My brother is writing nasty stuff about me on his website again.
He’s angry about our older brother, Charlie, who is going to be declared deceased this year. It’s been seven years since Charlie went to Afghanistan in 2004, and we never heard from him since. There was never a body found that identified as his, but Charlie had never gone to the dentist (like me) at the time that he would have disappeared. I was the only one of mum’s kids to sign the form that I believed Charlie was deceased. Charlie loved the family. If he were alive, he would be in touch with us by now. He would have found a way.
For now, I’m going to appreciate the hits and just sit back and try to relax. I had treatment yesterday. The day before, I sat in tears over Sandee. Her death has affected me far more than I thought it would. It puts a new perspective on my own mortality. I always knew that I wasn’t going to live forever, and I know that I could die tomorrow, but cancer boosts those statistics up pretty higher than before. Sure, I could get hit by a bus or armageddon could happen, but those are possibilities. Cancer is almost certainly a death sentence for a crime you didn’t commit. Last month, I had tests to see if my cancer was spreading. If there was something new. I haven’t heard back from anyone, and that worries me. I know I will get answers when I go to my appointments, but I don’t like waiting that long. My worry? What if I do die tomorrow? Who will care for my family? Will my death be just one big expense for Dennis to take on? Who will watch cartoons with Chloe late at night? Who will play soft toys with the boys? Who will care for the dogs? These are all things that I do for them, that no one else seems to be able to do.
Maybe I’m just over reacting again.