I cannot adequately describe the devastation I feel tonight

…but I will try. I don’t even know where to begin. I wrote a couple of posts ago about how I really miss some of the people who have been important in my life. One of those people was Marty Heenan, someone I have known and been happy to call my friend for more than twenty-five years. Actually, Marty is more like family than just a friend. We were friends instantly when we first met each other in seventh grade. The ice-breaking line he delivered to me? “Hey, anyone ever tell you you look like the Frisch’s Big Boy?” Ah, friendship.

Over the years our friendship grew deep, and later, complex, as long-term friendships do. We always got along tremendously well, and my family took him in as one of our own. He was the friend that was so accepted in my home that he would walk in without knocking, go straight to the refrigerator, pour himself a glass of tea, and ask my mom, “what’s for dinner?” We played together, later partied together, got drunk and in trouble, liked the same girls, supported each other through trying times – all the things friends do when they are young and indestructible, yet also shared a love for each other.

Marty was one of four of my friends that all grew up together and stayed in constant contact with each other. We played golf, had parties, grew up and went to college, got married and started families, and then, inevitably, I guess, we started to drift into our own orbits. I missed Marty and Cathy, his wife, but we seemed to have trouble connecting. I barely spoke to them after we moved to Charlotte. In the meantime, we all went on with our lives. Marty and Cathy were raising the twins, Michael and Gaby, they had after many, many years of fighting through infertility. I was so pleased when they told us they were pregnant with twins, and thrilled when we met them for the first time.

There is SO much more I could tell you about Marty, and our friendship, and the things we have done together over the years. The stories would fill days’ worth of typing. But I learned something today more significant than any story I could tell. Cathy, the lovable, beautiful, vivacious wife of one of my dearest friends, the second-grade teacher who loved her students tremendously, the girl everyone thought was waaaay too sweet to be with Marty, will not be with us much longer. She is dying.

Marty called me out of the blue Wednesday, after more than two years since our last conversation. I have been meaning to call him as part of my attempt to start reconnecting to people in my life, and had just sent a Christmas card to his family earlier this week. Our conversation centered mainly on what I have been suffering through the last several years. I felt there was something more to be said when we hung up our call, however, because he had alluded to some difficulty he was facing without really discussing it.

I called him yesterday and left a message, and he called me back tonight. We talked about his brother, who is facing some problems in his own life, and then I told him we were going to be in Orlando after Christmas, and would love to see him and Cathy and the kids. He said that would be great, that Cathy would really like to see Dana, but that he needed to prepare us for what we would see. My heart sank. I knew Cathy had fought breast cancer several years ago, but she had pulled through that, though she faced severe challenges with the process, like many women do. I had heard from another close friend, Rick, this summer that she was ill, but it didn’t seem to register with me that she was facing cancer again. Apparently, the cancer returned, and it is aggressive, and now beyond treatment.

Cathy is 38 years old. She is a mother of twin 3-year-olds. She is dying.

I have cried most of the night. I do not know what to do for her, or for Marty. He sounds hopeless, and angry, and empty. I feel a tiny little bit of each of those emotions as I type this, but I can only imagine what he is feeling, and I am sure even then I cannot come close to the anguish he is dealing with. I feel so shitty for not being there for him as they have gone through this. And I feel selfish for feeling that way – THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME! But, I feel it nonetheless. I want to move back to Orlando so I can be close to them and help. I want us to be there after she is gone so their twins can play with my girls, and we can spell Marty even a tiny little bit from what he is about to have to face. I LOVE these people, and want to do anything I can to help. But, there is nothing I can really do to solve the pain that has fallen and will fall upon that family. A single father of young twins? A broken-hearted widower? At 40?

What can I do? I feel helpless. I am so, so sorry, Marty. I am having a paroxysm of grief at the moment, and again feel selfish. I am worried that my girls saw me break down tonight and ran to me to hug me and they began to cry, not knowing why, only that Daddy was in pain. How can I remotely explain to them why I feel like I do? Katy is so sensitive to emotions. She is highly intelligent, but also has an off-chart high emotional intelligence. How will she do when we visit the Heenans next week? What does any of it mean compared to the psychic storm occurring there now?

I am in pain – physical pain over this. And I feel guilty about THAT! Rationally, I know these feelings are completely normal and acceptable, but I feel badly for feeling bad. HE needs support and love, not me; but I need some. Thank god Dana understands and is here for me now.

I am exhausted, a bit foggy, and really emotional right now. This was probably not the best time to write about this tonight. As I read what I have typed so far, it seems a bit incoherent, but it is what is in my head, and that is what this blog is about. I just don’t have the energy to go on tonight.

Until next time…

P.S. If you are thinking about making that call to someone you care about, don’t wait anymore. Pick up the damn phone!