Rain on the Inside

I learned today the crushing news that another one of my friends has cancer. She is 41 and it's breast cancer. Her little boy is 5. I hate this.

It conjures up one of my worst fears, that I'll get sick and somehow not be able to see my child grow up. I'm at that age now where it's suddenly a possibility, and I have seen it happen. It's something that I had never even considered when I was younger, and it's terrifying.

Most of the young people I know with cancer, though, do get successful treatment and go into remission. These are hopeful examples. But it's a brutal road, and some will leave the world whether they have unfinished business or not, whether they have people that love and depend on them or not. There are no guarantees, just crossing your fingers and facing it as bravely as you can.

It helps to remember the great lessons about impermanence, rebirth and compassion.

It helps to remember to make every moment meaningful, because I don't know which one will be my last.

It helps to hold my people close to me, to pray for their health and happiness, and to be extraordinarily grateful for the moments we have together.

I have to take refuge in this, because the other choice is just devastation, and that doesn't do anyone any good.