Robin

" Hi, I’m Robin. I’m not going to die."
When she sat down next to me, I wasn’t sure what to say. I’ve never been good at talking to people to begin with and then this. Especially today. I started treatment today, I was scared already.
" I’m Cyndi. I don’t want to." She was holding her hand out to me, I had to shake it.

" Don’t want to what ?" The look on her face told me she really didn’t know.

" Die. I don’t want to die."

" So don’t."
Smiling as if we were on a picnic somewhere, she went on to tell me about herself and her family; how they were going to Disney World on their vacation,
" I’ve always wanted to go and I just know the kids are going to love it !"

We’ve been friends ever since. I was always jealous of her determination, her will to go on. Even when the pains took everything there was to take, leaving us both too weak to even put our own shoes on and leave that awful pink and green flowered office.
" Got a joke for you. What goes first -- your hair or your pain ?"

I really looked at her then. The wrinkles around her eyes were getting more and more pronounced everyday. For the first time I noticed all her smiles weren’t real; a barrier for the pain she wouldn’t let anyone feel sympathy for showed through.
" The chicken."
The things that could make a person laugh ! The facade was back up. We would make it through another appointment.
Like Robin, her house was cheerful. Her kitchen window looked out over the pond in the backyard filled with children’s toys.
We could sit at her table and watch the kids play and the sun shone across the whole kitchen, making you feel as if all was really right with the world. The bad stuff was our imagination. Besides, who could be depressed when every half hour a duck would sing to you from the clock above the stove ?
From the kitchen you were in the living room . Robin’s fascination with teddy bears was unmatched by anyone I know. They were everywhere. The best hung in a miniature porch swing in the corner. The rest of the ceiling was taken up with her kids’ drawings from daycare.
" That way, on my really bad days, I remember exactly why it is, even though I can’t get off this damn couch, I fight this."
That’s the way she always dealt with problems, straight forward and brutally honest - whether you like it or not.
Her children are beautiful. I always wanted my mom to be the way Robin was to her children. They never once had to wonder if she loved them or not. No matter what she’d be doing, if one of them needed her or just walked through, she would stop them ,kiss their forehead and remind them that nobody could love them the way she did. Did she know she was really going to die ? I always wanted to ask, but death was not a discussion that took place in that house. It wasn’t allowed.
" If you talk about the bad things, they’re close enough in your mind, they could easily transcend into your reality."
Would that have made sense to me if someone else said it ? I doubt it. Robin never told a lot of people about having cancer-- or being sick at all, for that matter. She didn’t feel it was their business to know.
" Why depress everyone else, right ?"
When the knock came at the door two weeks before school would begin for her son this year, she was expecting the mailman. Her latest test were due and since she was feeling pretty good, Robin refused to drive all the way to Buffalo for the results. Our doctor, getting on in his years, feeling sorry for her , and honestly just not strong enough to fight her - she was very stubborn - finally relented and agreed to send them through the mail. Provided she send all reports back after reading them.
I remember how her hands shook all morning, waiting to see in black and white the most beautiful word in any term patient’s life: REMISSION. I wanted it so badly for her, I was making trade offs with God, that if he would let me keep this one friend, I would stop hating him for taking my father.
It was two representatives from the PTA at Lil J’s school. Her son was more than welcome to still play with the neighbor kids and go to any PTA sponsored functions but,

" Some of the parents are wondering if it is such a good idea for you to stay on. Don’t get us wrong, we still want to be your friend," said the first biggest idiot I’d ever seen,
" But it just isn’t a good image keeping you on. As sick as you are, that just doesn’t project the energy we need in order to get people to take our organization seriously . We’re very sorry." said the second biggest idiot I’d ever seen.
" Now wait a minute, are you telling me that because I have a sickness that I didn’t bring on myself, I’m being punished ?" I swear there were flames shooting from Robin’s eyes.
" Well... that’s just it, some of us feel if you were to go to church or prayer group once in awhile....." the silence hung in the air for about thirty seconds before Robin threatened to throw them out physically and not by way of the front door.
We talked that night. About our children, our families, god and fairness. Not a lot of it made sense, some of it really hurt. But we were honest: truth really does hurt. Robin knew all along she was going to die; she had seven months left. The remission letter never arrived that day, or any other.
I think that was the only time in the short time we had that I hated her. All this time, God was supposed to be the only one being unfair but she was cheating everyone by pretending she would beat this knowing she never would.
" Cyndi, you gotta make people understand. I’m not contagious, my kids won’t give it to theirs. It isn’t AIDS for god’s sake ! And damn it, I didn’t bring it on myself !"
I wish I could tell her something to make things right again. But I couldn’t.
Robin passed away shortly after I asked her for permission to write this. I hope I said what she wanted said. Robin never cheated me. She didn’t want me to spend our short time wondering if she would wake up the next day. I would’ve been cheated if she had told me at the very beginning, I’m afraid of death--I wouldn’t have even tried to be her friend.