Fuck Cancer

On Losing A Friend + Former Colleague

I was chatting with the de-lightful and de-lovely Mr. Troy Ford when a flurry of texts lit up my phone. Something deep inside me said to wait till after our chat before reading them. When I finally did, my heart broke.

A friend (and former colleague) had texted a small group of us to let us know that another friend (and former colleague) had passed away last Friday.

Ironically, I was planning to call Miss Abby today.

That’s the part that keeps looping in my head: I had the intention, the reminder, and the thought: “I should reach out soon.” And somehow, soon didn’t come fast enough.

Now it never will.

I didn’t know Abby had cancer. She kept her diagnosis—and her prognosis—private. All I knew was that she’d been in a car accident last fall and was still recovering.

I assumed (wrongly) that time was on our side. That life would pause long enough for a catch-up call. A “how the hell have you been?” A laugh about our personal lives. A few tears over our shared professional misadventures.

Abby and I were “war buddies,” survivors of Hollywood’s sausage factory. We worked together at two of the biggest media companies in the world. We had battle scars, but got out alive. Barely.

There’s a special ache that comes with losing someone you once worked alongside. Not just a coworker, but a comrade. Someone who stood beside you in the trenches, through impossible deadlines, chronic stress, and despicable bosses.

Relationships like ours don’t always stay close. They don’t need to. But they stay real. They linger quietly, waiting for that inevitable reconnection. That future coffee date. That future call that starts with, “Gurrrl, whatchu been up to?”

But now those futures are gone.

I keep wanting to rewind the clock. To make that call sooner. To hear her voice. To let her know she mattered, was loved, and will always be remembered fondly. To let her know that I was rooting for her from afar, even in silence.

I know, intellectually, that this kind of guilt is useless. That we can’t know what we don’t know. That intentions still count for something. But grief isn’t interested in logic. Grief collects what ifs and if onlys and fixates on the sharp finality of never again.

So, yeah, fuck cancer.

Fuck the secrecy it forces. Fuck the way it steals people quietly. Fuck the way it turns ordinary days into dividing lines between before and after.

Today, I’m sitting with the sadness. With the regret. With the tenderness of knowing someone mattered enough to hurt this much when they’re gone.

If there’s anything to take from this—and I’m not pretending there’s a lesson neatly wrapped in a bow—it’s this: When someone crosses your mind, reach out if you can. Don’t wait for the perfect moment. Don’t assume there will be more time.

Because sometimes, without warning, the conversation you were saving for later disappears forever.

Thank you for being a friend, my dear Abby. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. But please rest in peace knowing that you made a difference to so many. And that your memory will live on in everyone who knew and loved you.

Keep calm and carry on…
Clint 🌈✌️

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MAN CRUSH(ES) OF THE DAY

EDMUND WHITE

“When I was young, I despised old people. I was provincial and narrow-minded. It’s the reason I stayed stupid so long. If you only get involved with young people you don’t learn anything about the world.”
Edmund White