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Well, not exactly two and a half years later, but almost. Justin was buried on Valentine's Day, 2005. This is summer of 2007. Not quite two
and a half years, but close.

Some good, some bad has happened in that time.

Time—it's moving on, of course and the people are moving along with it. Some are moving easily, some are hitting the rocks along the way
and a few seem to be crashing.

Jenn seems to be doing better and that's terrific. She's gotten a job she likes. She learned so much about meds and cancer and illness in
kids that she has a job working in a pediatrician's office and seems to love it. I mean, I guess she does. It certainly keeps her busy and
she often shows up at dinners with the group of friends straight from work and wearing her scrubs—when she doesn't cancel at the last
minute, that is. She keeps taking classes and learning more and more about medicine and I think this may be her new career. This is
probably good.

She's also incredibly busy working on the charity—KCRF (Kids Cancer Research Fund). They have a number of fundraising events during the
year and the biggie is in September, which happens to be Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month. Bet you didn't know that, did you? So far
they've donated almost $100,000 to Sloan Kettering, earmarked for pediatric cancer research. We're all in the planning stages for this
year's wingding and hopes are high that it will make a lot of money. I hope it does. It's a drop in the bucket—I know it and so do you, but
it what we can do. You do the best you can.

Okay, that's something that frustrates me. You know all those pink ribbons and all those products you can get that's supposed to give
money to the Susan G. Kohmen Foundation? I'm sure they do get the money—don't misunderstand me or anything like that and I'm sure it's
all a good idea but did you know that we don't seem to be any closer to a cure or vaccine or anything in the fight against breast cancer?
They're the big cheese for cancer fundraising and they do a hell of a job but—dammit.

C'mon—don't misunderstand me here. Of course I think raising money to stop this cancer bastard is important. Of course it is. And raising
awareness about it matters, too. It just doesn't always seem like we're getting anywhere. Okay, I know progress is being made. I do know
that but, Christ.

I frigging want it cured fucking now.

Not in six years, not in twenty years, not in time for my grandchildren. I want it fucking yesterday so all those sick kids with
cancer can just get up and go home and have their hair all grow back until it gets so long they have to tie it back to keep it out of their
eyes. I want all those women with breast cancer, whose bodies have been mutilated to get up and go play tennis or go back to work. I want
the poor bastards with brain cancer or stomach cancer or liver cancer or leukemia to wake up tomorrow and be okay and have no pain and live
to be 90 and happy.

Now, Goddamit.

So I said good and bad have happened. I know I did, I'm getting to that.

Okay, like I said, Jenn is doing better but she's still not there, not by a long shot. She drinks a little too much and she still can't quite
bring herself to clean out Justin's old room. All his stuff is still there, the stuff that isn't in my place, that is. She's holding onto
his old books and clothes and Christ knows what all. It's all there sitting right where it was. I have a feeling that it's going to be
there for a while. A long while.

She also has taken to doing things like seeking out spiritualists to see if she can contact Justin. Mind you, I'm actually okay with her
doing this. It's not for me, no, but if it helps her—fuck, I'm all for anything that helps her.

But Molly.

Shit—Molly.

She's not doing well. You see she never believed that Justin would really die. She believed that some miracle would happen and he'd wake
up one day and magically be all better. She donated the stem cells for some experimental treatment down at the National Institute of Health
that were going to make him all better. She knew that he'd beat this.

But he didn't. He died.

Then her school closed. You know that hot-shit private place Justin went to? It shut the doors for lack of funds caused by dwindling
attendance. She loved that school and she hated the one she had to go to instead. Hated it. She didn't make friends; she didn't participate
in any of the activities. She withdrew into herself and then she started with the drugs and the lies. God, that about killed Jenn and
even Craig.

They hoped that the Outward Bound trip up to Alaska would help her.  I'm not sure why they thought that, but I guess they didn't know what
else to do with her since they'd tried the therapy and the meds and everything else they could think of. She left a few days ago, on a
Saturday. By Wednesday we'd heard what happened.

Jenn was supposed to join us at an Italian restaurant for a dinner meeting about the KCRF thing in the fall but she didn't show. We
called, she said she'd be late because Mol was being Medivaced to some Alaskan hospital and she was trying to find out what was going on. It
was happening right at that moment and she didn't know much more than we did—or she wasn't telling, anyway. Maybe she'd fallen and broken a
leg, maybe it was something worse maybe it was nothing and they just weren't taking any chances. We didn't know.

The next day the truth went out by the usual word of mouth phone chain.

No, no broken leg. Molly had attempted suicide, though we didn't know the details or how serious it was. Oh hell—that's not what I mean. Of
course it was serious. I mean we didn't know if it was a real attempt to really kill herself or if it was the old cry for help. We didn't
know if Jenn was going to fly to Alaska or if Molly would be transported back home. We didn't know what condition she was in,
either mentally or physically.

And then there was a long silence when no one could get a hold of Jenn or Craig. The phone rang and we'd leave messages but we never heard
back—none of us did and none of us knew what that meant. The silence lasted five or six days and no one knew anything—had Jenn flown to
Alaska to be with Mol? Had Molly been shipped back east? Had she died? Had she OD'd? Had she slit her wrists? Was she in some kind of detox
or lockdown? Was she under a continued suicide watch?

And what had brought it on?

Okay. Let's not be idiots here. Okay? We know what brought it on, right? Molly was shoved into the background for years while everyone
concentrated on Justin and Jenn. Jenn and Justin were heroic and Molly was just kind of there being quiet and trying to stay out of the way.
Justin was a saint and Molly was up in her room. Craig and Jenn broke up. Justin died. Molly's school closed.

You get the picture. We all get the picture. In a way none of us were even all that surprised when you come down to it. Horrified,
upset—sure, but not all that surprised.

I remember thinking all of that and then getting really angry at Molly. I mean it. I was furious. Yes, sure, I felt badly and all of
that—poor kid, rough row to hoe and all of that and so young.

Screw that.

I mean it. Screw that.

Molly was hurting? Yes. She is. I know. I get it.

Things didn't turn out the way she wanted? Join the club.

Shit happens.

Get used to it.

Deal with it.

Who the fuck was she to dump this on Jenn just when things were starting to begin to have a glimmer of looking up a little bit? Jenn
hasn't had enough crap the last few years?

Molly's hurting? Fine.

Molly's a kid. I know that. She doesn't have the resources to cope. I understand that. I really do. Fine.

But this? This is bullshit.

So I finally get the word today. A week after we get the initial announcement. Things seem better now.

Molly's back east and spending the week at the shore with friends.  Good. Great. She's feeling better and that's good.

And Jenn was just shoved through one more wringer.
 

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