I miss our old life. I’m trying to work through feeling sorry for myself, but here it is, still with me — the pity and the sorrow and the anger. There are so many platitudes that fit what my family is experiencing. These sayings are all true but they make me sad because there isn’t a damn thing I can do about any of this.
“You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.”
“Enjoy every day as if it were your last.”
“Be kind, everyone you meet is fighting a battle.”
I see these cliches in my mind, in the font that’s used on Instagram when people share a Dalai Lama quote layered over a photo of a dock at sunset. Groan. It’s the modern equivalent of the poster featuring the dangling kitten with “Hang In There!” emblazoned across the top. Only this is worse because someone has tagged me in a post and it’s blowing up my account. (Also: don’t tag me in motivational “fuck cancer” platitudes featuring sunsets. Or ones without sunsets. Thanks.)
My brain turns friends’ advice to me into pseudo Instagram posts.
“Take time for you.”
“Be gentle with yourself.”
“Maybe a massage?”
This is all good advice. It is all impossible to act on.
Look. I don’t want to sound unsupported or ungrateful. Our friends and family have been amazing. Shout out to all the amazingness, including but not limited to the following: In ’N’ Out burger delivery, Mabelcare, reorganizing my closet, double-pouring me wine at the children’s birthday party without judgment, talking, not talking, going to an appointment, helping in our garden, emptying the dishwasher, taking me to see Paul Simon at the Greek, folding laundry, admiring the sunglasses I wear all the time because my eyes are puffy. I am more in love with true friendship than ever. And no one, not one of you that I’ve seen, has posted a smarmy “Helping my sick cancer friend!” Instagram. I wildly appreciate this.
But this is hard. It is really, really hard. I miss the things we used to do. I miss how we lived. And all the help in the world doesn’t bring back one normal day, as much as we all try.
