A Positive What-If

This week wasn’t my finest… I yelled at someone I love. Not a small blip where I explained in a heated—yet somewhat level—tone. Nope. I yelled. Emotionally charged. Probably sounding ridiculous as I cried about fate and cancer, about death and friendship. And then I talked about people staying in my life because of pity and how I hate not knowing why they're still around. "Is it pity? Or love?" I'd raised my voice then, and I'm sure the vein in my forehead bulged as I shared one of my most embarrassing fears. "I have been reduced to a freakin’ charity case. Wouldn't that embarrass YOU?"

"Well, yes… But no." And the placating look on my friend's face—as she told me her real feelings about this entire situation—THAT broke my heart. 

Everything felt like too much. I'd been too tired to hang out with her, and she'd shown up with a bowl of soup and wanted to talk for over an hour. I didn't need her soup or her pity. In fact, I'd stayed up to talk with her because that was polite. After hearing that she does ‘feel bad’ for me, my pride prickled. “I don't need this." I handed the soup back to her. "Can you please head out?”

"I'm not leaving. Not like this."

I could've fallen, beyond exhausted from fighting cancer and dealing with side effects from treatments. I wanted to escape this claustrophobic situation that felt like it suddenly couldn't get worse. "Please just go." I said. "If you're here out of obligation or because you need to feel better about yourself…" I immediately wished I'd never said it that way.

We remained quiet, staring at one another. Stunned.

"Oh, my gosh. I'm sorry." I said, sitting down and placing shaky hands up to my face. She'd tried doing something nice, and I'd flipped out for virtually no reason. Yes, she's been coming over a lot and stayed a long time, but it’s been in an effort to help. “I” was the person who hadn't set boundaries and told her I didn't need food and that these visits were getting a bit taxing.

She took a small step back. “You’re going through a lot. And I can see where you're coming from on this. I really can. But what you said…”

“I'm so sorry.” I mouthed.

“I can't imagine what this journey is like for you. But, Elisa,” she whispered, "you don't know what it’s like for the people who care about you.” Tears formed in her eyes, and my jaw slackened with shock because this woman doesn't cry. She never even seems sad. I had no idea she'd even been struggling with any of this. “It's scary seeing someone who's sick. It reminds me that I will die..."

Without anything being resolved, she finally left. And as I turned on my heated blanket and wished I could block out the world, I couldn't quiet my mind. I hated myself for this sudden anger and the way I projected fears onto an altruistic friend.

Analyzing my initial accusations and reactions, I grew frustrated that my thoughts always turn to death: What if I died and this was the last conversation she'd remember having with me? What if she's had too much of this situation—and of me—and she stops being my friend? What if...

I told her about this the next time we spoke. “I basically accused you of being my friend out of pity. Because you wanted to help someone. I am so sorry. It was a horrific thing to say—especially to someone who's been so thoughtful.”

“You're allowed to be human, Elisa. And so am I." She sighed. "I'm not here out of pity. Believe it or not, I like hanging out with you."

After a moment, I took a deep breath. "If I would've died, and that was our last conversation... I hate how my thoughts always circle back to death. But what a horrendous way to leave things."

“I think about stuff like that too." She paused. "On the way home yesterday, I worried about getting in a car accident. I didn't want that to be our last conversation either.” She sniffled, and I realized that our friendship had grown leaps and bounds in a very short period of time.

"We both think about the ‘what ifs’ a lot, but they seem to be more on the negative side. Can you make a pact with me?” she asked, her voice becoming a bit lighter.

“Sure."

“Maybe it’s time we entertain the positive ‘what-ifs’ too. What if our friendship keeps getting even better because of this? What if we have decades of meaningful conversations? And, Elisa, what if every time we think about something we're scared about, we both counter it with a ‘what-if’ that involves hope?!”

I smiled, more grateful for her than she'll ever know. “What if... this positively changes our outlook on… everything?!” 

So we agreed. 

And even after I got into bed that night, I couldn't help smiling about of the things I'd found to be hopeful about over the course of that day. Each time I worried—and it happened a lot—I countered fears with positive "what-ifs.” And it really had changed my perspective in the most meaningful way. 

So, an argument escalated, lost steam, turned into an apology, and brought growth. It was a crazy week, but one that altered how I look at the future and really appreciate the present.