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I haven't taken much to pondering about life's little mysteries lately. God has blessed my life with so many gifts that I haven't needed to. It is only when people close to me are affected with such a life-threatening disease as cancer that I begin to question the "whys" of life. I wonder about the difference between good and bad, and why "good" people often have so many trials,tribulations, and tests to go through before being deemed worthy of living a quality life.

In the past few years, I have had to experience the untimely deaths of three colleague-friends. One death was related to obesity, and the other two, cancer. One fought bravely for three years, and the other passed all too quickly. They were all close to me in age, give or take a couple of years.

My aunt on my father's side had cervical cancer, but was cured, fortunately. She would survive her son who later died of throat cancer. He smoked heavily his whole life. My sister-in-law's mother died of stomach cancer. That also was very untimely. We dealt with these deaths as they came along.

Now the big "C" is hovering closer to home, waiting to claim my uncle, recently diagnosed with bone cancer. He had been complaining for years of pain in his bones. No conventional tests or ex-rays ever suggested there might be imminent cancer. By the time it was discovered, it was already too late. There are few bone cancer survivors. It's almost impossible to attack when vertebra have masteticized into the lower back and begins to spread throughout the body. You are left with a helpless and crippling body. How do you fight?

Death in itself is not a bad thing. It is only the suffering and the pain that goes before it that give death a bad name. Loved ones watch in helplessness. Their feelings are of desperation. We do what we can to make the person with cancer more comfortable. We want to minimize their pain. As for the loved ones looking on, we can only provide support and take our sadness into a quiet place, to be mourned secretly.

I don't have much experience dealing with imminent death. My mother has cried buckets and cannot stop. She is afraid for her own health if she grieves too much. I have told her to cry whenever she wants to; it will ease her pain. I told her crying was therapeutic, either emotionally or physiologically, and with this permission to cry, has eased her agony just a bit. With acceptance of her brother's short time to live, she has displayed amazing resilience and strength. With that strength,

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