My mom let me know a few days ago (last Thursday) that one of my favorite relatives had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. I feel sad and sick and conflicted and helpless.
I’m waiting to hear anything more. I don’t know how other peoples’ families work, but in ours you kind of wait for information to flow across the branches of the family tree. I don’t want to call their family directly, pestering for information in case they’ve got bigger things to deal with. I figure any pertinent details will filter through via Mom soon enough.
It’s strange. You’d think I’d have an easier time with this. I’m 36 years old now. At that age one has dealt with family death before. Hell, I’ve lost all my grandparents; I lost my dad when I was just 20. Another close relative a few years ago.
Actually, in a way I had it easy. When I was 20 I had my father, his partner, both my grandmothers, and the dog I’d had since I was six all die in the same year. In a way I was lucky because I was already numb—Dad was the first to die, so I was already plenty numb for all the rest. But I’ve been incredibly lucky since then.
But this time… Prostate Cancer is generally one of those things that, once it’s diagnosed, means you have anywhere from 2-12 months to live. Not much time to put affairs in order. All the other “losses” I’ve had were people who had either lived to very ripe old ages or who had been ill for a number of years. In this case I need to plan a special trip out to Utah to “see her that one last time” probably. It strikes me as so macabre!
Anyway, that’s one of the things I’m going through right now.