Small Solace

 

Christy Lorio let us all know she was going to die. We never met in person, but we followed one another on Twitter. She was also a writer and photographer in New Orleans. We often congratulated each other on artistic accomplishments. Anyone who followed her was aware of her stage-IV colorectal cancer. Christy had survived it for over four years, but then in August, she was struck with the prognosis of only six months left to live. She passed away on November 29, 2022.

The first story I read about cancer was "I Want to Live" by Thom Jones. It was visceral in detailing a woman's treacherous battle from cancer diagnosis to her inevitable death. I didn't seek out this wretched tale; it was included in Gotham Writers' Workshop Fiction Gallery. It shocked and haunted me, but it was fiction.

I did seek out Christy Lorio's Cold Comfort (Belle Point Press, 2022). It is a collection of fourteen nonfiction essays with stark b&w companion photographs. I had it for about a week, but I was busy with work and family matters. Then, I got a cold. The downtime and potential pun of the title had me reach for Cold Comfort. As I sucked on a zinc lozenge, I became privy to the torture of Christy's various procedures, treatments, and the side effects she had to endure. I felt ashamed for pitying myself for a mild inconvenience I would probably get over in a day or so. Guilt sunk in as I contemplated how such a talented, creative person ten years younger than me was dealt this death sentence. Unlike the short story by Jones, I didn't want this book to end, and mostly I didn't want her to die.

Yet, for those of you who may think this is a solely tragic read, it isn't entirely sad. Christy's quest for joy, her poignancy in acceptance of her fate, and her humor permeate these essays. It is not all about death. Christy Lorio reminds us how to live. Thank you, Christy.

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A portion of each copy of Cold Comfort sold goes directly to Christy Lorio's family.