![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellenkushnerA distant friend wrote a letter to many of us letting us know that he is dying. I am writing a reply to him, now. It is an extraordinary thing to be able to do. I cannot think of any models for this, although I'm sure there are some in literature and in Belles Lettres. "I am glad I knew you . . . I will miss you . . . " --How do you say that sincerely and well? I guess I'll find out, or try to. Bless his kind heart for giving us the opportunity to say it, instead of just to wish we had.
His own letter is a model of sweetness and, well, light. He worked as a hairdresser - here's an excerpt from the letter he wrote to all his clients:
I am sorry to send you this bad new but it is time for me to tell you the truth: I have a brain tumor and will survive probably less than a year if I respond well to the radiations. My journey with cancer started 11 months ago but the medicine I was taking then was working so well, that I could work as usual without mentioning my condition to anybody. It is not the case today.
I am not too sad because I have a strong faith in accepting death as a normal part of life. Don’t be too sad. Although I will not be working anymore, I will remember the good conversations we had together, the sad and happy stories and some funny ones too. Your confidences made me closer to you. [...]
During these last months of my journey I would appreciate your positive thoughts and prayers for me rather than drama. I do hope you understand.
He goes on to talk about his family and his art . . . but those first paragraphs particularly awe me with their kindness and their clarity.
Something, I thought, worth sharing.
No drama.
His own letter is a model of sweetness and, well, light. He worked as a hairdresser - here's an excerpt from the letter he wrote to all his clients:
I am sorry to send you this bad new but it is time for me to tell you the truth: I have a brain tumor and will survive probably less than a year if I respond well to the radiations. My journey with cancer started 11 months ago but the medicine I was taking then was working so well, that I could work as usual without mentioning my condition to anybody. It is not the case today.
I am not too sad because I have a strong faith in accepting death as a normal part of life. Don’t be too sad. Although I will not be working anymore, I will remember the good conversations we had together, the sad and happy stories and some funny ones too. Your confidences made me closer to you. [...]
During these last months of my journey I would appreciate your positive thoughts and prayers for me rather than drama. I do hope you understand.
He goes on to talk about his family and his art . . . but those first paragraphs particularly awe me with their kindness and their clarity.
Something, I thought, worth sharing.
No drama.