I am remembering my dearest friend, Bliss (not her real name but close). We met the first day in chemo, we recognized each other from Mass. Both moms of teens. Instant 'in the same club' feeling. One day on the first round of cancer, I hit a real low. I was lying on my couch praying the rosary weeping 'I cannot do this mama, I am done, I cannot bear another moment.' And the doorbell rang. The door opened (by someone who knew how hard it is to get up and answer the door) and in walked Bliss, all cheery. 'I brought you some tortellini soup!' I wept and she put the soup down and sat near me. 'I just got a clean bill of health...ALL eight tumors in my liver are gone!'

She prayed with me. She said Go ahead and ask for a healing, ASK for it and don't feel bad. Set a date. She told me how St Bernadette came to her in a dream and said Don't worry everything will be alright. We became so close over the next two years. She had stage 4 colon cancer and two boys. We used to go out for lunch and confess our thoughts. I said I have always wondered HOW one actually died of this. And she laughed saying she always wondered that too! Then we imagined what happened and laughed. I told her I asked my sister to go pick out a coffin for me (she refused) and my dying wish is to not have to need an oversized one to fit. It was so fun to be able to laugh and be irreverent.

I never really minded being bald. Hair falling out was a tear jerker, though. I remember the first time I had a handful of wet hair in the shower. I looked down at the drain and wept. Then I went and got it cut really short. F-you cancer...I'll chop it off before you can take it. I make my hair short, not you. Then I shaved it. My way of maintaining control. The next time my hair fell out I pulled it out and offered it up praying I know you have every one counted...this is for those losing their hair for the first time..may this NOT be for nothin' Lord.

I friend of mine at work confessed that she had a wig...that it was a 'hot floosey wig' a Raquel Welch long blonde wig. I borrowed it and wore it to church one Sunday and all the men glanced at me. My friend's husband laughed and asked if I would lend it to his wife! My daughters were furious and sat in a far away pew. I just needed to be ballsy about this cancer deal. You have to do whatever you can to keep from sitting and crying. I could not stand that people who never had the time of day for me suddenly came up to me with pathetic contrived sad faces and said 'I am soooooooooooo sorry." What do you say to that? What? Me toooooooooooo? I'm sooooooooo glad you feel sooooo sorry for me? Then they would try to keep talking about it, telling me about every person they ever knew who suffered a terrible death from it.

When I first got it our priest invited me to the parish council Christmas party, which had, of course, a lot of booze. One woman who was THE power player and could not stand me came around three times to tell me she knew someone who died and her children were fine. I wasn't sure if she needed a drink or had had too much, but I wanted to give her a 'bronx hair wash'. That's when you shove their head in the toilet and flush. The really sad part of this was she probably thought on the surface that she was comforting me. There was a time, years ago, when her face shone with light and joy and kindness. We cannot ever rest on our laurels. How does it start, I wonder, that turn from grace? I think it is a little hurt somewere left untended, or staying near someone who refuses grace.

People ask me what is good to say (as if they might have said some such stupid thing, and I say ask 'who is coordinating meals for you: I'll call them and bring you a dinner. I'll be praying specifically for you everyday at noon...' One woman leaned over to me after communion and said 'I just offered this Eucharist up for you, I offer every Eucharist up for you'. And I cried. Who am I? What about all the people who don't have faith who have no one to pray for them? Why me? Why am I so cared for?

This is my moat story. I have felt from the beginning that I have been, am being, dipped in a yucky moat of suffering. A moat is that river surrounding a castle that is filled with crap and other deadly stuff that keeps bad people away. I am dipped in this moat that everyone with cancer is in, but for some reason I am being held. There is some reason I am being allowed to understand this suffering. I just wonder why I am being held, when I am no saint.

So, back to Bliss. I called my sister in law, Rose, and asked if she wold pray with me for a cure and she said sure. And I told her Bliss said set a date. So Rose said how about June 1st and I immediately said No, May 1st. He can do it when ever He wants and if He's going to do it I want it for Mothers Day. Later on I was on my surgeon's examining table and he asked how my husband is and I said Oh fine, except that his wife has cancer. He stopped cold and declared NO his wife HAD cancer. Yours is gone, your numbers are normal. At home, I told my daughter and went out to the grocery. Then later Rose called and asked about me and my youngest said Mom's okay and the doctor said she doesn't have cancer anymore. Rose called back later and said, crying, do you know what day it is? It is May 1st! I later realized that May 1st is St Joseph's day. That is another story, how St Joseph is responsible for my survival. I'll get to that some other day. Time to get up and get out in the sun. Thinking of you, Bliss, and praying for your boys.