Cancer. Fuck. Fuck you, cancer. You took my friend Mary. You took her last night and she’s gone. Gone from this world, off to another, and I can’t see her again. It’s been almost a year of fighting for her life, a private battle, one for her and Stacy and their family. There was nothing that I could do, not really, knowing chemo was wearing away her reserves, yet when we’d meet up, every few months for lunch, Mary still shone, laughed, and told stories. That’s just how she was, a positive creative strong feisty funny friend who stayed in my world even as I drove off, drove back, we’d meet, the three of us and we’d laugh, tell stories over a beer and burger at Blue Corn, together the three of us, twenty years of us coming together. This morning the news came saying that Mary had passed on, a beautiful goodbye, said Stacy, reassuring their friends, reassuring me. There’s magic in having the chance to say goodbye, knowing you are loved. This is the paradox, even as I walk and cry in the rain. Mary is with us in my stories, in me, she lives inside me. Mary is with me still. In some way. She is. Mary. Mary.
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