Something Unsaid

I ran into an acquaintance yesterday who found out she had breast cancer just a month or so before Andrew and Benjamin were born. It was my first encounter with her since hearing about her diagnosis second-hand and my first encounter with someone else's bad news since we found out our boys had died, and I was surprised at my response as we chatted and I tried not to pay mind to her very short hair.

I asked about her day. I asked about her Christmas. And I asked about her family who had come into town for Christmas. But I failed to ask about the obvious: How are you feeling? I sincerely hope you kick cancer's a**.

I have been kicking myself ever since, but I don't feel like I know her well enough to run back for a re-do with apologies for not asking about the one thing that has likely consumed her life for the past few months.

And I am feeling bad because I know what I would have wanted want. And it's pretty simple: to be acknowledged. I think that's what we all want – no matter how obvious or personal our loss.

Whether we're sick or struggling in our marriages, facing unemployment or a life without our babies, we just want to know that even though noone else can fill our shoes in the path we walk, we are not alone. We want to know that even though most of the people we care about will never be able to relate to our particular trouble, they care enough to try to understand the burden that is ours.

I just keep thinking about all the times in the past few months when I have been aching to talk about my boys only to face smalltalk and fake smiles, and I feel so darn bad that even though I have felt so changed by this, I reacted exactly as I would have when I was happy and oblivious.

I don't know her well.
Likely, she would not have wanted to talk about it with me, an almost-stranger.
And maybe she would have answered with a quick "fine" or "better" and then rushed off to avoid more questions.
Perhaps she would have felt uncomfortable or felt that I was prying.

But I do know this: she wouldn't have minded. Because, had I sincerely said something at the risk of saying the wrong thing, she would have at least known that I cared enough to acknowledge her reality. And standing on grief's same bank, I can say that no matter how cold, it is comfort nonetheless.