Lizzie doesn’t want me to tell our old friends about her cancer.
Not our shared friends anyway… the ones from university.
I’d like to say this is because she doesn’t want to cause them any concern about her condition… that she doesn’t want them to worry.
But that’s not the real reason.
The real reason is that Lizzie doesn’t want to have to reply to their texts.
She doesn’t want to get endless messages saying ‘how are you?’, ‘you’re so brave!’ etc. And then have to conjure up some kind of suitable, generic thank-you-for-your-sympathy response to them. ‘I’m fine! Thank you for asking… I’m feeling stronger every day…. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.’
I remember feeling the same, in a strange sort of way, when my father died.
Everyone saying ‘how are you?’, ‘So sorry.’ It just got exhausting.
I remember wishing, after a while, that people wouldn’t say anything at all.
Maybe those local ladies Lizzie’s going for breakfast with soon (the ones I talked about in Entry 2 of this journal) are good friends after all. Not mentioning anything about Lizzie’s cancer. I like to think it’s because they’re super-sensitive and perceptive. I suspect, though, it’s just because they’re weird.
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