I thought I was ready to go back out in the world.
Not as a cancer patient.
Not as an object of pity or solicitude.
Just a mom, out with her friends at night.
But, as it turns out, I am not fully healed.
The mention of death (in the book we’d just read) made me flinch.
The fact that the man didn’t want to live anymore made me angry.
The comment, “I wonder where we’ll all be in 50 years” made me — unjustifiably — unbelievably sad.
For, truthfully, I will not be the only one dead by then.
Not all of us make it to 85.
But I? I have less than even odds that I’ll make it to 40.
So I made a lame (if true) excuse and left the bright lights of the fancy cafe
To come home and snuggle with my children and put them to bed
Kiss my husband and
Say thank you for loving me anyway