Hurt machine

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Death, not time, is probably the only lasting remedy for hurt and even that’s just an educated guess. Maybe it was wishful thinking. I’m not usually prone to wishful thinking, but since walking out of my oncologist’s office, I’d given myself license to wish away. What damage, I thought, could wishful thinking do to me that the tumor couldn’t?

Death and hurt were pretty present on my mind. I wondered when the former would come and if the latter would ever really disappear. I wasn’t so much concerned with my hurt. I’d been long-hardened to the slings and arrows. No, I was more focused on the hurt I would leave in my wake, the damage I’d done and left unaddressed or unrepaired. Humans are like hurt machines. No matter how hard we try not to do it, we seem to inflict hurt on one another as naturally as we breathe.

“Hurt, pain… they’re God’s way of letting you know he loves you,” my late friend and Auschwitz survivor Israel Roth once said to me, a wry smile on his face.

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