Good Life

 A couple hours ago I was nervously bumbling through the isles of Market Basket. I hoped that somewhere magically nestled in between the fajita mix and the canned tomatoes there would be something that would magically cure the cancer running rampant through the body of the woman waiting in the car. Honey for her green tea? POM juice with anti-oxidants.

“She told me the other day that now they’re finding out that anti-oxidants cause cancer,” my mother sighs. We leave with a roasted chicken, applesauce, and popsicles. Jean thanks us under her coughs. The oxygen tank hisses by her feet. I sit in the back and look out at the clouds.

It’s more anger than sadness about anything at this point. That even after the Pan Mass Challenge has raised over $270 Million alone, our lives are bent and broken with the loss and heartbreak of cancer. We’re doing something wrong here. Something is causing this and we haven’t found it yet, even with the billions of dollars spent on research. After seeing her today I wonder what is worse, learning that someone is dying and watching them slowly struggle, or the shock of losing someone in a matter of hours. Both hurt. I don’t think there’s a winner either way. But seeing someone in that position makes me want to stop complaining about silly things like my boss being a pain and start smiling that I can run outside, spin in circles, sashay around in pretty dresses and smile because I’m still in my prime at twenty-two. But in that same instant I want to curl up into a ball in the middle of my bed and cry until I don’t have any tears left.

Life is bigger than all of us and small enough for us to control.