Fuck you, cancer

I try not to be angry about things, but this one really punched me in the neck. I'm not being flip - that's where my heart has moved, to my neck. It's a stupid place to keep a heart - the chest is much sturdier and well protected, but I have little control of where my emotions gather and constrict. 

And if you think about it, it's fitting. The neck controls breathing, speech, access between the brain and body. It's narrow. It's hard to hide aging there. Obviously, I am not speaking medically. 

I would like to make things fit together. I would like to be able to argue that it's not fair that good people die of cancer, or that cancer is sneaky and has a motive and intent. But it just is. There are no rules. That doesn't mean I can't raise a fist and shake it uselessly. 

Which is what I did. I thought, YEAH, NPR is finally playing some Beastie Boys bed music. Pump my fist, pull into the driveway. Whatever, middle age demographers, I'll take it. And then the newsy part where Adam Yauch has died of salivary parotid cancer at 47. 

And the unfairness starts now and musing about why the death of someone you don't know should matter. But it does matter, because he made music that I've enjoyed for half of my life. It matters because I'm 42. It matters because I've had cancer in my neck. It matters because we all have necks. 

Rest in peace. I really mean that. The rest of us will have to raise the ruckus. I'm not sure I have 25 years to see what happens. I'm not sure I ever did. Thanks for reminding me. Love.