(SitNews) Klawock, Alaska – I’m tempted to use the word strange, but that doesn’t cut it.
When I read books or magazines in which the protagonist or narrator suffers the physical and emotional battery of cancer, I get a weird feeling. It’s almost been six years since cancer took my dad so it’s not fresh or raw, but it’s still there.
It’s a soup of nouns and modifiers. It’s sad without being depressing because it’s a fact – not a flat, bland one, but not fanged and vicious either. Like my brain has everything placed on the shelf, but is still tinkering with the organization.
After he died I was supposed to remember, but not too much. Don’t hang on, but at the same time don’t let go. It was a nice way of saying, “you’ve got to figure it out for yourself.”
Just this morning mom recounted the decade-old plans for the house. They’d remodel one room per year, sell and retire to Tucson. Dad liked it down there.
That’s when mom stopped and the unsaid rest of the story happened in our minds. We were quiet but not sad. Reflective, but not pensive. Something. Then we continued talking about other things without hiccup
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