Tonight, I received an email from Arbor notifying me and other members of the community that the mom of one of Nicholas' classmates passed away from a short struggle with breast cancer. She was a few years older than me and leaves behind a second grader, a kindergartner, a toddler, and a devoted husband.
I did not know this mother well. I had only met her once or twice, but I was always struck by her devotion to her kids and her sense of the importance of the here and now. Her daughter is very bright and driven, and I think I know from whom she gets those attributes. This mom will be missed.
I lose patients every month, and it never gets easier or less painful. Most of these men are in their 60s or 70s, and they have lived long, full lives. Their children are grown, and many of their grandchildren are grown, too. However, one death from cancer is one death too many.
There are no words that can comfort a child who has to bury one's parent regardless of the child's age.
There are no words... beyond I'm sorry, and I'm here for you. That is what I tell the families of the patients whom I lose each time.
I also tell them that their loved one is in a better place now, that their loved one feels no more pain, and that their loved one is watching over them.
I know that time heals most wounds, and I also I know that we as a community can help with that healing. We will be there to help this child and this family in any way possible.
Sometimes life is unfair, and the lives of extraordinary people are just too damn short. This is one of those times.
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