Boey, I wish you were here right now so I could ask you a question or two. I wish we were sitting on the couch and I could re-interview you today. I know what to ask you now. The questions I thought were so provoking were so far off. I didn’t know what you were going through. I didn’t understand what it felt like to be in your shoes.
If I could go back and ask you one question, I know what it would be. I’m not going to write it down because no one will understand. I wish I could go back to that day you went back to school with your wig and I almost blew it by telling everyone it wasn’t your hair. You sure told me off that time. You had guts. I know why. You have to. You didn’t care what people thought of your pain, your heartache or what you said because when you have cancer you don’t have to care.
That night when Senator Wyden kept calling you the wrong name and you would squeeze my hand and stomp your feet still make me laugh. If I would have let you you would have publically embarrassed a U.S. Senator for saying your name wrong. I get it now.
The day we were trying on wigs and laughing at each other causes my eyes to water. I didn’t understand how important fun was to you at that moment. I didn’t realize how much hair made the woman. You put up with me, you laughed at me, you loved me and yet you knew I was clueless about cancer.
Boey, I’m not clueless anymore. Your footsteps lead my way and I thank you for providing a trail. Because I met you I may dance a little more, say what I want, put on a wig that doesn’t fit and I just may stomp on stage at a politician or two.
You were a good teacher Boey. So, here we go girl.
