Grieving people won’t say anything for two reasons. They don’t know. They really can’t think about it. They’re spending a good amount of time reminding themselves to breathe. Or secondly, we have built this super hero culture of not needing any help.

Five years ago, I laid eyes on and wrapped my arms around Jimmy Fowkes. Instant love! He did show up with yellow roses after all. I was full of hope that we would kick cancer’s ass together. And by together, I mean he would fight, and I’d simply hoist his tired body on my shoulders and climb the mountain, holding a not so trusty compass and his parents’ hands. They had fought for eight years to beat brain cancer. They fought hard. And in the end, it took him.