9 September 2012

The 252nd day of the year. There were only 113 days remaining until the end of the year.

But it was the end for my friend.

Melissa had been diagnosed with an aggressive ovarian-type cancer about a year and a half ago. I clearly remember the first time I received a call, when she thought something was up. “I have a tumor,” she said. “Let’s pray that it isn’t malignant.” And we prayed.

About a month after that, in the month of May, I received a phone call from my mom, on the verge of tears. “Melissa has been diagnosed with cancer, she’s with us.” I got in my car and journeyed the hour’s drive to my parents. I put the radio on. I tried not to think, tried not to cry. I rushed into my parents’ house, and my mom said she was in my room; she wanted to break the news to the boyfriend. And as I opened the door, we both burst into tears. She told her boyfriend Marnits that I just walked into the bedroom and put the phone down.

I practically jumped on her in my attempt to give her a hug. We just lay there, in hug position, crying and looking at the ceiling. It was one of the saddest moments of my existence.

I wrote a bit of the background over here last year.

For some reason she and I became estranged from each other in the time that followed. Not to speak ill of her, but I tried phoning, I tried messaging, emailing and so forth and I would never receive an answer. I decided to giver her some space, but still getting updates from friends and my mom.

I believed she would be okay. She would survive. Afterall, in December she only had two sessions of chemo left.

In February she went for another massive surgery to remove the cancer that had now filled her insides. I wasn’t there. I didn’t support her. I am still cutting myself up over this. I wanted to, but I didn’t.

Saturday, 8 September 2012, her boyfriend posted on facebook that we should pray for Melissa, as she is not well. I phoned mutual friend to ask what the matter was and went to gym. When I returned home, I had a few missed calls from him {not a good sign}.

After contacting him, asking her boyfriend if we could come visit and driving the somewhat 2 hours to Parys, Free State, I was warned that the person I was about to see was not the friend I once knew. “She might not even recognise you,” I was told.

But she knew me. She smiled when she saw me and took my hand with the frailty that was now her body. I chatted with her but got little to no response, perhaps the littlest of eye contacts.

After a few hours it had become time to leave, but I didn’t want to say goodbye, because even though I wouldn’t say it out loud that day, I knew it would be the last time I would ever say goodbye.

I kissed her hands, her forehead, her cheeks and asked if it okay if we left now. And she nodded yes, it was okay.

The next morning at 7:09 I received a phone call from Marnits. “Melissa has gone to rest. She is with the Lord now.”

I am eternally grateful that I got the chance to say goodbye.