Mourning

I just cry and cry. People talk about retirement and golden years and 70th birthdays, and I don't get to have any of those things. I don't get to be old and don't get to live out many long days and years and I say that "it's never enough" but the truth is that sometimes it is. Some people live until they're tired and they're done with living, and that's not me.

And the doctor makes his predictions, preceded by "hopefully". Hopefully this, but really he doesn't know. He doesn't know if I have mets to my liver and mets to my brain. He doesn't know if my body is riddled with cancer, because we haven't look yet.

I know it's not true, but it feels like everyone else in the whole world gets to make plans and live their lives... maybe everyone in the whole world will live to be 100. And half of them won't even enjoy it. And another third will throw every obstacle they can in the way of their own happiness. And most of the rest will spend their days blissfully bitching about some neighbor, or co-worker, or minor inconvenience...

And I have come so far. I've come so far from where I started. I've felt so lucky. And I've loved my life with Eric so much. And I don't get nearly enough time, and I hate it.

I'm afraid of this unknown and I'm terrified of this waiting, and I'm heartbroken at the loss of the life I had envisioned, and I'm distraught and beside myself to bring so much pain to my husband.

I know that incrementally it will get better. I'll feel bad, but I won't feel like this... But for right now, while people who love me watch (and I know you are watching), it feels like I'm in mourning.