Perspective is a mother

We often complain about karma being a bitch or God being a comedian or revenge an m-f or cold dish. There are metaphors and personifications galore. Cliches and canned statements sum up concepts that words can’t quite capture but we say them nevertheless. They protect us. They say it all without saying a thing.

Perspective. Now there’s something that punches you in the mouth and the gut and the head, all at once. When tragedy strikes, all the melodrama we build for ourselves is exposed. Real life makes all things fall into their proper place. We realize what really matters. These epiphanies are not the glorious a-ha moments we hear about on Oprah or in literature. No, they hurt. Putting things in perspective hurts.

He has cancer. He’s 33. He is happy-go-lucky, charismatic, warm. He is my friend. I went to visit him when my ex and I broke up, when I thought I had cancer, when my ex backstabbed me during my illness. He made me laugh and helped me to be tough. There is a tumor in his liver. There is nothing I can do but hope and pray.

Meanwhile, the world keeps turning. Stupid boys wonder why women don’t return their emails or calls. Stupid women go out of their way to impose their neediness on anyone who will pay attention. Stupid people fight, fuck, self-medicate and bullshit their way through another day. And my friend, who is more Christian than most religious folks, despite being an agnostic, has cancer.


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