it's okay to let yourself feel bad

I keep falling into the trap of trying to be brave and stay strong all the time.  Honestly, it's exhausting.  Yes, my dishes are piled up.  Yes, I could stand to do a couple loads of laundry.  Sure, mopping the floors is on my to-do list.  But sometimes there are more important things.  Even when those important things are simply sitting still and letting go of the to-do lists and the "I ought to" concerns. 

Even when it feels like I'm not being as good a wife as I should be, or as good a daughter, or mother, or friend; sometimes I just need to get over myself and understand that it's not my fault.

I didn't ask for cancer to happen to me.  I didn't do anything to encourage it.  I went to doctors.  Many doctors.  Many times.  For many years.  I did what I was supposed to do.  It's not my fault that my body doesn't remember how to be healthy.  It's not my fault that tests expected to show climbing levels instead show plummeting numbers.  There is no one to blame; no outlet for my rage, my dismay, my confusion or my sadness.  I have to keep reminding myself that it is okay to let myself feel bad.  This, too, is part of the experience of dying, even as it is part of the experience of living.


I can be as optimistic as... someone who is really optimistic... but that doesn't change the ticking of the clock and the turning of the calendar page.

I feel like my friends are drawing away from me. Insulating themselves.  And though I can understand that desire, I selfishly want to hold them close.  I want the last sounds I hear to be their laughter.  I want the last things I feel to be their love.  When I finally rest in Summerland, I want to be able to look into this world and see them at peace.

I want to make plans and do things with them now, while I am still able.  I want to be able to say goodbye on my own terms, not have a chaotic rush at the end when I won't be able to respond.


So, on mornings when I sit here alone, feeling hot tears spill from my eyes, although I want nothing more than a focus upon which I can pound my fists in frustration, I am left only with the simple fact that what I want has long ago ceased to be relevant.

I don't want anyone to realize too late that they won't have another chance to say what they feel.

The worst thing about ignoring mortality is living with regret.