Open letter to a friend in the hospital:

I was sitting in the kitchen planning the week ahead of me when my wife sat down and asked what my schedule looked like. It was the usual stuff: work, work and perhaps just for good measure, a little more work.

OK, that is not exactly true; there was some "play" built into the system both literally and figuratively. No, it was just your average week except for one glaring exception. Your surgery on Monday.

Soon after my wife sat down, my daughter bounded into the kitchen, the whole clan was there and I knew something was up. I was hoping for a gift, though it was neither Christmas nor my birthday, but there is no harm in dreaming. My daughter then reached from behind her back and produced a small homemade card. The front exploded with color — bright blues, yellows, greens and reds.

Amid those colors were crossing bandages and a little arm that had a nasty green tumor on it. (I suppose I could have been more precise when discussing your condition ... my apologies.) Just then, my wife reached out and touched my arm. Both looked worried.

Yes, they were there to support me, knowing that my buddy would soon be going under the knife, but their concern reached much further than me. Their concern was for you. You see, somewhere amid the tall tales I bring home on a daily basis, the sage counsel you've provided over the years, and the stories lived out right before their eyes when you visit, you have become a member of the family.

I suspect that you got a number of cards over the past few days. In fact, you likely received much more than you expected. This is good. I am sure most say nice things, you know, the typical "get well soon," "I know you can beat this," and of course "our prayers are with you."

Each will be genuine. However, if you take out each card and listen a little harder you will hear voices. The voices are theirs. (No, not the cards, the people. It is a metaphor!)

These are voices from folks just like me that have been touched by your generosity, unwavering commitment to others, self-deprecating nature and especially your bizarre sense of humor. (Speaking of your sense of humor, I am sorry to say that this surgery went far in saving your life, but it did nothing for your looks.)

My guess is that even while you have become a part of my family, you have become family to so many more.

I know what you are going to say: "You are making a big thing out of nothing."

That is so you! You just cannot fathom why anyone would worry about you.

Moreover, you rationalize your feelings but insist that the worry accomplishes nothing. Worry may not have a curative value, but it is reflective. Worry is just love as it manifests in times of crisis.

Besides, at question here is not whether this is a "big thing" or not, but why we wait until something "big" happens before we say the things we feel in our heart.

Yes, I have little doubt that you will do fine, but it is about time you learn what you mean to others, what you mean to my family, and what you mean to me.

Michael C. DeMattos is a member of the faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs and two mice.