Frustration and Helplessness

I so much don’t want to write about this (but of course I must), that it took me nearly 15 minutes just to choose a font. My dear friend likes serif fonts, so I chose this one.

This very dear friend happens to be the Norse Goddess. She has been attached by what I consider nearly the most evil criminal I can imagine. She has metatastic cervical cancer. She doesn’t deserve it. This is an understatement by order of magnitude. I can’t stand the thought of this thing gradually destroying her, and denying her world the joy and great honor of knowing her for longer.

She lost a friend of sorts. One whom she only knew through blogging. She knew him; he did not know her. When he passed away, she wrote about him in her blog. Her writing moved me to look up his blog, and with tears in my eyes, I read some of his journal. Only partly for this apparently gifted and kind young man, my tears fell for my friend and her family, plus all of her friends who may lose her to this random criminal.

I have to write this, because I want her to know exactly how I feel, as well as others, I’m sure, who attempt to support her, the Nordic God and their son, kidlet. Helpless comes to mind first. Helpless, because I have no magic wand, no special powers of “laying on of hands” nor waving some sage leaf, over her, nor ghost to call upon, to cure her. If it would help, I’d sever my right arm to find her a cure. Unhappily, I realize that nothing in my body or mind can be exchanged for her cancer and her path.

Frustration lives in my heart and mind for her. I feel frustration for similar reasons that I feel helpless. However, frustration comes to me because really evil people, who have actually done horrible, deplorable deeds, to hundreds and thousands of others, have not been attacked by this disease.

I continually find myself comparing me to her. It’s involuntary. But I catch myself having thoughts such as, “here I am, sitting fat and happy, complaining I have too much to do, and not doing enough of it from lack of energy or drive, or whatever, when my friend, sitting in her chair, although comfortable and beautiful, wishing she could do these same things. I have decent health. I’ve got some of my own challenges, but nothing compared to what she endures on a minute to minute basis.

She inspires me to gratitude. She remains in my heart the epitome of grace. She, even while ill, continues in her generosity. She defines good down to her core. She shares her gentility with everyone in her life. She lives the Five G’s.

I yet to send her a decent “Thank you” for the generosity she showed my family over Christmastime.

Yeah, sure, go ahead and tell me I’ve romanticized her. I don’t think so. The evidence of so many friends around her tells me that I’m right. For the time she has been in my life, she has always known when I needed her, and been right here, either with a phone call or an email that I especially needed. I can only hope that I’ve been there for her half as much.

I want to help her in more ways than she knows, and in more ways than humanly possible.

Now, I think I might begin to ramble, and I don’t even know if I wrote what I really wanted to write, but I hope this gets my main thought across.

Love is such a small word, but now that I’m a parent, I do know what love is, and it is definitely something I feel for my very dear friend, the Nordic Goddess. Every day, I try to scheme a way to see her again. When I visited Norway last summer, I thought surely it was probably. Now I hope it’s possible.

I love you from the bottom of my helpless little heart, K, and I'm still hoping for a miracle.