Fuck Cancer

Sometimes language like this is just warranted. This is one of those times.

Yesterday we got a message from our daughter’s school saying that one of her classmates was “very sick” and in the hospital.

You never want to hear that about a kid, but you never assume the worst. At least I didn’t.

This morning at drop-off, my wife Pam gave the teacher our contribution to the care package, and they chatted for a minute.

On her way home, I got a text from her: “[Classmate’s name] has cancer.”

I was stunned.
I teared up.
Writing this, I’m still shaken by it.

I’ve never met the kid — I’ve only seen her in school videos with our daughter. She’s a kid; a sweet, innocent kid. No one, but especially no kid, deserves that.

I started putting myself in her parents’ shoes, and it just made me feel worse.

I thought about it all day. Still am, as I’m writing this now. When my daughter got home and I got my hug, I held on longer than normal. I needed it. And, although she doesn’t fully understand what’s going on (she does know the classmate is sick and in the hospital), maybe she did too, because after I let go, she came running back out and asked for another hug and smooch.

It made me appreciate everything in that moment — how thankful I should be, and how I shouldn’t let the little shit that gets to me matter so much.

I’m still processing it. Not sure I ever will.

But my heart just breaks for that kid and her family. They’ll probably never see this, but they should know there are people out here — people they’ve never even met — who care deeply about what they’re going through.

Here’s to hoping this kid kicks cancer’s ass.

Writing this doesn’t make it better. But maybe it’s a reminder — to hug your kids longer, to sweat the small stuff less, and to never take a single healthy day for granted.

Fuck cancer. Always.