Dear Grief...

Dear Grief,

You are weird. You’re like the new kid in school that I so desperately want to help. I want to make you feel comfortable in your new digs and help my friends and family find out what you’re all about, but I also want to keep you at arm’s length because I just don’t understand you.

You’re confusing.

You make me laugh and smile sometimes, and at other times it feels like you are literally trying to take my heart out with your tiny little hands – while laughing, you’re always laughing.

You show up at the most inconvenient times, totally uninvited, and act as though the party is completely for you. It’s not. It’s not about you. It’s about ME! This is my life and you’re totally ruining it.

And the worst part of this whole thing is I invited you a number of times and you no-showed.

I invited you to come hang when my Dad was first diagnosed.

I invited you to come when I ended my relationship.

I invited you to come when my Dad passed.

And you kept turning me down. You were too busy washing your hair or something like that – I forget what excuse you gave me.

It wasn’t until I was starting to be ok with the fact that you had written me off that you ended up not only showing up, but bringing your whole damn family. Like, you didn’t even ask if that was ok!

You’ve definitely overstayed your welcome in the short time I’ve known you, but in some weird way I have a feeling we’ll be lifelong acquaintances.

I hope you caught that. You’re an acquaintance. I’ll never consider you a friend.

I wish I never met you. I wish I never introduced you to my friends and family. I wish you never moved to my neck of the woods.

I’m not sure who I dislike more – you or cancer – but in some weird way, you guys are similar. You too taught me something very important.

You taught me that my heart is capable of more than I ever could have imagined. That I can (and do) love greatly. That the people in my life mean more to me than I’ll ever realize until they are gone. And that I am a human with real emotions who hurts just like everyone else.

You taught me that I can’t control everything and I can’t keep you from visiting my loved ones.

If I fund the trip, do you think you and cancer can take a long drive off a short cliff? I’ll even buy the car…

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