By: Jefferson Weaver
Dear Felicia,
I just want you to know, I hate you.
Now, I fully realize hate is a strong word, but it’s appropriate in the case. You see, Felicia, you aren’t a human. You’re a demon. You thrive off of hurting and killing people. Most folks call you cancer, but my friend April calls you Felicia, so that’s what I’m going with. I don’t care if you don’t mind
You have no standards. You have no conscience. You have no feelings.
You are evil.
Considering you come in so many varieties, there’s a lot of you to hate. The breast cancer April is fighting is different than the cancer that ultimately killed Dr. Charlie, a man who healed thousands of children. His was different than the aggressive, painful cancer that kills Vietnam veterans.
Theirs is and was different than the glioblastoma – such an ugly word – that nearly destroyed the brain of a young man I know who was an incredible artist, even after he lost most of his vision. Indeed, Jake’s cancer is why he is in the hospital right now, unable to speak; even though the tumors have been gone for years, the damage you caused has been slowly tearing him apart. His mom and family remain hopeful, as I do. God pulled Jake through this before, and could do so again, but it’s wrong that an innocent kid and his family should have to go through this torture.
I watched you beat down one of my coworkers, but he has come back, even after you tried your best.
I truly hate you, Felicia; you attacked my grandmother after her mind was gone to another evil disease, and she wasn’t even able to tell anybody what was wrong. She just complained about the mouse in her stomach. She even tried comforting that “mouse” that was tearing her apart.
I watched my mom’s heart break while that was going on, but if you had human emotions, you likely enjoyed the process. You contributed to my grandfather’s death even before I was born, in case you have forgotten.
You helped kill my other grandmother, too, when my dad was just a young man. Once again, you hit someone while they were sick, and took over.
You humiliated and tortured a beautiful young woman barely out of college, married to the man of her dreams, a young woman my wife and I loved like a daughter. Among her last wishes was for her mom to get some gift cards for the nurses who helped her.
You murdered a woman I called “Swamp Mama,” and left a gaping hole in her family. Karen made candles, and loved animals, her husband, her children and grandchildren. Her daughter Kelly has now inherited that title.
It may seem old fashioned, Felicia, but one reason I consider you a demon, is because of the way you particularly attack folks who are strong in their love of Jesus Christ. Several of the finest Christians I have known fought you for years; some defeated you on Earth, while others went to a place where no evil exists. You hurt them, as you hurt those they left behind, but you didn’t win, Still, you seem to have a particular hatred for people of faith; ergo, you must be a demon.
I simply do not have the room to mention all those I know or love that you have attacked, Felicia. Let’s just say there’s a passel of them.
You tried to destroy my beloved Aunt Audrey. She and Uncle Herb taught me to play chess. While you did kill Audrey, you never destroyed her class or the true beauty that came from her heart.
My friend April reminds me Aunt Audrey, in many ways. She quietly helps those she can; she is devoted to her husband Ian, a Gulf War veteran. She has a smile that lights up the world. When we were carving our new home out of the woods, she was right there beside us, with several other friends, painting and hauling and sweating in 100 degree heat. She is gentle and patient until she just can’t take it anymore, then she’s a tornado.
And like Aunt Audrey, April’s beautiful hair is gone now, thanks to the chemotherapy that will eventually force you out of her.
April has always been one of the healthiest people I’ve known. She doesn’t smoke, she eats right, she exercises. She is, as she puts it, very aware of her own health. When something wasn’t right, she went to the doctor, who confirmed what she suspected.
I was on the way to work when she called me and told me, flat out, that she had cancer, but it was caught early enough the doctor was very optimistic. You have beaten on her in the past weeks, and those of us who love her like a sister have seen the pain in her great big gorgeous eyes, even while she has tried desperately to stay strong for us, her husband, her family and yes, herself.
This was not something we as her friends and family could fight. This isn’t something Ian could drag out in the alley and handle, not even with the cheerful assistance of a few of his closest friends. You, Felicia, are something we can do nothing about; but we can support and pray for our friend.
But I desperately wanted to do something.
Another friend of ours, Cynthia, connected me with Noelle, a hair stylist in Wilmington. Miss Noelle does April’s hair, too. She was more than willing to cut nearly a decade of my hair, nigh onto two feet, and send it off to folks who make wigs for cancer patients. Miss Noelle is now a friend too, just like April’s other friends who had their heads shaved. You ain’t going to beat all of us, Felicia.
Noelle noted that my hair was nearly calico, like a multi-colored cat. There isn’t as much black or brown as there once was, but there was red and white and some sun- streaked blonde. I got to thinking about how just as you, Felicia, have no respect for age or color or anything else, maybe, just maybe, all those colors would mean my pelt could help several people feel a little better about themselves as they, too, fight you.
You see, Felicia, April is a friend to my wife and me. We love her, and pray daily for her healing. Like her other friends, we are standing by for whatever she needs, if she calls us. That’s what friends do. I sincerely doubt you’ll ever experience that.
In closing, Felicia, I want to remind you of a part in the Book of Revelation; of course, you being a demon and all, I am sure you’re familiar with Chapter 20. There’s coming a day, Felicia.
You and all the tools and followers of the Evil One will be cast into the Lake of Fire forever and destroyed. There will be no more sorrow, no fear, no pain, no death – you will be gone.
I’m looking forward to that day, Felicia.
Eventually, April is going to beat you, because of her faith and her strength. Although it’s entirely possible you and I will meet again sometime, I’ll always have something you’ll never have: friends and faith.
When April named you, and everyone began saying “Bye, Felicia,” I had to research why that name was significant. One of the slang dictionaries says the term comes from a line in a movie, and is used to dismiss someone who is unimportant. It’s a sign of strength and determination.
So – Bye, Felicia.
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