Thank God I’m home.

I finished reading a daring book, How it ends, by Laura Wiess, the night before watching the last bag of Fludurobine (chemo) drip into a vein in Mom’s right arm; last bag for three weeks when she gets to do it all over again. Sitting in the adult cancer outpatient room…watching…trying not to notice the other patients who appeared sicker…listening to the whirs and beeps of machines…wondering…I asked, “What’s next?”

Mom painted a picture I wasn’t anticipating. This isn’t a cure. There isn’t a cure. She’ll feel better for awhile (2-5 years) and will likely need to go through chemo again. This could go on for 10-20 years. In the meantime, she could “get” a secondary cancer (lung, liver, skin…) and fight that too. And/Or, she could “catch” infections, various strains of influenza, and general infectious illnesses that most of us don’t think twice about. 

As her words settled into my wanting-to-be-in-denial brain, I became acutely aware of how close to home “how it ends” is. Not the end. How it ends.

Breathe.

In the meantime…

Where is home?
Home is where the heart can laugh without shyness.
Home is where the heart’s tears can dry at their own pace.

–Vernon Baker quote, preceding the final page of How it ends

 Love you.

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