I don’t think there is a correct, prescribed way to talk to your friend. But, there are different ways, and some are less wrong than others.

Understand that he’s had the same conversation with other people already. It’s part of the reality of being sick. And, even if he hasn’t talked to a lot of people yet, he’s had that conversation with you in his head a thousand times. In the early stages, cancer completely dominates your attention.

Quickly, he found out that people react in only a handful of ways. But, since it’s all he is thinking about, he learns to empathize with each person and the handful of reactions. By the time you talk to him, he knows why you are saying something, even if you don’t.

One reaction — just ghost him. I can’t ever see you doing this. But, just know, people really do this. It’s just like ghosting someone you went on a date with. You know it’s easier for you so you come up with (convoluted) rationalizations for how it’s better for him, too. It’s not. He notices. And, he doesn’t think, “what a shitty friend.” Instead, in your silence, he hears, “wow, he thinks I’m dead already.”

The more common outcome is better than ghosting, but just barely. You can clearly see and imagine that he is afraid. You care about him, so you feel compelled to act. So, you try to be helpful by comforting him. You say things like, “you’ll be okay,” “everything is going to be fine,” and, “you’ll get through this.”

If he says something like that first — like “I’m going to fight this” — then, by all means, engage him with comfort. That’s what he is asking for. He wants to hear things like, “you’re brave,” because he needs bravery, literally. When your body malfunctions, you are not in control. You can make some medical decisions, but mostly it is medicine versus malignancy, and you are the arena. Feeling brave — or, even, just faking it — can help you endure it, sometimes.

If he doesn’t send that signal, then for fuck’s sake, don’t say shit like that. It’s only comfort if you are echoing his sentiment.

Otherwise, when you say, “everything will be okay,” it’s worse than trite. He’ll recognize that you care and want to help. That’s good. And, it means something. But, when you say, “everything will be okay,” he feels it’s his turn to say, “I know.” Except, he doesn’t know that. Instead, he knows all of the probabilities associated with very bad and scary things. He thinks about them all the time. He knows that — no matter what — he has to suffer through some miserable and terrifying shit for a while. But, you just told him — unintentionally — that you don’t want to talk about that. You don’t want to hear about his experience. You don’t want to empathize. You just want him to wear a brave face. That’s a fucking exhausting role to play when you don’t want to play it.

It’s been a long time since I had to have all of those conversations. My memories of the whole thing are really gray now. I remember the response types, but not who went with which type — save one.

I vividly remember calling Kira on the phone. I told her; she started crying; then, managed to mutter, “that’s terrible.” Just those words. I remember it because it was the only reaction I appreciated. I didn’t say it to her then, but in my head, I was screaming, “thank you!” I didn’t know if I was going to be okay. But, I did know that, at the time, nothing was remotely okay. She was the only one who didn’t try to placate me. She just reacted as someone who cared about me, without trying to manage me. It was just sincere, and validating, and it lifted a very real burden.

Everyone is different. It’s your friend and your relationship, so you know his temperament. But, in general, unless he asks for the bravery assist, don’t confine him to that performance. Instead, be like Kira — don’t try to manage him. He’s got that part covered, if only because he don’t have any choice.

Cancer fucking sucks.