I feel surrounded by cancer.

A class I am teaching in the fall requires me to read through various writing resources, mostly modern anthologies and collections of different genres. I found a great graphic novel called Mom's Cancer and then, upon reading The Best American Essays of 2006 I found several cancer stories (most of which I cannot use for the class). Another graphic novel, whose name escapes me, used randomly purchased, previously sent post cards found at antique stores as the catalyst for several storytellers to write short comic strip things (some were about cancer, too).


I swear I wasn't looking for this, just some examples of good writing in different genres suitable for students.

Instead, I find:
Personal essays, first-person accounts of battling awful cancer diagnoses.

Third-person accounts of family member's/spouse's cancer battles.

Fictional mini-stories about real people that never happened.

I read this insightful, beautiful essay by Marjorie Williams called "A Matter of Life and Death" that made me think of my friend who died last year. She had a similar name to the essay's author.

I think of my grandfather who beat back cancer a few times. Of my grandmother's mysterious breast cancer that disappeared into a mis-diagnosis (dumb oncologist).

Of the 24-year-old guy who lost his hip, then leg, and eventually life, to a mysterious and rare cancer.

Of the millions and millions of people agonizing right now in their homes, sitting in medical offices littered with Newsweek and palpable sadness and fear and wretchedness...

And then I realize that I cannot remember my friend's name. Marci. I just remembered right now. I can't remember your last name Marci, but I can remember your face and all those meetings we sat through, how you always brought papers to grade, never paid attention, and called me for help all the time in the middle of our classes. Marjorie William's essay makes me think of Marci and the two kids who had to watch their mother die.

I feel like a horrible person for the entire time I cannot remember Marci's name as these cancer stories surround me. Mom's Cancer stares at me from my bed as I type this and I wonder how I'm supposed to go back Harry Potter just now.