.
.
The first time I saw Jennifer I knew. I
knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in
the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, “I found her.”
A month later Jen got a job in Manhattan
and left Cleveland. I would go to the city – to see my brother, but really
wanting to see Jen. At every visit my heart would scream at my brain, “tell
her!!” but I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen that I couldn’t live
without her. My heart finally prevailed and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen “I
have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes
lit up and she said “Me too!”
Six months later I packed up my
belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my
pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee
and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later we were married in Central
Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our
first dance as husband and wife, serenaded by my dad and his accordion – ♫ “I’m
in the mood for love…”♫
Five months later Jen was diagnosed with
breast cancer. I remember the exact moment…Jen’s voice and the numb feeling
that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we
looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together,
we’ll be ok.”
With each challenge we grew closer.
Words became less important. One night Jen had just been admitted to the
hospital, her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering,
“You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We
loved each other with every bit of our souls.
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to
give and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was
during this time.
Throughout our battle we were fortunate
to have a strong support group but we still struggled to get people to
understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in
chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatment and
medications. At 39 Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being
constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10-plus days were
not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies.
Fear, anxiety and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear
these realities and at certain points we felt our support fading away. Other
cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you
better, that things become OK, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there
is no normal in cancer-land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of
normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live with
everyday?
My photographs show this daily life.
They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the
challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that
Jennifer faced, as she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show
our Love. These photographs do not define us, but they are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe,
through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or
she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge,
empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.
“Love every morsel of the people in your
life.” – Jennifer Merendino
Brilhante, caro Araújo!! Impressivamente expressivo!!
ResponderEliminarUm bem haja, Justiniano
Que soco no estômago.
ResponderEliminarestamos aqui numa escola da periferia, à espera da reunião de pais. pais complicados, menos complicados, perdidos ou menos perdidos. são 18:00 e ainda não almoçamos, vamos ler o melhor blog no mundo e é logo um murro destes. é estranho dizer isto mas que belo que é este vosso post!
Uma apropriação um pouco indevida do trabalho, e sofrimento, de outra pessoa. Mas enfim. Propriedade intelectual, emocional, afectiva, que interessam essas coisas.
ResponderEliminarCaro Anónimo das 12h!! Leia o texto do autor, originário!!
ResponderEliminarapropriação não. divugação é o que é.
ResponderEliminarnão teria conhecido o original online sem o malomil.
De tirar o fôlego!
ResponderEliminar