I was once taught that in Eastern writing it is common for stories to move in spirals while Western academics like straight, narrow lines.~Rebecca Spiegel (From Without Her)

I'll admit that I'm a fan of straight, narrow lines. Point me in the right direction. Please, give me a formula. I crave black and white. No gray, I beg of you. No ambivalence. No uncertainty. 

My brother-in-law, Mario, is dying. Cancer. I loathe this disease. This pestilence. And he's toppled so fast. Bound to a wheelchair. His robust health a relic of the past. 

And I'm here on the sidelines, an ocean away from him. I wish he could hear me urging him on, my pom poms held high, rustling in the wind. I wish I could speak his language fluently so that I could tell him how much he means to me. How I understand, in part, some of his suffering. I had cancer too. I know what it feels like to look in the mirror and not recognize yourself, the body trying so hard to carry on, yet almost out of breath. And you know the people who love you are hurting too. Don't know what to do. Sometimes ask too many questions. Say the wrong things. And also you know that you couldn't go on without them. Family and friends are God's hands, God's heart for you. Oh, Mario. This life.

Mario, I remember the first time I met you. It was the first time I traveled to Italy. I pointed toward you and asked, "Il postino?" (The postman?).  You nodded your head and gave me that wry smile of yours that I will never wipe from my memory. Honestly, I wanted to wrap my arms around your neck at that moment. You were the one who delivered my letter to Giovanni all those years ago. The letter that carried my longing and love for him when I was an adolescent. You called Giovanni and said, "There is a letter here for you sent to our old address, from a woman named Priscilla." Giovanni said, "I have a colleague named Priscilla." Mario replied, "No, this is someone different. It's from a woman in the United States." And the rest is history, as the old saying goes. I've often wondered what would have happened to that letter if it hadn't been for you.

I'm coming to appreciate the beauty of spirals. There is freedom in spirals, leaning into the curves of life. Bold, black narratives are mostly fantasy.  So, Mario, just know that I'm waving to you from across the ocean. Cheering. Praying. I love you.