It's getting bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger.
I fear I don't have a clue how big it will be. I'm not afraid of it, but not really excited about embracing it either.
I thought that I had already done some, in anticipation. I thought that 18 months of pain, fear, dread of the inevitable would have given me some progress, but I think I was wrong.
When he was first diagnosed, and in treatment, and then after relapse, there was so much to do. Some of the time we were in shock, but most of the time we were busy. He needed tending and energy, money had to be earned, appointments kept, the girls cared for. Carpe Diem. You only have so much time with him, don't waste it grieving, there will be plenty of time for that.
I haven't gotten through any of it yet. I'm back in October 2007, shocked that my healthy, smart, beautiful son is sick. Has a Hickman. Has lost his hair. Is in the hospital. Is losing weight. Is throwing up. Keeps falling down. Is scared.
I haven't done any of this yet. There is so much to do, to get through. I forced it all down, away, so that we could live while he was here. I guess it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.
I can feel my brain grappling with the acceptance of it. He has cancer. He's going to die. He died, right here, where you are sitting and watching TV, he died. He was so so sick, for so so long, and he was only four, and he died.
I have so much to do.