My Grandmother, the woman who raised me, my "person," has breast cancer.
I sat there on the sofa while she told me and everyone murmured reassuring platitudes and trite quotes and all I wanted to do was run screaming from the room. But I couldn't move. Or speak. Or feel. I lost my words.
I wanted to leave. To run home to my baby and bury my face in the soft folds of his neck and weep. To not have to make comforting noises and be falsely positive because I KNOW what this shit is like. I have been on both sides of cancer - sick person and supporter of sick person. And in my humble opinion, being the sick person is a helluva lot easier.
I'm still numb. I've barely shed any tears today. I can feel them hovering, waiting to burst out at any moment. But I can't let them out.
Those are all the words I have managed to find. More later.