Cancer Stole My Best Friend
It’s hard sharing a death with the world.
Sharing the death of one of your best friends with the world isn’t an easy thing to do. You so desperately want to treasure the moments you had with her and keep them to yourself, but you also feel this need to share, because she meant so much to so many. Such is life when your friend was a talented actress.
I remember I was in the kitchen, having just made myself something healthy to eat, a salad maybe, when the phone rang. It was D. It was time for our weekly check-in. I had been looking forward to our phone call because I was having a good week (a rarity) and wanted to share about it. But the second I said hello, I knew something was wrong.
There was something ominous about the air surrounding the phone call.
After a brief pause came the words, I’m going to need you to sit down.
I remember sinking into my couch, slowly. The plate of food, now discarded on my coffee table amongst DVDs and magazines. I remember feeling cold and unsettled.
What I’m about to tell you…is difficult… her voice trailed off, leaving a long, pregnant pause hanging between us. I have cancer. I was diagnosed this week.
My heart stopped.
Cancer.
I had had two experiences with cancer, prior, both resulting in rather quick deaths. In such an experience, the outcomes had never been good. She tried to reassure me that things were looking relatively positive. Despite being at Stage Four.
She was starting light treatment therapy, Vitamin C therapy, had applied for her medical marijuana card, and was going to start chemo — even though she didn’t really want to.
Her small army of doctors recommended it, though, as the course of treatment and as she wanted to live, she obliged.
I remained a small ball on the couch. The words I have cancer floating around in my head. This was one of my best friends. She had experienced everything with me through the previous four years, even seeing me out of an abusive relationship that nearly ended my life. It was with her help that I escaped. That I had the power — the ability — to heal.
Now, it was her turn to need saving.
And I couldn’t provide. Not in the way that was truly needed.
I tried though.
I bought candles and had them blessed. I bought her favorite teas, healing crystals, a beautiful healing mala, and little gifts that would make her smile. I packaged them all up and sent them to her, whenever I could.
I even managed a trip up North to see her.
Near Niagara Falls.
A local theatre was showing a production of a movie that she had been in, and my friend and I drove up to see it. After the film, D took us to lunch. She was just as vibrant as she always was, despite being a bit tired.
Dressed in a purple dress with flower detailing, her blonde hair in its usual beachy waves, she had a quiet commanding presence about her. The restaurant seemed to move out of the way for us, as we settled down with our sandwiches.
During that visit, when I feel she had to have known it was probably going to be the last time I saw her in person, we talked about all the things.
My friend’s life and how we met.
My life.
What was happening in school, how close to being done I was.
What was happening with caregiving for my elderly parent.
Our times spent in different states. We traded California stories. We talked about travel.
It seemed like a whole different world in that conversation.
Like there was no one there but us.
Eventually, my friend and I traveled up to Niagara Falls where we explored. It was chilly, but the sun shone brightly. We could see the Canadian border and a building in Toronto that I had been in only a few months before. It was nice to be around nature, to be someplace calming.
I think deep down, I even knew that this was the last time I’d see D in person. But I wasn’t willing to admit that yet.
We got good news a few times. She’d call me right away to tell me.
Her cancer cells were shrinking. The chemo was working. (She hated the cold caps though).
She FaceTimed me the day she chose to shave her hair off. See? I can wear scarves now! she exclaimed in excitement as she showed off a few really pretty ones that she had picked out.
She was always so positive, even when the treatments made her very sick.
You know, she said during one phone call a few months later, when I get better, we should do a photoshoot to celebrate! I smiled.
D had always hated photos. Particularly photoshoots. I had coaxed her into a shoot a few years prior and she ended up happy with the outcome. So that day, while on FaceTime, tea in hand, she smiled, When this is all over with, we should do a photoshoot, she said again. She was decisive. Where would we go?
I told her about a wolf sanctuary that I had found that lets you take photos with the wolves. Their site advertised photoshoots that had been on their property in the past — including a beautiful Little Red Riding Hood shoot. I sent her photos.
I think it would be empowering to be amongst such strong creatures, I had said. She nodded, contemplating the idea over her cup of tea. Let’s plan for that! We had something to work towards, something to look forward to.
The chemo continued to work.
The cancer cells continued to shrink. It looked like there was a real possibility that she would heal. So, we began to plan our road trip to the wolf sanctuary.
Then came the brain scans.
It showed that the cancer had spread to her brain. There were tiny cancer dots all across the scan. The downhill decline came on fast.
I remember the phone call that followed. I sat on the stairs, on the ugly blue carpet of my rented house, crying softly into my lap for hours after we hung up.
I knew that things were too good to be true.
Because why would someone in my life survive cancer or another deadly illness? It’s not like they had before. I knew, deep down, I was going to lose her, too. But how do you prepare yourself for something like that? How do you prepare to lose a best friend?
They tried increasing her chemo.
She was exhausted.
The week that she passed, she called me, our last FaceTime moment. She laid in bed, holding the phone up, resisting sleep, insisting that she wanted to hear about my week. No, no, I’m fine! Tell me about your life! I want to know everything.
So, I told her, as one does when someone insists.
Two days before she passed, at 1 am, she accidentally called me. Her phone had fallen off the dresser and, in her sleepiness, she somehow managed to dial me. I missed her call by seconds. So, I texted her to see if she was alright. She was. Her last text to me was I love you.
Two days later she was gone.
There’s an unexplainable void that takes hold of your heart when a best friend dies. It’s far different from the void of a parent’s death (and I’ve experienced that, too).
Somehow, it’s deeper.
Your friend, your secret keeper, your cheerleader, the one you always call to check in with, once, sometimes 3x a week…is just gone. Just like that.
No longer does the phone ring and her picture pop up. There are no incoming or outgoing calls, text messages, or FaceTime notifications. Just me, occasionally writing letters and burning them, hoping that the words will drift off into the smoke to the dimension that she’s moved on to.
It’s been a little over a year now since she’s passed.
She’s been widely celebrated: by her family, her friends, her fans, and those that used to create art with her. In fact, an art installation piece was just put on by her theatre that featured her voice against classical music. A way for people to appreciate her art and to cope in this quarantine time.
I still get messages from her fans around the world.
Brazil, Portugal, Spain, Russia, Mexico…people have reached out to express what a talented actress she was, how much her performances impacted their lives. And it’s nice to hear, but it’s also hard.
Hard when their grief seems to surpass everyone else’s.
They didn’t know her like I did. Or her friends did. Or her family. They only knew her as the character they witnessed and came to love.
The person that they saw on screen was who they wanted to get to know. If her character was strong, they assumed that she was strong. If her character was quiet and gentle, they assumed that she was quiet and gentle. She was those things, but more far more complex than that.
She was a whole person outside of her characters, and while some of them were similar, they were not the same. It’s frustrating to have to explain that to people, her fans. Some get it. Some are insistent that who they see on the screen is who she was. I leave those conversations alone.
It’s difficult for the people who knew her. To mourn her in such a public way.
I miss her laughter. Her words of wisdom. Her stories. Her cooking. Her coffee and tea making skills. It’s a completely different world without her.
I miss my best friend.
And I’ll always miss her. She was a beautiful soul. But I’m incredibly thankful for the time I had with her in my life, the adventures we shared, and the growth we both had to becoming better people.
She taught me a lot, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful.
Josefina is a graduate of Penn State University and is a holder of two Bachelor of Arts degrees — Psychology and Vocal Performance. She is sometimes a celebrity, fashion and portrait photographer. Feel free to visit her writing website, follow her on Twitter, on Facebook, or on Instagram.
