I entered the room, braced for the worst but as always not ready for what I saw in front of me. 

She was thinner, paler, and the jaunty turban on her head stuck out in hideous cheerfulness over sad eyes. 

It had been a few months since the last time I’d seen her, only a few months since I’d given her the news that what had been previously treated was now most likely metastatic. It had been hiding, smouldering under the radar of all the usual tests and waiting to leap up when we grew complacent.

It didn’t help, hearing the specialists shock. This never happens, you’ve been cancer free for so long. That’s not how this works, not at all. 

Why now? Why me? It’s not fair. I held her while she cried that day, feeling helpless and guilty. I should have, could have noticed something earlier maybe. Done something different, been omniscient. 

And then I lost her. She rentered the round of specialists and aggressive treatment. My promise to be here, waiting if she needed anything was maybe heard, maybe not given the crushing grief that gripped her that day. 

We kept in touch, sort of, through emails and phone calls when she needed the mundane. But today was the first time I’d seen her since the day I sent her onwards, to those more equipped for battle with such a cruel disease.

She needed forms filled, and had just gotten out of hospital, deciding that she was done with aggressive therapy.

 No more, she couldn’t handle any more. She was so sad. I could see looking in her eyes the realization that this was it, she was dying. Again I felt helpless, but offered the alms that I could.

I can help with pain, I can help with comfort. I’m here, and can come to you if that’s easier.

And then I held her while she cried her grief. And I cried with her. In the end, sometimes all I have to offer is my tears, fleeting diamonds though they are.