Somehow I always thought I would have another day. That there would be another fascinating blog post, full of humor facing a terrible situation. That there would be another round of treatment, another battle in the war we all knew was likely to be ultimately lost.
I knew my friend's cancer was a quick and deadly type, and that a year was about the most that one could expect.
Is it a year already?
Yes; and indeed more than that.
Nobody's ready yet. Why couldn't Barry be the miracle patient? Why couldn't he be in the 15% and not the 85?
A year is not enough!
Barry is gone now.
He was suffering, and there was no real fixing that. I'm glad he's not suffering any more. But I want the old Barry back, the one who observed everything, who translated for his dog, the one who went walking on the bluffs above the lake, the one who shared his humor and wit and compassion with us daily.
Our time was too short! I never got to meet you in person. Never finished that sweater.
It was an honor to be your friend.
I'm looking forward to the day, in a month or a year or whenever, when your book comes out and I can read your stories again and again. I hope it comes with pictures!
riding for the warming room . . . .
5 hours ago