John Powers

The pictures above are the last I have of Christina and Seth together. They are some of my favorites.

I am forever grateful I was able to share Seth’s last week with him. Jenny and Christina were away. I wanted to distracted from his pain. We played games, shared meals, took long “granny swims” (his term, something remembered from camp as the two of us slowly dog paddles, chatting). It was a wonderful week, a perfect summer idle, I’d assumed one of many more.

He wrote in his note that he wanted to live to be old. Having spent time as a medical mystery I had enormous empathy for his frustration with insurance companies and the Byzantine nature of the US medical industry, that let him down. 

I had hope for him, that once he would connect with the right doctor, the way I did. That once he was plugged into the right system, we would find out what was wrong and they would finally treat the pain. What I didn’t realized, and no one else knew, is that he had lost hope. Chronic pain is terrifying.

I miss him everyday and everyday I think about the hole left in our lives. More than losing my thumb I wish I could undo Seth’s death. More than anything I wish I’d spoken up, asked him about his spirits that last week, told him how much he meant to me, to all of us. 

In the days after his death I sought out help. It felt miraculous that I was able to weather losing my thumb still feeling like myself - but I did. I knew when the arteries in my legs were permanently damaged that I was having a hard time, finding out the cause was cancer was terrifying, but I had Jenny, and my family, and my friends. I knew I just needed time,  that there was a treatment, that I was going to be ok. (I am ok.) When Seth died my capacities to absorb new pain were swamped. I knew I was out of my depth and I immediately sought help and got myself into therapy.

I think about Seth every day, for the past few months I’ve worked in his home, surrounded by his beautiful things. I think about all the things he did, how much I loved him, and how beautifully he bore the pain I knew he was in. I miss my friend, but I very much treasure the time I had with Seth.