Something I forgot to say when I was talking about Jody a few minutes ago...
What got me thinking about him on Friday afternoon was one of his journal entries. He sent me to his journal once or twice, but I shied away from it. I didn't want to know. If he wanted to share something with me on ICQ, I was there. Somehow, looking into his mind on the journal was just a little too real. I didn't want to have to confront it. I wanted to deal with it on his terms, what he wanted to bring to the table on ICQ. I didn't want to read it alone, in a vacuum. As it turns out, that's exactly how I have read it. I read the whole thing after he died.
What I was thinking of as I stepped off the sidewalk at work heading for my car was the entry when he learned that the treatment hadn't been successful. That it might have slowed the tumors, but only just. They were still growing, at least a little. I think his doctors were hiding things from him. As I look at it now (it's his entry for February 24th), he still seems hopeful. Talks about reading about Thalidomide on the net. I don't think he knew, none of us knew, that he had about three months and a week or so to live at that point. But what strikes me, what chilled me Friday when I thought back to it, was his choice of mood. "Disappointed". Disappointed. Yeah, my cancer treatment's not working. I'm 26, and it's looking pretty much like I'm going to die. Soon. "Disappointed". I guess the illusion was really over for him that day. He let it live in me, though. He never really took that from me. I can remember times when he would remind me, with a smiley on ICQ, that his chances weren't good and he probably wouldn't make it. But those instances were rare, and he soft-peddled them. Christ, he was brave. Facing that without burdening me. Because of that, for me, there was always another option, more time... I couldn't believe he could really die. At least, not for a long time, and not until months after the cancer had rendered him incommicative, and I was 'ready' for it. But no. I talked to him on the Friday before he died. Saturday, his friends took him to a Renaissance fair. Sunday night, his friend in Colorado had a phone conversation with him. Twelved hours later, he was just gone. Just like that.
That could only have been wry.