Dear Eric

Dear Eric,

Yesterday you and Christie heard words that I still cannot really comprehend. Your doctors said the words: thyroid, surgery, treatment and cancer all in the same sentence as your name. This should not happen. This should not happen to you. This should not happen twice to Christie. I am so angry with whoever effed this up in heaven that I'm definitely going to hell for cursing God out in my living room yesterday. Yes, I did. I told God to take a flying leap and that's putting it nicely. I still can't really wrap my brain around any of this bullshit and I'm sure you and your wife are just as stunned and dazed as I am today. Shock is an interesting boyfriend and got me through most of the evening until 3a.m. when all the questions, anger, hurt, worry, and frustration came tumbling down in my brain all at once. I couldn't get back to sleep because my rational mind could not stop repeating the words, "Eric has cancer. What?"

Mom is being amazing right now. She is so happy that you have the "good cancer" because she has the ability to see down the road. I can't yet. I can't see past you having to go through any more poking and prodding with needles, NEEDLES, the thing in the world that skeeves you out the most. I'm having a really hard time trying to even picture this evil stuff inside your body, inside my brother who has been so strong, so capable, and so healthy all his life. I don't have to tell you how helpless I feel because I know you heard that in my voice last night on the phone. Oh, and please don't not call me because I promise I won't be a complete girl about this and cry every time I hear your voice. I'm just so freaking mad and confused right now, Day One and Day Two. This. does. not. make. sense.

I know you are going to be all right. I also intellectually get that if you have to have cancer then Mom's right, this really is the best kind to have. What I don't understand is how this could happen to you and your family right now. Your little Landon just turned one. Your wife just lost her sister to brain cancer. You just hit the prime of your life and now you've got this horrendous piece of shit slice of life to deal with. I'm so sorry, Eric. I'm so very sorry you and your family have to go through this right now. I know you said you'd rather be the one going through it because the worrying about someone else would be worse. I don't think it's worse but it is about the most helpless feeling I've ever had. Empty. I feel like a floating head with arms and legs held together with strings. No torso. My middle is like a big pit or cold canyon that feels like a constant swirl of sinking. If I pay attention to it, it makes me want to throw up. I'm not going to be paying attention to it because we both know how much I like to throw up. I guess that's the only way of describing what being on this side of things feels like in case you were wondering. See? You're missing all the fun on this side so let's trade. Let's trade for a while and I can take the week "off of work" and read People magazine while the radioactive dye spits its venom out onto the bad cells. I want to do this for you so you can go play with Landon, ride your motorcycle with Christie, or talk to Mark on the phone. I'll turn it back over to you when I've slept for a week straight (ah, see? I SO could do this part!) and am well rested and strong. You can take it from there; you can take over on all the follow up visits and re-checkings. Deal?! You wouldn't take me up on that for a second but please know I would do it for you.

You have this thing beat already so don't worry about that. Between your family and friends there and your family and friends scattered about, we'll all work together to figure out the best ways to help out when you, Christie, and Landon need it. I see how strong Christie is, I've watched her hold herself together under the most dire of situations and not crumble when crumbling is the only option left. And I know how strong you are. I grew up relying on how strong you are and rode those coattails for as long as I possibly could before jumping out of the Pentenville nest. Your road may be bumpy now, Eric, but it is going to be okay. We will see to it that your road ends up right where you left off and you'll look back at this time as a small detour in your otherwise beautiful life. You may have cancer now, my brother, but it cannot have you.

I love you. That's all.

Love,
Sissy