It's not the news you want to hear!

Two things. I never thought I would hear this early in my lifetime. Your husband is dead and you have a cancer with no cure. As hard as it is to hear bad news, hitting bad news, just as hard. But how do you cope when the bad news is about you? It's not like I hadn't told people before that I had cancer, but really it was five years ago and I think the no cure part sort of was forgotten. It's not like I was dying right then anyway. But now it's different. Even though I'm not dying right this minute, my life expectancy per some statistics is about three years. But really I think the odds are in my favor. This is very difficult news to share, but I've also really been struggling with it myself. When Tom died, I had an issue with the denial stage of grief. I just couldn't grasp the concept of denial. Of course I would say the generic. I can't believe he's gone, like everyone else. But I was not under any sort of delusion that Tom was still alive. I completely accepted the fact that he was dead and never coming back. And of course I tried to move along through the stages of grief, like it was just so matter of fact Denial check, anger check, bargaining check. Depression check check, acceptance check, finding meaning, currently double-checking, because I feel like this is a setback. It was very overwhelming for me to figure out who to tell and in what order. I literally had to make a freaking list. It was getting really difficult to tell people one at a time. Then I thought it would be best to tell people in groups. Then I decided I would just ask the people that I've already told to sort of spread the word. It's not like it was a secret that I have cancer, but there was definitely some people that I wanted to know before it was all over social media. Then I really just got tired of telling people and made the announcement anyway. So I'm sorry if you had to find out that way. Dana was with me the day that I found out the cancer had metastasized, just as she was on the very first day of the diagnosis five years ago. I don't remember much on the car ride home, but I know Dana was just as devastated as me. Dana had all the right encouraging things to say, holding in every ounce of emotion I know, just to protect me. I was just hoping her husband, matt, was home when she got there. I know what it's like to hold it together in order to support someone else. Dana may never truly know how much I love her and appreciate her being on this journey with me. She's been my rock so many times and I just don't want the weight of me and my treatment to drown her. Nicole had sent me a text while we were still at the cancer center. I don't remember telling her that I was going for my scans, but I know she keeps them on her calendar. She sent me a text and I had already ignored her for like an hour and if I didn't reply she would keep texting, and I didn't want her to think that no news was bad news. So instead of making her wait, I replied it's not good Waiting for approval for another scan tomorrow. Please don't call. Don't want to cry. And for the last five years there's always been a mass text to everyone Scans clear, until this day. A few hours later, I met Angie's front door about to break her heart with the news that we've joked about for years. Because dark sense of humor is how we cope, I deliberately ignored her texts in the car ride home. This had to be done face to face. I don't know who started crying first. I could see every ounce of pain that I felt in Angie's eyes. She's a natural impact in her eyes are like mirrors. When you look into them you know she feels exactly what you feel, and she's the one person that I can never hide my true feelings from. I know Angie would absorb every ounce of pain if she could. She has a gift and it's one of the things that I love and admire about her To know Angie is to love her. I could stay there crying in Angie's arms all night, but I needed to go home and luckily she's right next door if I needed anything, and thank God my mom wasn't home. It's not a conversation that I was wanting to have that night. It would have been way too much for me to bear. Telling my mom that her only other living child is dying wasn't that high on my priority list. I called Shannon next. Something about Shannon's voice calms me. It felt good. I mean, I was crying, but it was different. I felt like I could get the words out easier with her. I like how Shannon leads a conversation and just asks me questions, so I didn't have to think of what to say or how to say it. It definitely hasn't felt this easy so far. Shannon is like me and she can be very matter of fact sometimes, and it's exactly what I needed in that moment Someone to just bring me back to earth. Then I completely forgot about Nicole's text messages and stopped answering her. I checked the phone and, oh shit, she is booking a flight. I called her immediately. She answers the phone and says please don't say no, just let me be there for you. And as soon as I heard her voice, I couldn't say no, and we were both crying. I laid in the bed that night, unable to sleep, thinking about how I was going to tell my son Marquise, thinking of how I told him about this diagnosis just five years ago, and it was only six weeks after Tom died. We were both grieving so much and I knew the news was going to be difficult. Back then. He asked me what my options were and for me to do whatever was going to allow me to live, and that he couldn't lose another parent. The conversation did not go quite the same this time, but I'm definitely going to do everything I can to live Because, after all, I am not dead, just my husband.