c." You know, the one that  has no power over the Big "C."

Who's trying to kid who? Little "c" does rob you of your joy. It messes with your head. It sits in your throat bigger than the lump that manifests itself in my throat when I cry. It sits on my heart, heavier than the hurt I felt after my double mastectomy. Little "c" knows no bounds. It does not respect age, size, gender, class, smarts, or anything else. Little "c" disturbs faith. Little "c" wreaks havoc on relationships. Little "c" makes pretenders out of people.

Little "c" is random. People try to second guess Little "c," but being unpredictable is part of Little "c's" act. Some people think Little "c" does its damage & walks away, over, forever. That is not usually the case. Little "c" loves to haunt its victims. Little "c" loves to hang around long after the surgery & treatment end.

Once Little "c" makes itself known, confusion follows. Tears well up. The victim is vulnerable. Isolation often ensues. Bewilderment sets in. It's those words. It's that look in the doctor's eyes. It's watching your mate throw up his heart. It's ache. The pain varies from one family member to another, but suffering is the new mode. Nerves are fried like hairs on the head after a bad perm.

So... I heard those painful words again, not for myself but for my friend. I heard those words for a mommy. I heard them for someone near my age. I heard them for my cousin. I heard them for a homemaker. I even heard them for my husband's friend. Those words, those words have taken 2 of my friends. Those words are banging at the door of 2 of my friends now, threatening their lives. I don't like those words. If I never hear them again, that would be too soon. Those words torment. They stain, & they scar.

Written for:  My Friend