Colonel Molly


Has a stout heart.

Oh, fuck, blog.  It’s not fair and I can’t stand it.  But I will stand it because there is nothing for me to do.  I can’t stop it.  I will let it happen.

My mom’s breast cancer is back, only it wasn’t in the breast so they didn’t know to look for it. But now they know.  Now, it’s a known situation.  Now there are steps to take, medicines, determinations, the new reality to adjust to.   There’s no…reason not to have every expectation of a positive outcome at this stage.  Whatsoever that ends up meaning.

I hate it.  I do want it on record that I fucking hate it.  I hate how much of my hate is just borne out of my own selfishness, my own world being thrown into tumult yet again.  I have to just listen to my mother.  Already, on the phone today, she sounded calm and focused and herself.  Fine.  She told me to stop speaking so quickly.  I said, frantically, I need you to know that my soul is bonded to yours forever.

She said, in her own way, go think your deep thoughts and chill a bit.

It’s true, though.  It is.  Everyone has their own experiences.  Everyone marches through life only aware of what they’re aware of.  But I am 1000% sure that I love my mother in ways that could split stacks of stone in half.  In ways that could turn forests to kindling.  In measures that could dwarf Jupiters.

I do need to chill because that sort of love might as well be a lukewarm teacup forgotten in the microwave.  What matters now is presence and support and hearing what she says she needs.   What she needs is not metaphorical galaxies realigned.  It is not tasks for elfin knights.  It is specific things.  It is going to the pharmacy.  It is sitting and talking about genealogy.  It is getting up to cook her dinner. All of which are bigger than the biggest metaphor for love that I could devise.

I am so grateful for my own sisters even if sometimes I have no earthly idea of what they are doing – like moving back home tomorrow.  I don’t foresee that being wise or anything more than a convenience for her rather than my mom, but I could be wrong.  I don’t have the energy or the knowledge to argue the point.  It’s not a battle I want to participate in.  I don’t want anything pugilistic involved.  Good thoughts.  Instead, we went out to eat.  I had alcohol and sugar and all sorts of bad things.  That’s a part of this to be dealt with, too.   So grateful to friends who are just…here for me. I feel selfish even talking about it as if I’m trying to draw support when I…am fine.  Enough.

So.  There’s more to say, I’m sure.  I haven’t processed it.  I’m trying.  I’m trying to just be okay with however I am in this moment without trying to categorize my thoughts and feelings as selfish or so dramatic as to be useless, just a stupid mechanism to try and numb or dull future pain.  But when you love on this sort of scale, there’s no pre-gaming it.   It just is – in the way it is.  Forever.

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