“Boy, your phone was sure blowing up last night,” The Boy says sleepily. I nod. I don’t know what to say.
The truth is, I am watching a woman I don’t know die in the spaces between text messages.
I have two close friends, call them A and J. The three of us have a text conversation that’s been going for several years and many phones now. To tell the truth, I feel a little lost when I replace my cell and that string of messages isn’t there to thumb back through, remembering laughter. From pictures of assholes manspreading on the El to wedding planning, sick dogs and cats, and the birth of J’s niece, that darn conversation just keeps going on, marking the little things that we’d share with each other over lunches if we lived closer together.
And then J’s mom was diagnosed with cancer. Not the “good kind” of cancer, either. Not that there is a good kind. For a while, the messages flying back and forth were just news. MRI. Operation. Treatment. Good MRI. Clear MRI. Good progress. She’s a fighter.
June 2014:
Fuck cancer. – what’s it doing now? – It progressed.
Just that. Just “progressed.” That’s the way of texts. Short phrases standing in for longer ones. “It progressed.” It’s back. It’s getting bigger. It’s going to kill her.
It progressed.
The messages still go on.
I just hope she will be here long enough for [my niece] to remember her.
Mom: MRI was excellent. Need anything from Costco?
J’s mom is a fierce woman. She loves hard, works hard, plays hard. I can see the echoes of the mother she is in the child she raised- uncompromising, proud. And neither one of them can do a damn thing about this monster that’s devouring her, between the lines.
The MRI is next week.
I’m worried about my dad.
Fuck you, banana. Fuck you for not being pretzels.
She gave me my grandmother’s wedding ring.
She’s right a good 95% of the time. It’s infuriating.
The niece is getting bigger. Men still don’t know how to sit with their legs together on a goddamn train.
My mom is declining.
I envisioned … Sundays on porch drinking beer when she would be 80 and I would be 50ish. And that won’t happen.
I think my mom would love a beer.
We’ve changed jobs, gotten new haircuts.
My dad is going to have a hard time.
She’s my mom. I want her forever.
I wish it was fiction. A totally fictitious disease that some demented writer came up with.
I have no context of cancer other than terminal cancer.
There are only bad options. The difference is that one might keep her here longer.
A got married. J and I were bridesmaids.
We passed a flask of cake-flavored vodka back and forth.
There is no cure. This just gives us time.
Today she did say “I’ll punch the next doctor who says I’ll look into it”
Dad: you need to eat a little more real food.
Mom: ice cream counts as protein
Fuck Susan Komen’s charity. Cancer is not a fluffy pink bunny.
I don’t know how to mourn her, this woman I’ve never met, who’s dying in front of me. And I don’t want to know how. More than anything else, I don’t want to be fumbling to explain how you can learn to love someone enough to lose your breath in the anticipation of grief, when you’ve never heard her voice and you’ve only seen her face in the space between the lines.
CrossKnit 
Great post. A real testament to the possibilities of relationships in our digital age. We mostly talk about the disconnectedness of it all, but this piece brings connection to the conversation.
Thanks
Oh thank you- you totally just distilled everything I was trying to say down to one sentence!
Fuck cancer. I’ve lost so many incredible women to it. You write about how it feels so well.
It’s that or just allcaps my anger. I hate it so much.
Oh boy! All posts that I had read so far today, had something to do with death or cancer. I am still trying to come to terms after losing someone who was just like my own mother to cancer. Stopping from Yeah Write (A cuppa for my thoughts)
Oh boy! Every post I’ve read so far today had something to do with death or cancer. I am still trying to come to terms with the loss of a dear person who was like a mom to me. Stopping from Yeah write ‘A cuppa for my thoughts’
What a weird medium to see someone’s struggles.
And with women, it’s always cancer when they die young, isn’t it?
With guys, it seems like a young death could mean a heart attack or getting hit by a bus or a prison yard shanking, but with younger-ish women, it’s always cancer.
Cancer is such an asshole. People can complain about the technology all they want, but sometimes having a conversation that you can refer back to can be a big comfort. Fuck cancer.
Cancer is a giant asshole.
I’m sorry for you and your friend. You do a beautiful job conveying the emotion of grappling with empathy over text.
What a wonderful way to point out the connections we make “online” as opposed to the distraction it can be in “real life.” This is so well done. I’m sorry about your friend’s mother. So sad.
I’m so sorry about your friend’s mother. I love this post so very much. It’s such a wonderful-terrible reminder of just how many lives we touch and are touched by — even the people we may never meet.
fuck cancer. My mom died in January-though not from cancer and I sent many texts that last month.
I’m so sorry to hear that. And grateful for the technology that lets us reach out.
I know about cancer, and I know about grief. You captured so well here how it spider webs out, touching those who wouldn’t expect it. Sometimes, you don’t feel entitled to your grief, or that you need to justify it, when all grief is legit.
Wonderful post.
Argh, this post makes me want to close the book, put it on the shelf, and tell everyone about the amazing story that I just read. Instead… it’s real and you can’t put the book away. 😦 Your words are stunning. I’m sorry for all you’re going through.
poignant post. i like how, despite the majority consisting of brief text messages, every word mattered, carried so much weight, bore so much meaning, literally, and physically, for your friend, and for her mom.
the piece really hits home for me. my mother in law passed away from breast cancer 2 years ago. may God comfort your friend and her family during this tough time, and may God give you the words of wisdom and encouragement to comfort her through it all.