This morning, I was aghast to notice that my trousers were a bit snug. Apparently I cannot stuff my face for two months and expect to escape the consequences. I would say that it was fun while it lasted, but this holiday season has been miserable.
SB's very beloved aunt went to hospital due to a sore throat and died from an extremely aggressive cancer right after the new year. SB and I spent the holidays apart because my family decided to become insane and I wasn't interested in subjecting him to the family feud while he was hurting over his aunt being so suddenly ill. Every day was filled with unreal updates: the cancer spread to her brain...now it's in her lungs...now it's in her spine...
Upon hearing that the cancer was in his mother's brain, her son replied, "that explains her voting record."
And so I offered comfort the best way that I could to a partner who doesn't like to talk out his feelings: I cooked. There was a lamb crown roast when she went onto the morphine pump, a chocolate and caramel tart for that phone call that we all knew without saying out loud was going to be her last, and endless loaves of freshly made bread for each awful update that became almost comical in the surely it can't get any worse answers that we received. Cancer sucks in ways that the pink ribbons and prayer angels don't cover.
I think that we're at a point where we aren't drowning in sadness so it's probably time to stop drowning everything around me in gravy. I probably should start waddling up the hills with the dogs and working on those five stages of grief. I'm not sure which stage is the one where you eat a lot but I can say that I'm over it now. Either that, or I start wearing sweatpants to work.
SB's very beloved aunt went to hospital due to a sore throat and died from an extremely aggressive cancer right after the new year. SB and I spent the holidays apart because my family decided to become insane and I wasn't interested in subjecting him to the family feud while he was hurting over his aunt being so suddenly ill. Every day was filled with unreal updates: the cancer spread to her brain...now it's in her lungs...now it's in her spine...
Upon hearing that the cancer was in his mother's brain, her son replied, "that explains her voting record."
And so I offered comfort the best way that I could to a partner who doesn't like to talk out his feelings: I cooked. There was a lamb crown roast when she went onto the morphine pump, a chocolate and caramel tart for that phone call that we all knew without saying out loud was going to be her last, and endless loaves of freshly made bread for each awful update that became almost comical in the surely it can't get any worse answers that we received. Cancer sucks in ways that the pink ribbons and prayer angels don't cover.
I think that we're at a point where we aren't drowning in sadness so it's probably time to stop drowning everything around me in gravy. I probably should start waddling up the hills with the dogs and working on those five stages of grief. I'm not sure which stage is the one where you eat a lot but I can say that I'm over it now. Either that, or I start wearing sweatpants to work.
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