The Whole Future Lies in Uncertainty.

A WOMAN I USED TO DATE REACHED OUT TO ME TONIGHT AND SAID:

"I was just diagnosed with cervical cancer. My thoughts are still with you."

I think a thousand thoughts, but can only spare a few words. Why are so many around me being blindsided with this disease? How did it come to this? She and I had our time. She moved on, to a new man, or an old one, became a mother; I'm the estranged father only of things left unsaid. Moved on to other loves years ago. Where there were once dreams there are now ceaseless monuments. Will her daughter know why her mother is tired, every day, losing form, losing hair? What will the wages be for bearing witness to this combat in her formative years? Past heartbreak means nothing in the face of this. We are a tribe–those of us who've been anointed with those words: "You have cancer." Now I'm the sergeant who's been on the field awhile; knows every pitfall, every murderhole. I can keep Vera alive through the long siege–Virgil leading a poor soul through the Inferno, despite old wounds, despite history. Grasp the Glorious foolishness of acting without expectation. I can do that. I must do that. Be a friend.