I got some bad news this morning. My friend Josh decided to enter hospice two weeks ago,  and he is sliding quickly. His beautiful lady asked that his friends email her letters to read to him, and I found some quiet time tonight after my trip to Dana Farber with my mother-in-law to pull together my thoughts.

First a note about cancer. It fucking sucks, and I feel like the medical community has sold us a pile of happy shit suggesting that if we wear pink and walk around a track for a few hours they will discover a cure. Maybe we should wear yellow bracelets and that will help us find a cure. Do I sound angry? I am angry--the kind of anger born of frustration. Of listening to people glad-handing cancer. Of pacifying us to think it’s not that bad a disease anymore. Or if we had a little more money we can cure it.

Nothing has helped my mother-in-law’s cancer. Nothing. Nothing helped Josh’s cancer. Nothing could help my Dad’s cancer. Three different kinds of cancer. Nothing.

I sat in Dana Farber today and watched the hundreds and hundreds of people--men, women, children--all sizes, shapes--with hair, without hair. I’m supposedly in the BEST place for fighting cancer, but I didn’t feel HOPE. I didn’t feel CURE. I felt sad. Sad for the people, their family, their friends all robbed of people they love, the life they want to live because NO ONE UNDERSTANDS HOW TO KILL CANCER. My sadness led to frustration. And my frustration wells into anger, then rage. Then the tears come, and what is left is helpless.

Helpless for Josh, for Doris, for my Dad, for my Mom. For everyone who has cancer that can’t be stopped. I resent feeling helpless. Do you hear that cancer? I fucking resent you and all the pain you cause.

My dear friend Josh,

I have been thinking of you lately, and I wonder sometimes how people can deny the connectiveness of the world. When I talked to Andrea today, I knew why I had been thinking about you, but thinking isn't always enough, and in this space and time, you need to know how very dear you are to me and the friendship we share.

You know, everyone makes fun of me because I'm not on Facebook, and while I toss off the usual response, "I don't want my students' image of me to be confused with my friends' image of me" there is another reason I'm not on Facebook. Did you ever read Catcher in the Rye? I still teach it every year, and every year I have to explain why Holden doesn't ever "give old Jane a buzz." It's because his memories of Jane are so perfect, he doesn't want to dilute and mix them with the ever chaotic present. I feel that way about my memories too.

I have such perfect images in my head of the first day of Astronomy class with you dropping the lecture hall desk back into the chair with a reverberating WOMP! and every head in the lecture hall turning around. I cherish the memory of you teaching me how to properly peg my jeans, and how to stand slightly disinterested at punk rock shows but still grooving on the beat, and you sending me letters during summer break---OMG friends wrote each other LETTERS???--The mixtapes, teaching me about harDCore, taking the train to Philly to see Fugazi play for free in a parking garage, except that we paid $75 for train fare, seeing the mouse on the train on the way home!

Of course you will never live down having the uncanny ability to show up at my dorm room when I was in a bathrobe, but then, who but me showers at, like, three in the afternoon?? Do you remember riding the Greenbelt loop in the rain because WE WERE HARDCORE BIKE RACERS, except we really weren't. I remember we talked about what kind of jersey you and Scott would create--I think it was a Digits-themed jersey--you two were really into your Sweet Sweet Satan kick then. Do you remember, too, coming to pick me up at what ungodly hour to do the Master Cylinder radio show? You and Scott made so much fun of my predictable nature--gee, I wonder if Meg will dedicate Lovesong by the Damned to whichever dude she's dating. . .and I will never apologize for loving Pop WIll Eat Itself. I can't help it if your musical taste isn't perfect. . .

These memories really aren't just memories. These memories are the vital experiences that made me who I am, and you were such a huge part of that. For that I thank you. I thank you for your kindness in befriending a dork like me. I thank you for your endless patience in listening to me. I thank you for being the kind of friend who is always there with me--even when I move away.

You have had such a battle my friend, and I honor you for that. You continue to show me what strength and love is. I'm so very happy you found Susan and that you had your perfect family of cats. You are a lucky man to have so many people love you--it's a testament to the kind of person I've always known you to be--and of course, my love and strength are with you now. With tears running down my face, I'll end my email. You already know how unfair cancer is, but you never talked about it that way--you protected your friends and family this whole time.

I wish I were in DC right now. I know Scott is coming over tonight, and I wish for one more time when we three were together again. Tonight Josh, I will put in one of your mix tapes. I will cry. I will drink a beer, and I will cry some more. I love you.

Meg