From JuJu with Love

Who sends a text message like that?

“I have cancer.”

That’s how I found out my best friend was sick.

To be fair, he had tried calling first. But I had a friend coming over for dinner, so I ignored the call, figuring I’d catch up with him later. Then the text popped up on my screen.

Three words. No warning. No buildup. Just… boom.

And just like that, the evening changed.

I don’t even remember what excuse I gave, but I do remember clearing the table, ending the dinner early, and calling him back as fast as I could. Whatever plans I thought I had suddenly didn’t matter.

In his own blunt way, he accomplished exactly what he set out to do.

He got my attention.

When I finally reached him, he sounded strangely calm. Too calm.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m going to be fine.”

Then he told me he’d been researching online and read that carrots and apples could cure cancer.

And I completely panicked.

Not just because he had cancer — that shock had already hit — but because I suddenly feared he might be so scared of treatment that he’d try to fight this with carrot sticks and apple slices instead of doctors.

Then came the staging.

Stage four.

I tried not to let him hear how terrified I was. I kept my voice steady, supportive, optimistic. But privately, I thought I might lose him.

Because his cancer was in his throat, treatment made speaking almost impossible. So our conversations moved to text messages. Endless texts. Updates, jokes, complaints, fear, encouragement, ordinary daily chatter — everything typed instead of spoken.

And I saved all of it.

Screenshots. Conversations about nothing and everything.

Because I honestly didn’t know if he was going to make it, and I was afraid that one day those words on my phone might be all I had left.

So I kept them.

Just in case.

The irony in all of this is that he’s a radio personality. His voice is literally his career. And suddenly, he couldn’t speak at all. For months.

He was terrified he might never work again.

Then cancer took me to Las Vegas.

I had the privilege — and it truly felt like one — of going out there to help care for him during four weeks of treatment and two weeks of recovery. I sat beside him through chemo and radiation. I held his hand and told him everything would be okay, even on the days I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

Cancer strips people down. It steals energy, appetite, voices, patience, dignity on some days.

I saw him at his absolute worst.

And I still thought he was the best.

And then, slowly, incredibly, his voice came back.

Treatment worked. He recovered. He returned to work. Life moved forward.

And life, as it sometimes does, also moved us in different directions. Today, after everything we went through together, we’re no longer part of each other’s daily lives.

But here’s what I know.

Showing up still mattered.

Sitting in those treatment rooms mattered.

Answering those texts mattered.

Holding his hand when he was scared mattered.

Being there when it was hard mattered.

Friendship isn’t always measured by how long it lasts. Sometimes it’s measured by who shows up when things fall apart.

When he needed someone, I showed up.

And even though life eventually carried us in different directions, I’ll always be grateful I was there when it mattered.

Because loving people and showing up for them — even when it’s hard, even when the ending isn’t what you expect — is still one of the best things we get to do for each other.

I think we all hope we’d show up like that if someone we love needed us.

And I’d do it again.

From Juju with love 💙