PlazaJen: Passion Knit

him: You went to bed early.
me: I'm still awake.
him: You were snoozing when I came down.
me: Nope. I'm awake.
him: You were SNORING.
me: No I wasn't.

I'm not sure what it is within us, that sometimes denies the truth, and counters with the utmost conviction to the contrary. Obviously I had fallen asleep & awoke when he came to bed, but in my mind, I had been awake the entire time. And I fully believed my version at the time, though this morning I knew if he said I was snoring, I'm sure I was.

As we grow up, as we learn to accept truths and tautologies, things which cannot be denied forever if we want to live a real, honest life, the fight to deny or avoid becomes shorter, for we realize that place gives us nothing but a delusion that we are immune. I have gradually grown to accept that my father has cancer. I even accept that at some point, it will be what takes him from me. I don't accept that nothing can be done, I don't accept that one doctor has all the answers; yet, in this not-even-a-month-long journey, I awoke today to realize that I am getting a callous on my heart. Intellectually, I know I have to, otherwise, every day is awash in pain and grief and denial all over again. In order to function, in order to move forward, both with my life & to support his fight, I have to thicken the scar, plaster the cracks, and yet I hate that callous, I footnote it in my mind: because it exists does not mean I don't care, that the pain isn't still there, that anything has dissipated, that I love him any less or that I accept anything lying down.

(This experience may change me, but I doubt it will change the core of who I am, and I never accept anything lying down. Except bon bons. Bon Bons are perfectly acceptable, and indeed, preferable, when lying down.)