goodbye, bowen.

"When he shall die, cut him out into little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun..." - Juliet

My friend's husband has been sick for a while with a rare form of cancer that he managed to beat as a teenager. Yesterday she posted this on Facebook:

"This is Shannon posting for Bowen: Yesterday Bowen was transferred to Gilchrist Hospice in Towson, Maryland. It is a beautiful, peaceful place where Bowen can get the attention he deserves. Here they are doing their best to make him comfortable so that he will not feel pain or anxiety. We will not be able to take him home because he needs to be here. These are his final moments here with us. Please pray for him to be able to relax and trust in the next step, a world free from pain but full of love and joy."

Bowen's only a year older than me, and my heart breaks for the two of them. I feel such overwhelming sadness for her - I know someday she will be ok again. But I also know that she's been through darkness with him and his illness and, once the battle with death is done, she still has to face the battle of a life without him.

This time last year, my best friend's father was also dying of cancer. My friend was alone in her grief, being remarkably strong but tortured nonetheless. She'd talk about how her dad was doing, the hospital, the bullshit she dealt with on a constant basis, and I literally had no words. All I could do was listen. I felt guilty because I wanted to be there, and I wanted to be a good friend and help, to somehow make it all better again, but I didn't know how. She told me that I once said something that made her feel better, but neither of us can remember what it was. Empty words aside, the worst part was knowing there was nothing I could possibly do to improve her situation. The length of his illness was the most excruciating part: two years! Two years of suffering and hospital beds and radiation and weight loss and hope and pain and despair and fear.

There is nothing I can do for Shannon and Bowen, but again and again my thoughts are drawn back to them. I don't have any words to say, and I can't even think of anything to pray at this point either.

Is it really October already? Really????

Sometimes I look at the calendar in a panic, thinking "Wasn't it just April yesterday?" Other times, it feels like millenia have passed in a mere week. Time can be strangely fluid; then it oozes like molasses down the side of an overturned jar, sticky and stubbornly refusing to budge. Why can't it be consistent? Then I could at least make a guess at how much time I have left.

I spent a whirlwind weekend in Atlantic City with a gaggle of girlfriends, celebrating Adrienne's 29th birthday. We spent weeks plannng our respective AC outfits; we were going for "Jersey Tacky" but ended up looking like shiny sequined whores. We stayed in the Trump Taj Mahal, and had a blast in our hotel rooms getting ready. The air was thick with hair spray and a dusting of blue eye shadow, and the champagne flowed freely... however, our courage faltered considerably when it came time to actually LEAVE the room and go out into public. We clung to one another and refused to make eye contact with the gape-mouthed masses in the halls, elevators, and finally the casino floor. Our plan had been to draw attention to ourselves, but we ended up being extremely self-conscious for the first hour or so. Kelly kept muttering to herself, "This is REALLY happening!" as if she couldn't believe that she was actually traipsing about clad head-to-toe in gold lame.

I myself was consumed with irrational, uncontrollable laughter. Apparently nervous giggling is my social defense mechanism?

Why did it matter? Why did we feel so uncomfortable? We didn't know anyone there. We'd gone to such great pains to bring attention to ourselves, but never really considered what that would actually feel like. Even through my anxious laughter, I appreciated the value of the social experiment in which we were engaged... but I needed a drink. Badly.

After some more booze, our confidence grew (imagine that?). Oh, did I mention that Adrienne broke the fascia in her foot playing drunken kickball the week before, so the birthday girl was actually in a wheelchair for the festivities? Yeah... this also attracted a substantial amount of attention. In the end, we just rammed her wheelchair through crowded bars and dance floors, up and down ramps, and all across the boardwalk. Again - somewhat of a social experiment. It's hard out there for the disabled! ESPECIALLY the disabled clad in leopard print and leather...

All in all, it was an awesome weekend. A little exhausting, but a novelty as well as a learning experience. Damn you, society! If I want to dress like a hooker and ride on my wheelchair-ridden friend's lap, I'm going to! If I want to lose $20 on nickel slots and then get accused of being a prostitute by security, I'm going to!

No half-assing allowed.