Jenn

My good friend Jenn from my UConn days emailed me. We hadn't talked since her wedding about 10 months ago.

It's wierd how we connect and disconnect. And it's amazing what happens in a year. Another mutual UConn friend and my karate partner from East West Karate, Vickie, is pregnant and due in June. Now she will officially be Dr. Mom.

I also learned that Jenn's brother, Greg, was diagnosed with cancer last June. He's done his chemo and is in complete remission. I've only met Greg twice, at Jenn's graduation from grad school (and the night at the bars prior!) and at her wedding, but I feel I know him from so many glowing stories that Jenn told about her brother. She loves him so much and he seems like the male version of her. Since I love Jenn, it would only follow suit that I would think Greg a great guy. I am keeping him in my thoughts and prayers.

It's hard to hear about cancer. My coworker Sarah goes for a biopsy for breast cancer this Friday. Last year, we lost a good professor friend to breast cancer, Dr. Priscilla Spencer. This lady was awesome and she died too young. She was only in her early forties.

The year before, I lost one of my longest and most dear guy friends, John Grossi, to colorectal cancer. He was only 30. And the three years preceding that, I lost two uncles and one aunt to cancer, one per year. One was only 50. Another was one of my favorite uncles and the aunt was like a second mom to my own mother. It's gotten to a point that I'm just waiting to hear the next announcement of who is sick.

Cancer doesn't seem to shock me anymore...the shock is that the person who is sick runs a huge chance of permanently leaving your life.

Of course, then there is the witnessing of the grief everyone goes through. Then there is your own grieving. I've found that my grief takes many different forms depending on who it is is sick or dead. For John, I had no tears until I saw a common friend 6 months later. For my uncle, the first to die of cancer at 50, I couldn't seem to stop crying. He was my first taste of true grief. For Priscilla, it was more of a dimming of brightness in my day to day life. She was that amazing of a soul. For monocle Gaston, it was deep pain and sense of loss because he was such the epitome of what a father should be, a genuine and warm man and loving uncle. His wife, my aunt, is especially dear to me and I loved visiting her and their kids. It was hard to see their grief. Matante Bibianne I think was more a shock for my mom. My mom seemed to age a lot due to it. She became very quiet and more introverted. My mom has known her fair share of death and grieving, losing her mother at 6, her father at 24, and another brother to cancer at age 30. It seems that she has gotten comfortable with the grim reaper, almost feeling at home with the reality that it will revisit again and again and again. I feel somehow I am slowly moving towards this perspective myself.

Mortality is something the young deny and the old embrace. It's a wierd thing. When I was younger, I hated thinking about it. I thought I'd never die. But after seeing so many loved ones pass away, it's very much in my mind. And really it comes down to this: Life is a gift. It is a privilege. The quality of your time here is totally up to you. You can make connections with people who amaze you. You can collect moments upon moments that take your breath away. You can stop being a chicken shit and takes those damn risks. Only then can you deem your life a fucking success. Only when you are in this position are you able to look back and face your mortality with as few regrets as possible.