It's been another long break between blogs ... again, it's been difficult to find time, mostly because I'm caught up with work and family 'stuff'.For this entry though, I am writing about my teenage son's best friend, Laura.
My boy met Laura four years ago, when they were both 12 and in their first year of high school. They became friends quickly, and were funny to see together because of their differences - he was so tall for his age and she was very short, he was shy and awkward while she was cheeky and energetic.
We used to gently tease him about the friendship, implying that she was his girlfriend. This was never actually the case though ... these were two young people who found each other at a time when they both needed an extra friend; both were showing signs of mild depression and struggling to find their way, like so many kids that age.
They could talk about anything. They connected in a way that a lot of people would be jealous of, if they knew the extent of it. There were never any arguments, no judgement, just an honest friendship. They could share their most personal feelings, but also tease and laugh at each other.
Then, when she was 13, Laura was diagnosed with cancer. 'Malignant peripheral nerve sheath tumour' was the official name for it, or MPNST. It's a type of sarcoma, usually with a genetic link, but not in Laura's case, which made hers a very rare cancer - 1 in 7 million. This nasty little cluster of cells had wrapped itself around a nerve in her leg and would change the course of her life entirely. She was whisked away to Brisbane, where she underwent surgery, followed by months of chemotherapy. My boy was, naturally, very concerned ... but we kept in touch with her family and I took him to Brisbane to see her a couple of times between treatments. Of course, they were also able to keep in touch via their phones and Facebook, messaging constantly.
Laura and her family would all count as some of the most positive people we've ever known. Their attitude was always that this 'thing' could be beaten and that they would get back to their farm, their goats and their crazy happy life. After a lengthy period of treatment, and left with a limp, Laura was declared cancer-free and able to go home in 2014. We were all pleased that she could be back in familiar surroundings and life went on as normal for a while.
Then, at Christmas and after 20 weeks in remission, the cancer came back. This time it was in her lung. She was rushed back to Brisbane, for more consultations and treatments. Again, we kept a close watch on what was going on, as well as on our boy - worrying about how he would cope if anything went wrong.
So, when the cancer spread and it became apparent that she wouldn't make it after all, I had to break the news to him. It doesn't matter that he towers over me, the need to wrap him in my arms and make the pain go away will always be there. The hardest thing as a parent is to know that there are some things you just can't fix for your child. Grief and loss is something they have to work through in their own way. I simply asked that he talk when he needed to, rather than withdrawing the way he did when his grandfather died a few years ago. He promised he would and, thankfully, he has. To me, to his friends ... I've never heard him open up about anyone so much before, or seen him so willing to come and ask for a hug when he needed one.
Laura passed away on September 10th, two years after her first diagnosis and just two weeks before her 16th birthday. I took my boy to Brisbane to see her in hospital the day before she died, when we knew the end was near. They had some time alone together and said a final goodbye - and they both knew that's what it was. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for both of them.
Her funeral, just a few days ago, was a large, colourful affair ... as she wanted it to be. The theme was Cosplay (fancy dress), or gold/yellow (for childhood cancer). The coffin was painted in her favourite colour and covered in her artwork, lovingly reproduced by her family. There were tears, as well as laughter, singing and dancing, and her spirit was honoured beautifully. Afterwards, many of us went out to her farm, to join her family around a campfire, to talk and laugh and share memories. We walked around the property, visiting some of her favourite spots and looking at where her family will create a memorial garden. At one point, later in the evening, my boy looked up to the sky and pointed out a cloud formation to me - it was in the shape of a giant hand. He said, 'It's like Laura's giving us all a high five.' I'd like to think he was right.
His grief is palpable, and it will take a long time for him to get over losing her. He has other friends, even other 'best' friends, but the connection he had with her was special. He has had to do a lot of growing up in a short time, and it has been (and will continue to be) a difficult journey ... but I'm sure she will always be with him.
There is no way I can write enough in this blog to honour the person Laura was. Trying different treatments in order to help future cancer sufferers, going out of her way to spend time with other patients and cheer them up, her kooky sense of humour, her love of art - music, animation, drawing and dancing, her sassy attitude and determination right to the end ... and that she worried most about how her loved ones were coping. Those are the things we will always remember.
