On Friday afternoon, my good friend, Play Brother, and his girlfriend were told some terrible news by his doctor. The tumor is growing again and the cancer has spread to his spine. He was given two to four months to live. My friend is dying.
I have often believed I have a heightened sensitivity to energy. Call it a third eye or sixth sense or supernatural gift. Whatever it is, it affects me. On Friday, I could not shake my feelings of fear. When I woke with a slight hangover Saturday morning, I told myself it was my hormones and my mood swings. But the bad feeling remained, cognitive behavioral therapy exercises aside. Then the phone call came. I knew before T explained. I knew it had to do with Play Brother and I knew what she would tell me.
I drove into San Francisco, beautiful and warm for a change, for the International Beer Festival, had a great time, distracted myself from reality for 6 hours. On the drive back across the Bay Bridge, I cried so hard I wondered if I should be driving. I came home and struggled with sleep.
This morning, I did something I have to tried to avoid doing for weeks. I thought. For ninety minutes, I lay in my bed and thought. Thought about the injustice of this tragedy. Thought about how my friend has been a man of integrity and love. Thought some stupid things, too. After all, I’m not 100% recovered so that time dwelling on sad thoughts reopened some of those wounds. But mostly, I thought about how terrible it will be to lose one of my best friends. I thought about how close I will be to death and how tangible this loss will be. I thought about God. I don’t want to think anymore.