A Sobering

(listening to Henryk Gorecki's Symphony No. 3, Op. 36 "Symphony of Sorrowful Songs")

Connie, the mother of Ali (the mother of my daughter Claire), has cancer. She has been given a year. The exact type of cancer is unknown at this time, but it has metastasized into her bones. She is not well. She is in her fifties.

Her spirits are good; she is strong, and she has no fear. My heart is heavy for those who love her, though. Hope is not lost, but the situation is grim.

I suppose the fact that I work for a company that makes cancer drugs only makes it worse. I am aware of the medical complexity, the ugly ordeal, the bureaucratic nightmare and the hideous expense.

Am I morose? Perhaps I just harbor cold, dark recollections of my father's passing. The passing of a human being is a hell of a thing. What vacuum is more bitter and cruel than the space left by a loved one?