I’m bouncing back and forth between feeling good and feeling overwhelmed that my husband’s going to die.

On the plus side, it could be many years away—at least five or even ten. On the other hand, it is going to happen and I just have no idea when that will be.

I guess I’m getting a really good (albeit really unwanted) reminder that I can’t control life.

But I also know that most people don’t ever have to face this and that feels SO incredibly unfair.

He says that he’s made peace with the fact that he’s going to die from this. But I have not and don’t see how I could. It’s a certainty that at some point—anywhere from within the next year to ten years from now that I’m going to have to live without him. And I’m just not ready for that, and can’t seem to prepare for it, no matter what I do.

He’s on another round of chemo, just starting it. And all I can do is watch and try to provide any support that I can. But the next few days are likely to take a toll on me because they always do.

I made him some banana bread last night so he’d have something tasty and easy to wake up to yesterday. It just seems like that’s not enough and I don’t know what else to do.

I also found out that he’ll be at the worst part of chemo when it comes time to take Dylan down to move in at A&M next month. For some reason, I thought it would be the week between cycles and it’s not. And I don’t think he’s willing to postpone chemo by a week, not anymore since the recurrence.

I just want things to go back to normal and they won’t. Cancer is like a bad dream from which I can never wake up.

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