Last night I found out a dear friend of mine, Jon's best friend, died.
He was the best man at our wedding. He was 3 days older than me. He has two kids, one the same age as Jack.
We were going to spend time together at the beach this summer.
We were supposed to see him two weeks ago but plans never came together.
The funeral is today.
I can't go.
I can't go because it's in Philly and I don't feel comfortable being so far away from the kids. I can't go because they have doctor appointments this afternoon, because Iz is now home sick, because who will walk the dogs.
But deep down, the real reason I can't go is that right now I can't face death. I can't sit, in real time, with devastating disease and what can happen when you don't expect it.
E had multiple myeloma and had just undergone a bone marrow transplant—we thought he was doing better. I heard from him a few days ago, he was wishing me well with my own transplant journey. And then an infection struck and he died in the hospital, 2 days after not feeling so well.
At the moment, it's not real. I can't cry. I can't feel it. I can only pack up that pain in a little box and shove it in the back of my emotional closet for now.
I need to hold on so fucking tight to everything being ok, that all will work out in the end.
There are no guarantees.
But for me, for right now, I'm hoping, praying, begging the powers that be, that my brother and I will both come through this and be fine.