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Cancer Alley, Rain Boots, and the Pain of Losing Friends

Learning to live with grief

Maria Shimizu Christensen
Age of Empathy

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Photo by author

A few years ago, my daughter and I went for a walk in some wetlands near our home. Spring had sprung, but some bright red rosehips were still clinging to their twiggy stems. I stopped in my tracks and pointed them out to her. She gushed enthusiastically for my sake and moved on. I thought of the last time I had admired them and wished I had worn my rain boots.

The cancer is in my bones now. My doctor wants me to walk more. Typical of my friend Kirsten. Acknowledge the bad, but focus on what can be done here and now. So we made a date for a walk in the wetlands on a chilly, wet, gray December day. Overlaying worry for my friend was pleasure in the opportunity to wear my new rain boots.

A $15 find at Goodwill, they looked practically new. I liked to think that the original owner loved the bright colors and swirling abstract patterns as much as I did, but she just couldn’t bear the weight of the comments, stares, and fashion judgements and reluctantly parted with them. I would wear them proudly and bravely for both of us.

So as Kirsten and I walked through the wetlands — she, carefully and slowly, and I, slowly dragging through puddles to test the boots — she pointed out the profusion of red berries adding just about the only…

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