Claire

There’s a little girl I know by the luminous name of Claire.
She was born in Gulfport, Mississippi, barely twenty-four hours before my own son. Her mother and I were great friends and still are, inasmuch as distance permits us.

In the fall of 2005, I received the heart-stopping news that Claire was battling a rare and very aggressive form of cancer. I was beyond stunned. Claire is eight.

For the first time in my life, I felt uneasy towards Claire’s mom. What does the mother of a healthy child say to the mother of a very ill one? I was awash with guilt for having a healthy child, with relief for the same reason, and with shame for being relieved. I was filled with dread for Claire and her family. I felt so helpless. I didn’t know quite what to say so I didn’t say much. Maybe not enough. But I thought about them a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot.

Recently, I called to get some news. I got an answering machine and so did my friend, calling me back. I’ve no idea what message she left because I heard only one word: “Cancer free”. Ok, that’s two.
How clear and triumphant, these two words! I was tsunamied with joy, relief, gratefulness, happiness. “Cancer free”. “Cancer free”. “Cancer free”.

We shall not know for a couple of years whether Claire won a battle or the war.

Let it be the war. Please Lord, let it be the war. Grow and thrive, little Claire, and I love you.