“How” you spend this season of giving and receiving is more important than “How much”

As I write this blog, a dear friend who has been battling pancreatic cancer continues to battle even as her highway of options is narrowing from five lanes to one. The myriad of emotions that have arisen since her diagnosis, some five years ago, have been the most illuminating about my own character limitations. It has taught me what it means to truly step into love even when you know there will be heartbreak knocking on your door very shortly. It has shown me how grief can darken the illumination of the brightest shining star.

I have lost two other friends in my life, each death and the ensuing panoply of emotions forever seared into my memory, the pain so readily accessible even today. My first friend’s sudden death was the thunderclap that seems to startle the natural world to show us how meaningless it is to prepare for something we can’t control.

My second friend’s death was the result of another cancer that seemed to whittle her down to an essence of light since she was truly that for so many of us. Each moment, when faced with the absence, was a pain that time hasn’t lessened. Instead, the indention left by their absence seems to solidify into a groove that is permanent in my own psyche and sadly in my heart.

In spite of these two experiences with loss, my current friend’s imminent passing has been the emotional Mt. Everest, each bit of the climb a shear test of my own fortitude or the lack thereof. I’ve learned what it means to be truly selfless, what it takes to put aside your own emotional needs to be there for someone else. More importantly, I’ve learned what it takes to face down fears of loss, the current constantly churning just beneath the surface when you love someone.

Unlike the other two times, I am witnessing firsthand the cruelty of a disease that is relentless. With the death of my two other friends, one was sudden and unexpected, making it impossible to prepare. My other friend’s cancer had long been a part of her life when we met and became close, so I had no recollection of her separate of cancer that would take her life. This time I have known my friend long before her identity and entire life was focused on fighting this disease.

At some point I had to get over my own fears, which manifested in me selfishly withdrawing from her on an emotional level. However, cancer is an unflinching teacher about the preciousness of time, an idea we all understand on some abstract level but rarely truly experience the importance of until it is long too late.

Once the tick-tock of the clock’s hands struck me awake from my own selfish somnolence, the passage of time became the only opponent in this new race, a race where each second could make the difference. It is this very race against the clock that had me reevaluate the ‘how’ of a gift rather than the ‘how much’ since there is no guarantee of how many more gifts I will be able to give her. The absurdity of a gift even worth millions becomes apparent with the reality that none of it can be transported to where it is she will be going.

So, I have become selfish again in guarding and grabbing any moment where I can spend time with her. Whenever I’m with her I try to be as present as possible, but I still have the out-of-body experience of observing the scene from above, trying to memorize each and every detail for me to remember when she is no longer here. I suppose you could say that truly understanding the value of time is a gift she has bestowed upon me, but if I’m brutally honest, it’s a lesson I wish I didn’t have to learn right now. As this race may be heading into the final stretch, I’m desperately trying to keep ahead of my opponent…Father Time. More than any other Christmas season, I worry less about what to give her but focus on how I can be with her.