Where the River Ends

by Charles Martin

“Cancer can do a lot. It can wreck your life, steal that which you hold dear, shatter dreams, crack your confidence, sever your soul and leave you wasted and wrung out. It can rob you of hope, whisper lies you learn to believe and dim the lights along the river. It’ll rob your voice, your health and your image of yourself. It’ll feed you with nausea, and cause you to know the difference between tired and fatigued. And when you think you can’t cope, and can’t think, it pours despair in like a blanket. Soon, it covers and colors everything. It’s an absolute bona fide hell. But—” I found myself standing, pounding on the table. I sat down and spoke softly, “Hopelessness is a disease, more powerful than the one that stole Abbie’s life. Because it affects the heart…There is no vaccine, no one is immune. And only one weapon can battle it.” He looked up at me. “It is the weapon that says I will walk through hell with you—no matter what.” My echo settled across the room. “In the end, cancer only steals what you give it. I may die right here or in some prison not too far away, but I’ll die knowing this: I never gave it Abbie. And I never gave it us. Senator, there are worse things than dying.” He laughed, the anger palpable. “Like what!” “Like…living dead.”