Months and Meanings

Dear Ravi,

Until now, I had no idea that July was both Sarcoma month and bereaved parents’ month. We never paid any attention because we were too busy trying to keep up with you! Why would a certain month matter when we still had you around? Now, both Sarcoma and Bereavement month seem glaringly obvious. I hate to say it, but it is rather annoying, or maybe I should say, cloying. I am glad more attention is being given to sarcomas, but I don’t like the way that cancer patients are described. Often, they are described as little warriors, having a smile that lit up the room, as having delightful personalities. This is all very nice, but it tends to elevate the patients to a level that perhaps does not make them comfortable. Ravi, I never saw you as a warrior. You did not “fight” cancer. You were an incredibly brave 22-year-old who lived the best you could with all the curveballs that the universe threw at you. You did not fight cancer any more than you fought autism or epilepsy. You just lived with them, the best that you were able. After your death, your dad and I mourn you deeply, but we do not elevate you to the status of an angel. You were a great kid, no doubts there, but you had your quirks. You escaped out your bedroom window and walked yourself to Super America in your footie pajamas because you wanted some gummie bears. A dear friend describes you as a shark. You would school around until someone left their drink or French fries unattended and then your shot in for the kill. You hated opera and loved Taylor Swift. Like your mom, you fervently believe that the 1980s produced the best music ever. You had a wicked sense of humor and a great belly laugh. But, you were a 22 year old dude. You liked pretty girls and fast cars. I repeat, you were not a warrior, you are not an angel. We miss you deeply, but I am not going to paint your life and your memory as something that it wasn’t or isn’t. Yes, there is a place for sarcoma and bereaved parents. Let’s not glorify cancer or those who are cancer patients. Give space to grieving parents. But, folks, let’s keep our kids human. This maudlin pathos is a bit cloying. I see Ravi in monarch butterflies and cardinals. I see him flying free. He is living his best life now, while those of us on earth shuffle along the best that we can, with our feet of clay. Okay, rant over. Go forth, be good humans, and look for miracles. Love,

Harriet