Hi.

Thank you for today.

I was trying so hard to be OK with all of this. To rationalize it. Internalize it. Accept it. I wanted to pretend that I understood that life wasn't about fairness; that an illness couldn't be unfair; that on the galactic scales of fairness the Universe wasn't screwing me over. Screwing us over. I tried not to hate the disease. Not to hate myself, my body for not being stronger, doing better, fighting harder. Not to hate you, for making dying so difficult, so agonizing, so regretful. For making life so wonderful. I tried so hard to not be angry. To fight this overwhelming feeling that makes my throat close up and my chest constrict until I can no longer breathe, the feeling of impeding abyss. Because, death, death is finite.

I tried not to be afraid. I thought that that way I was taking your fears away, not realizing all the while that I was just leaving you alone with them. I thought that my smiles masked the shadows of horror in my eyes. But the smiles, the laughs, never reached quite far enough. Never for long enough. Always followed by the fresh realization that they were numbered, and I was running out of numbers, out of smiles, out of laughs.

I tried not to be jealous. Of you, for having time, all this time. To watch Rosie grow up. Not realizing that it was also time to hurt. To try to pick up and put together the shattered pieces, in complete darkness, while everything is spinning and the air is running out. Not realizing that a part of you is dying with me.

But, most of all, I tried not to be sad. Not to be sad for the birthdays, and anniversaries. The school plays and graduations. The Christmases, and vacations. Not to be sad for the little moments. Moments when our eyes meet, and we are no longer alone in the full room. Moments when you hold me, my head on your chest, every heartbeat matching my own, controlling my own. Moments when you sing to Rosie, or tickle her until the laughter makes her forget to breathe. The moments when we watch her sleep, the moments when I watch you sleep.

I tried. But you wouldn't let me. You wouldn't let me shut down. You wouldn't let me die, while I was still alive.

You yelled at me. Dragged me out of bed. Carried me into the kitchen. And then you threw the first plate. Hard. Like the floor was to blame. And then you made me throw the next one. Because the floor could take it. The floor could take the anger, and fear, jealousy and sadness. The floor would, when I no longer could. It shattered. Like our lives. Fast. Into million pieces. Porcelain flying everywhere. The plate broken, like our dreams. And then I threw next one. And next. Until there were no more left. And you caught me before I could fall into the sea of sharp edges. Before I could drown in the fractured psyche. And I won't be there to do the same.

I don't know how long we sat there. How long I cried for. How long you helped me to cry for. How long it took to mourn the lost future, and the moments that won't be. To mourn the loss of tomorrows, despite the beauty of yesterdays. But somehow, slowly, yet suddenly I could breathe again.

Because, we are angry, we are afraid, we are jealous and we are scared.

We are in this together.

And, I love you too.

Liv