Cancer in a small town

It occurs to me how fortunate Frank and I were to live where we lived, and that I still live here. "Here" is Washington County, Maine, and specifically in the county seat of Machias. Small town of about 2,500 people. I was always better with recognizing faces and remembering names than Frank was.

That ability comes in handy, and gets tested often, these days. I'm very glad to use it, to run into friends and acquaintances who know about Frank's journey and my loss. Now that I am getting out and about more, three months after his death, I am running into those who greet me with a hug and, "I'm sorry." Many I haven't seen in months, just because our worlds became so private and personal during Frank's 14 months of illness.

A year ago we visited my brother and his family in their New York City apartment. Nice place and all, but they are on the fifth floor of a high-rise building. Their balcony is separated by the next one by a waist-high wall. They could say hello to their neighbor if, say, they were both barbecuing outside at the same time. But in their then-year of living there, my brother and his neighbor had said hello, once.

If someone had cancer in New York City, we all surmised at the time, there would not be an outpouring of community support, the way Frank and I experienced in Maine. There would be a family's love and concern, but it wouldn't extend beyond the balcony separations.

That's why having cancer in a small town, was a good thing.