Don't Tell Anyone

Slammed by this news, I wanted to stay home with you for a couple of days. I would tell people at work I had a bad cold. They know my history and my theories about colds. I'll stay home for two days at the beginning of a cold rather than risk it becoming bronchitis and missing two weeks of work later. Nobody was surprised.

I went in in the morning to organize the day. As I stood in Caro's room talking about my cold, Lael came right in and asked me how you were. Oh, I forgot I had posted it on Facebook! And your news spilled out of me. The two of them came at me with open arms and held me as I choked out your diagnosis. They didn't even think about my cold.

But wait! You had said not to tell anyone, and now I had........I had blown it already. And I am so good at keeping secrets! How could I break your news when you said not to? How can I hold this news in? It's bigger than we are and dictates your future, whether you want it to or not. You told me not to tell anyone.......but the burden was crushing me. Where do I find support? Do I betray those who love us by not telling them this is happening to you? Do I betray you by telling them? Do I betray myself by trying to hold this in? Is this just your secret? Isn't it my secret as well?

Wait! My best friend from high school is a pastor. She probably has a lot of experience with this. She doesn't know you. She lives over a thousand miles away. We just spent over a day together at the Reunion and she was one of the most important people in my past. If it weren't for her, if I had had some wild and boy-crazy best friend, who knows what would have become of me? She is so bright, so focused, so centered, so good with people. As a pastor she must have had lots of situations like this. I can tell her.

Wait! My sister is the closest person to me on the planet! I can't NOT tell her! She's the only other person who has lived this bizarre and crazy life I've had. She and I have to deal with Dad, too, and he was reeling from the very assertive 'conversation' you had with him last week. If I tell her, she'll be able to put your 'conversation' into context. I have to tell her. She'll start praying for you too.

This is oppressive. This not telling anyone. And it's oppressive telling them. Who makes the rules around here? I have to be able to talk to someone! I feel trapped. I need a support group. I need to talk to people. I need to know that the friends who love me are in this with me. I go out to dinner with Suzin; I can't tell her. I go out to dinner with Kathleen; I can't tell her. I go to trio with June and Dolores; I can't tell them. These are my best friends, and I can't tell them. I feel like a huge liar! 'How's Bill?' 'Oh, he's feeling better.' "How's his stomach?' 'He's not throwing up anyone more.' I am skirting the issue. I am telling white lies. What are they going to think when they find out? Cindy isn't really my friend. She didn't tell me the truth about Bill. She must not understand how much I love her, and how I would be there for her, and do anything for her. Didn't she know I would want to share her pain with her? How could she withhold this information? And the people who love you? They would want to have closure with you. They would feel cheated if this thing accelerated and they weren't able to say goodbye. Then there's Dad, eighty-nine and ever the medical doctor. He only stopped practicing because his doctor told him he had to because of his congestive heart failure. He tries to practice medicine on us all the time. He knows something's up with you, and an enlarged pancreas is his nice way of saying pancreatic cancer is one of the four things he thinks you might have. How long are we going to keep Dad out of the loop?

I am still hurting from my principal who didn't tell any of us she had only a couple of weeks to live. We arrived at a conference three months ago to the news that she had died that morning. She's the one who arranged for us all to attend the conference. She was dead and she didn't have closure with us! Did she not really care about us, our relationships with her, all the work we had done together? We walked around that conference like zombies. After sixteen years of working with us, sixteen years, she didn't tell us she was dying? We felt cheated, duped, robbed. I know how that feels. Don't you do it too!

'Don't tell anyone' sucks.