a dying boy

I seem to be reading a lot of  child sexual abuse stories lately...and I read one of a young man who'd obviously been through really awful stuff...then I read the young man was very lonely.

Then I read that he was dying of cancer, only going to live a few more years at best.

This bothers me very much.

I actually started crying (like I don't do enough of that!) on the way home...and I realized something.

I'm really glad I have been able to heal.  I have the therapist, the supportive spouse , the friends, the websites, the meds that keep my distress levels low enough to do the horrific inner work I need to do to live.

I have been through hell itself.  But there has also been joy. I am struck by how grateful I am to have that, how tragic that he will not. How much it pains me that he will never take this journey.

And I'm going to correspond with him, as I can handle doing so...because if I were incredibly wounded and terminally ill...I'd want someone to do it for me.

Admittedly, my big heart may be fully complemented by my thick head for so doing.