I recently found out that a very dear friend has been diagnosed with various forms of cancer including lung and brain. I know Stage 3 was mentioned but I'm not sure what it pertains to as I'm still reeling from the shock. I called the other day and made plans to visit today. I had to go armed to fight the fight; I had to find a pair of shoes to wear to kick the cancer out of him...but what color? Purple. Purple is the color for people who have survived cancer and I figure since he's fighting and surviving from multiple, he more than deserves Purple.
I met "Sean" when I started my first real serving job at *the* restaurant in town (I worked with my sister as well and she introduced me to him) and I knew he was somebody special. He owned that job; he rocked it. I remember watching him and my sister dance around everyone else in that intricate step all good servers must embody. The almost effortless way they remember what everybody at the table is eating & drinking, as well as the regular's favorites. The way people gravitated to him as he sat at the polished wood bar after a shift, with his white polo unbuttoned, a glass of beer in one hand and a Camel Turkish Gold in the other. *What a memory* This man and my sister (among with a handful of others) taught me everything I needed to know about how to serve food, do it well, *enjoy* it, and make good money doing it. Thank you for that.
I spent a lot of time with Sean over my time at the restaurant. We worked a lot of shifts together, we partied together, and we sat and talked after shifts in the meeting room. Hell, he knew/felt Tim was going to marry me before *I* did. He ushered at our wedding and then I moved to Kansas City. I have seen him at birthday events for my sister and at the restaurant over the years but haven't kept in touch like I should have. I'm sorry for that, but you've never been far from my thoughts.
I'm sorry that cancer has decided to touch your life and make it suck for a while. I'm sorry that you hurt. The pain that I saw in your eyes today made my heart ache, and the edge of fear in them made me sick to my stomach. I know what you're going through, yet I know I was lucky to not have to experience the magnitude of which you are having to go through. I am deeply sorry that I can not take this for you, I know that is slightly ridiculous because who could really do that but I would if I could!
So even though there are a lot of sorry's, and some tears yet to be shed, I do know a lot of things as well.
I *know* that you will beat this. I *know* that I will help you through it in whatever way that I can. I *know* that nobody in your life, including yourself and your doctors is going to let go until it's pummeled into the ground. I *know* that it's going to suck for a while...a long while...but know this...it WILL end. Your hair *will* return, your strength will come back, your desire to eat, laugh, and do more than just sleep will come back. You'll be able to sleep comfortably again, and your energy will return during the day. You're going to learn how to say whatever phrase is particularly difficult for you and/or actually follow through with it. For me it was "I just can't do that right now", and "NO"..that was a *big* lesson. Things that once were so direly important will seem extremely trivial in the grand scheme of things.
Among many other things I *know* that you have the strength and the courage to kick this cancer out the door, turn on your heel, and strut yourself back through the kitchen doors of the restaurant with the flip of your hand and that strong voice to bellow out "Sean's here!" Don't doubt it for one second.
I'll be there whenever you need me and whenever I can, wearing my purple cancer kickin' shoes. My hot pink ones worked for me, let's let the magic of the purple suede work for you.