Thank You For Having Me.

I've never meant it so much.

My heart breaks for a friend struggling with a heavy loss. Her friend, her sister, her mother. It's a struggle she should not have to bear at this time. I wish that I could help her avoid it altogether.

The air in my lungs weighs me down at the loud omission of a once vibrant and cheerful life.

Even knowing it's coming and looking forward to the completion of a long and exhausting battle, the reality of the void still knocks everything right out of your being.

She was so brave - laughing even, during her last day.
Her name means Resolute Protector.
How apt.

I still struggle to wrap my head around the fact that all that was Wilma, all that was contained in that beautiful person, is gone.

Where ever you are girl, I know that you're flying and I wish you the very best.

Last Go, Largest Mountain..?

Logic clearly illustrates that the hardest part is behind us, but for some insane reason it really feels impossible to take ourselves back in. To know that the illness is no longer present, but that the typical stats - which really haven't fit our mold yet, scream that this monster will invade faster, harder and smarter if we stop treatment too soon... it's a two-sided coin that constantly erodes delicate budding confidence in any of our blind decisions.

The evil monkey dancing around in the back of my brain, pulling out wires and plugging them back in willy-nilly, taunts me with fears that the last few days of chemo will have some horrible effect on my son's long-term health. He has seemed so unflappable to this point, almost too good to be true. I find myself holding my breath at every twitch or nod, searching for a clue.

I am so exhausted.
Ineffective.
Small.
I want to get off the ride, now.

And yet, others do this gauntlet and far worse ones for years.
I am Feckless.