Out-Numbered

How do you say "goodbye" to someone that has already gone away? This is the first thing that popped into my head today when I heard the terrible news. She had been battling Cancer for nearly a decade. Pushing back the deadly disease with life. She had friends that cherished her, family that relished her and children that revered her. She was beautiful on the outside and soft and kind on the inside. She was strong and smart and all kinds of funny. She was never afraid to mix it up. At least this is what I remember about her. I haven't seen her in years. Both of us busy with family and business. The usual shit. But every once in awhile there would be an email offering a kind word about my family being beautiful or that my blog made her laugh. That always made me smile. I don't think we, as human beings, realize how much we contribute to each others lives. The little thoughts and prayers we send out into the universe, the fleeting glances, the smiles, the Facebook "...

I think I'm losing my mind. I'm sitting here at my computer, in my underwear, trying to write a simple, yet beautiful post, describing this conversation I had with my daughter about cancer and mortality and all I can hear is a cacophonous symphony made up of bad television, crickets, Mexican Jumping Beans and a cycling dishwasher, batting around an errant Tupperware. My head is starting to pound. Not throb. POUND. I want to tear my own face off. Like that movie, "Face Off". The TV is so loud that I'm beginning to mix signals and words. My brain is confusing my thoughts about cancer and my daughter, with white, middle class, sexy vampires and Dove soap. I look back over my shoulder at my wife. Of course she's fast asleep. I want to walk over to her and say, "HEY! HOW'S YOUR SHOW?" But I'm only a dick in my head. I refrain. I just lower the volume on the TV instead. God Dammit! Now I've got to contend with those crazy, fucking, Mexican Jump...

I've been going to New York Rangers games with the same buddies for the past 13 years. This year is different. Sometimes life throws you a curve ball. One of those buddies moved away. The other one has Cancer. This year, Opening Night at Madison Square Garden was a date marked on my calendar for all the wrong reasons. Hockey has always been a distraction for us. Through the good times and the bad. This year it was hard to predict who would even be at the game with me. Year after year, we would meet at the seats. The start of each new season brought a sense of hope. That's the beauty of sports. With each new year, comes a fresh start. With one of my friends hundreds of miles away and the other one battling for his life, Hockey season hardly seemed a priority. Then I realized that Opening Night was actually more important this year than it has ever been. I spoke to my friend who is sick, during the week leading up to the game. I told him that I'd keep the ticket available f...