THE QUESTION
My buddy, let’s call him Allan, is a good friend I’ve always been there for. He was diagnosed with cancer recently and blew off my wedding. I had been keeping in touch with him, and it looked like he would be able to come, but then the week before the big day I called him and he said, and I quote: “Oh, that’s this weekend?” He said he would come if he and his wife could find a babysitter for the weekend. He e-mailed me the next day and said they wouldn’t be able to attend. I told him I understood, but in reality I was seething. For the past year I’ve been trying to forgive him, but I find myself steaming and stewing and can’t seem to get over it. Now I’ve received an e-mail saying his condition has worsened. Should I say something to clear the air or let sleeping dogs lie?
THE ANSWER
Well, I don’t know anything about sleeping dogs, but unless you want this can of worms to turn into a nest of vipers that bites you in the ass, I would proceed with extreme caution.
Now, normally the motto of this column is: “We’re here to help you, not judge you.”
Team Damage Control understands better than anyone that we’re all human and make mistakes.
Even I, David Eddie, CEO (chief error-rectification ombudsperson) of Damage Control’s vast international aggregate of extrication experts and screw-up specialists, am endlessly appalled at the flow of gaffes, missteps, blunders, stumbles and faux pas that emanate “from my desk.”
That’s why Team DC has never seen the point of tut-tutting or tsk-tsking or acting all superior when people write in.
But we’re going to diverge a bit from our normal policy in this case to suggest, ever so gently and begging your pardon, good sir, that perhaps you could stand to get over yourself a teensy-weensy bit.
I mean, for all you know, in the rollup to your wedding, “Allan” was a pincushion of intravenous tubes, hair falling out from chemo, so drugged on a “cancer cocktail” he was barely able to get out of bed.
Maybe when he said, “Oh, is that this weekend?” he was in such a morphine haze he hardly knew his own name.
(My mother was a cancer nurse for a while. When she cranked one of her patient’s dosage up, he was so grateful for the pain relief he said it was like being “born again.”)
Perhaps his disease or treatment had caused some disfigurement he did not want to exhibit to the world.
I remember once I ran into a friend who had brain cancer. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and his head, covered with a large tuque, was oversized and misshapen. I had the feeling he wished he hadn’t run into me – that he didn’t want to be seen in this state.
Meanwhile, I was so sad for him I didn’t know what to say.
(It was so awkward, that conversation, the last one we would ever have. He knew his days were numbered, and he knew I knew, and in a circumstance like that even my reflexive urge to ask, “Hey, how’s it going?” felt like a faux pas. “Well, Dave … ” he began. I was thinking: “Argh, wrong question! Dumb, dumb, dumb!”)
Likewise, maybe your friend’s “sitter” line may have been a smokescreen to spare you any possible discomfiture or sadness on his behalf.
But instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt, you’re all like: Me, me, me, wah wah wah, woe is me, I’ve always been there for him and he blows me off and na na na.
I would suggest if you just can’t seem to let it go then, yes, you should talk to him.
But if you do go that route, then really back into it. Say something like: “Listen, I owe you an apology. There’s been something that’s been bothering me and I know it’s totally unfair, but I have to admit it hurt my feelings when you didn’t come to my wedding and it seemed to me you were being so casual about it.”
Pause here, to give him a chance to explain. If he says something like, “Yeah, well, I won free tickets to a Method Man concert so I decided to blow off your candy-ass wedding and go to that instead,” then, yes, you have the right to dress him down a bit.
(I would even go so far as to add “just like anyone else.” After all, you don’t want to be cancer-ist, do you, and treat him with kid gloves just because he’s sick as well as rude? If he’s being a pill, you should let him know just as you would any healthy person.)
But if, as I suspect, he says something more along the lines of: “Yeah, the morphine had me in an iron grip, and I was so sick from the chemo, lying around like a poisoned frog, I couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom, let alone your wedding,” then you will feel like a schmuck for chewing him out.
Really, the best thing, if you can manage it, is to set the whole episode aside. Drop it. In a word: Fuhgedaboudit.
After all, time may be short. You say you’ve always “been there” for your friend. It seems to me that now is a time he needs you to be there for him more than ever. Time to mend fences, set aside petty differences and be there for your buddy before God takes him and he’s no longer there for you or anyone else.
David Eddie is a screenwriter and the author of Chump Change and Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad.
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