Dear Stranger In The Laundromat You Are Not Alone
It’s 8 p.m. Dinner time in Italy. I’m sitting in the laundromat, finally getting the chance to wash that big comforter that won’t fit in my washing machine at home. But who cares about the reason, I’m here, listening to the motors humble and the dryers tumble.
The lights of a small tree are still flashing. It’s warm inside. It smells like fabric softener. It still feels like Christmas. I’ve been on the same page of the book I brought along for the past half hour. The consistent humming of the appliances is like a lullaby. I’m trying to keep myself from dozing off. Thoughts run free in the tranquil moment. They seem easier to sort out. The environment is oddly soothing.
A bell sounds and the door suddenly opens. My date with myself is over. I feel a little annoyed. The rare moment of solitude is over. Real life always barges in unannounced.
A tall, thin man walks in. His dark clothes are baggy and far too large for his build. A grey beard shows under the visor of a worn-out baseball cap. He’s carrying two cloth bags. They are stuffed full and seemingly too heavy for the man to carry. His feet shuffle as he walks by me and stops at the first empty machine available. I watch his frail and pail hands as he begins to empty the bags of dirty laundry.
He drops a few coins into the slot and the machine begins its’ cycle. The man plops down on a chair and sighs, a deep and long sigh. He removes the baseball cap, sitting it on a stool beside him. That’s when things become clear. That’s when reality comes forth and hurls the meanest punch it can give. I feel its might, in the center of my stomach, it grabs hold of my heart.
Once you’ve been a cancer patient, you know damn well when you meet another brother or sister who is going through hell and has no idea if they’re going to make it back.
It wasn’t so much that he had lost his hair to one type of treatment or another, but rather the sadness in his eyes, in the grooves on his forehead. He spoke to me without saying a word.
An urgent need to let him know he is not alone besieges me. I pull out my notepad and pen from the knapsack I carry with me and begin writing exactly what is going through my head. Nothing that will compel to tears. Just human and real.
Dear Stranger,
I’m not going to ask you how you are. Because I know it’s probably the last question you feel like hearing right now. How do I know? Well, I fought the same beast you are fighting right now. It makes you feel like you’re falling down a bottomless pit and there isn’t a hand that can reach out enough to save you. The smell of the hospital and medications follows you everywhere like it’s attached to your skin. I know. It’s a silent pain that dwells inside, that words cannot express to those around us. Although they may try very hard to understand and be there, cancer is by its nature, a very lonely place. Words that are meant to console, may be perfectly useless, just like this letter probably is. I know. I know about the questions you might be asking yourself as you wander through the darkest night of your existence: “Is this me? Why me?”. There can be moments where you feel lost. Finding the road that leads back to the light feels like an overwhelming endeavor. Yet, that very light, is the only true consolation we need to pick up from where we left off.
My battle with the beast lasted 4 years. There were countless highs and lows, every single second was turmoil. There was fear, a lot of fear. There was courage and, an acquired awareness that came from the amount of time I spent observing instead of speaking. Most things that trouble us during life are bullshit. We worry and are absorbed by bullshit. Selfish is what we are most of the time. I learned this by seeing children battle the beast. Yeah, that sure changes perspectives.
I was surrounded by the love of my husband and of my two boys. They were so scared I was going to die, maybe more than I was. I felt it in their hugs. I love hugs. As for friends, most of them disappeared shortly after the diagnosis. Sick people can’t socialize very much. So they continued their lives. Inevitably, I was left behind. I don’t begrudge them. It is what it is. I kept myself company with books, writing, and good movies.
Anyhow, I see you’re almost finished with your laundry Mr. Stranger. Let me answer one final question:
Why did I write this letter to you? After all, you could very well tell me to mind my own beeswax and, you have every right to do so.
The answer is very simple. I want you to know you are not alone. I’m leaving you my phone number. Call, anytime, if you need a friend.
An affectionate hug.
Christina
The letter is in one of his bags. About 10 days have passed. Nobody has called. I wonder if my Stranger friend is ok. I really hope so.
Thank you for reading, always.