As I write this my beloved Auntie Paula is dying of lung cancer. Stupid, freaking, destructive cancer. I hate it. I hate that I’m not with her more. It’s not my place to be with her. My uncle is there. My cousins, her daughters, are there. And her grand-daughters are there. My Grammy Lou Who (I only call her that here on the blog, I don‘t know why.) is there with my partner in crime, my Auntie Sharon. My Auntie Paula doesn‘t need me there. Yet, I feel as if I should be there.
I feel like I’m moving through molasses. Every breath is too thick and it hurts. My brain feels fuzzy and hazy, like I’m drunk and stoned. Only I’m stone cold sober. Moving just feels… awkward. I can’t really explain it but my body doesn‘t feel like it’s entirely mine. Everything hurts – every joint, every muscle, every everything – which isn‘t new or unusual yet it is. This isn‘t my usual pain. This isn‘t my usual achy don‘t touch me, my skin feels like it’s on fire pain. Although my skin does feel like it’s on fire. It just doesn‘t feel…right.
I’m hungry one minute. I feel like I’m starving and I haven’t eaten in days (I have I assure you). Then 10 minutes later the mere idea of food turns my stomach and I can’t stand to look at it.
What the hell is happening to me?
Does any of this make sense?
If you have any thoughts or ideas or well wishes or whatever please leave them as a comment on my post on my blog so that I can enjoy them.
Thank you for your love and support!