She's far away, yet I feel her in my heart right now, right up in my throat actually. He's practically a stranger to me, the great guy I chatted with at our 20th reunion who bought me beer and even glasses of water that I didn't ask for but he knew I wanted. His name is Bob, and he is battling lymphoma, a battle I NEVER thought he wasn't going to win when I first read about it on her blog. Her name is Leah, a friend from school; the friend who brought a jello salad spiked with vodka to the 8th grade picnic. Who knew vodka messed with how jello set up? Leah threw up all over me in the upper bunk of her parents trailer days later from a continuation of the same shenanigans we were dabbling in. I've got more on her, but that's for another time. Outside of a strange 3-way call a mutual friend set up and surprised me with around 2001, we had no contact until we were helping plan our 20th high school reunion. Since then we've connected through the usual means of the new millenium--Facebook, e-mail, blogging. And her blog has been amazing and painful to read these past several months as her husband was diagnosed with lymphoma, treated, in remission, sick again, seaking a risky transplant, and now given weeks to live. This just isn't how it was supposed to play out, yet she continues to write and let us into her most vulnerable places. We're all still hoping he is going to beat this thing....we're rallying, we're hoping, we're praying, we're sending positive vibes, whatever. But last night's post was the one that sent us all to our collective knees. The image of her curled up miserably on her "chofa" at his hospital bedside contemplating--preparing for--the reality that he was leaving this planet and she was staying here alone. Just typing the words makes my whole body churn. Did I mention THIS ISN'T HOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO? I feel us all crowded in her hospital room with her, we're shoulder to shoulder, butt to butt watching, aching as we watch, and unable to change the outcome or lift the burden from her. If I could but carry her pain and sorrow for her one hour right now, I would gladly. I can't do very much, but I can stand in the gap praying for an 11th hour miracle, pray for whatever the future holds for this family and my dear friend, pray that she would have a peace in her heart right now that only God can provide.
If you're reading this, please keep praying for Bob. It's not over until you know who sings.
