Deb, I love you.


Chris is out of town for business. The kids are at their Dad’s for the weekend. I haven’t had a weekend like this in over a year. Just me and my shadow…

I slept in after a very long night dealing with the brain harvest situation. No alarms going off. No one waking me up asking for stuff. Just lazy ol’ me.

I spent the afternoon shopping for things I don’t need and then spent two hours at the salon getting a Malibu treatment and a coloring. Yes, I ditched the red and went back to my original blonde. Maybe I’ll post a picture later – I like it better. Red wasn’t bad — but I’ve been a blonde my whole life, and I’m such a creature of habit, you know.

While I was getting the color done, I got a phone call from my friend, Deb. Haven’t heard from her in a few months – but she is still one of the closest friends I have. Our friendship is 12 years old and it doesn’t matter if we haven’t talked in 6 months, we are always on the same page when we pick back up again.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi there, stranger! How’re ya doin?” I reply.

“Not great – I have ovarian cancer,” she states.

Long silence.

“Lisa?”, Deb asks.

“Yea – I’m here. Deb….?”, I stammer.

“I’ll put coffee on, can you come?” she asks.

“I’m getting my hair colored but will be done in about 30 mins. I’ll be there when I’m finished, ” I reply.

I sit in silence for the rest of my hair appointment. I’m stunned. Worried. Full of questions. I get finished and pay the bill and head over to Deb’s. She’s got coffee.

I take her in my arms and hug her for a very long time – no words.

We cry.

She explains the ordeal she just went through over the past 3 weeks. She shows me the chin-to-pelvis scar she has from where they removed her uterus, tubes and ovaries. She’s off work for the next few weeks.

She actually looks terrific.

“My prognosis isn’t the worst one in the world, Lisa – get that look off your face like I”m about to drop dead in the next few seconds. They’ve given me 5-6 years as long as I start chemo next week.” she remarks.

All my hospice training and I can’t think of one god dammed thing to say.

Except – I’m here and I love you.

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6 thoughts on “Deb, I love you.”

  1. “…I’m here and I love you.”

    That is perfect. Sometimes the best and most profound is the plainly stated and proven heart. It’s obvious you care. You are a good friend.

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