The thing is...
One of the women in my department at work had breast cancer a few years back. It has come back. Metastasized. This is how my mother died. It all comes rushing back.
I don't want to make this about me. I'm just being quiet. Doing work. Not talking. I hate that everything is connected to my mother, to me, that this feels like an umbilical cord being plucked like a guitar string.
I don't want to make this about me. I'm just being quiet. Doing work. Not talking. I hate that everything is connected to my mother, to me, that this feels like an umbilical cord being plucked like a guitar string.