Dear Judy,

For some reason I didn't receive your last two notifies, so was pleasantly surprised to see you have been updating.

I first heard of you and Andrew when Shelagh Rogers interviewed you on CBC Radio. The news that you were keeping an online journal of your experience was welcome, because I have loved diaries and kept one since I was in my early teens. I've had an online journal in one form or another for quite a few years, too. So I went to your web page and came along with you as best I could while you followed the painful path that is part of life for all of us at some time or other.

You know how you can sympathize with someone's sorrow and loss, without having a clue just how extremely agonizing and debilitating it is? Well that's how I was. I empathized, I cared, but I had no way of really comprehending the gouge that was being made into your lives.

On May 17th I took my first step into that arena when my dad phoned from BC with the news that my mother has terminal kidney cancer, stage four, and "they can't do anything for her." The shock, the fear, the sorrow, the anxiety ... wow, who knew? Well, you do.

My mother is, aside from this cancer, a healthy 63-year-old woman with a sweet, generous nature and an old-fashioned, down-to-earth Saskatchewan sensibility. I can't bear the thought of being without her, much as I know it is inevitable even without life-threatening illness. Either we bury them, or our parents bury us — I don't think I'd wish this grief (or worse, perhaps, when you lose your child) on her.

Dad's mother died suddenly when he was only about 25. Shortly after, Mom saw her walk into their bedroom one morning while they were still in bed, just as if she was coming in to wake them up. She never told Dad this until recently because she figured he'd think she was dreaming.

Mom is not afraid of dying, she says. She'd just like a little more time if possible (there's an experimental drug treatment she's eligible to try for the next nine months, and with luck it will slow or stop the cancer's growth), and to make good use of the time she has left. So I'm taking my two kids and moving out to Kelowna for the next year at least, to help her though these treatments and to drink her in, every day that I can. My sister, who also lives near me on a farm, is also taking her teenage daughter and moving out there. We hope our mom will be a medical miracle, but just in case the initial prognosis of six months to a year to live turns out to be the reality, we don't want to have any regrets about not being with her now. And our dad also needs us. She is not only his highschool sweetheart, but his best friend. He's reeling, too.

How visceral is my fear of what she may suffer physically as well as in other ways. How surprised I am that I feel such intense grief when she is still alive and feeling fairly well! I wonder how much of this emotion is feeling sorry for myself and is completely unnecessary, just an addiction to melodrama, a reaction to a running-free imagination. I try to let the emotion come and go as it will, but my analytical mind observes and wonders if there isn't some mindset I could discover that would help me handle all this a little bit better.

I do believe, because those who claim to see and hear those who live on in spirit say it's so, that Andrew is around you and the kids, probably every day, and that your dream was not just a dream, but a way that he could communicate with you and let you know that he is alive and well and still loves you as much as ever and will be there for you.

It's only a belief. I don't know that it's true, because I haven't seen it for myself. There is a gap between believing and knowing. But it makes sense to me; it really does.

I was standing at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, a Tuck & Patti CD playing on the table behind me. The words to the following song seemed to speak directly to me, and as I read your recent journal entries this morning I thought maybe they would mean something to you, too ... a kind of comforting promise, if nothing else.

Here are the words to the song, the whole reason I sat down to write you this letter:

Tears of Joy

I can see the trace that sorrow has left upon your face
And bein' realistic I know there are some things that time just won't erase
But still I'm comin' to you gently and there's one promise I can make
Beside every tear that sorrow has left you, tears of joy will take their place.

C'mon and let them set you free.

Sometimes I know life can make you feel like you don't know what to do
But there comes a time when you must settle down and feel the presence of one who loves you
Oh yes I'm coming to you gently and there's one promise I can make
Cause I know every tear that sorrow has left you, tears of joy will take their place.

Tear of joy, wash you clean, c'mon and let them set you free

If I could fly, I'd fly straight to surround you with my love
You'll be cryin' tears of joy, hey, wash you clean
C'mon and let them set you free
C'mon, say, let those tears set you free
Come on now, you'll be cryin' tears of joy, you'll be cryin' tears of joy,
Real joy, tears of joy, you'll be crying tears of joy, they say that tears can wash you free, set you free, you'll be cryin' tears of joy.