Running Thoughts from Heather
I'm stunned and reeling. Is this really happening? I'm so scared I'm going to die. Not scared of death, per se, but really scared not to watch my girls grow up or to grow old with Clark or to be a wildly inappropriate middle-aged woman with all my bad-ass, funky friends.
I'm scared the magazine will die--outside of my kids, it's the first really worthwhile thing I feel like I've done.
Clark and I wonder to each other how faith plays a role in this; indeed, the role of faith becomes much more salient as the level of desperation grows. But how does one work to define or apply a desperate faith? There are the classic stages of grief that we've spoken of, and bargaining is one. It seems to me that wild and frenzied prayers aimed to God qualify as bargaining. If that's the case, is it merely another stage in inevitable grief, or are they as good as the intent with which they're murmured or shrieked?
One of my daughters sobs. The others seem unfazed. Of course the little ones have no way of grasping metastases. But Liloo asks why I'm sad, and Megan understands tears.
I'm conflicted--I vascillate between wanting to be a sarcastic, scathing Heather--incidentally, the one for whom I hold the most affection and admiration--and the docile, accepting Heather who understands everyone's best intent and is kind and affirming to people's genuine outpouring of offers to help. There is almost a superstitious fear that the sarcasm will result in divine disapproval, and inadvertently shorten my life. On the other hand, the docile, accepting self doesn't know how to fight like hell.
And that makes me laugh. Of course I'm conflicted. I started a fucking magazine about the state of conflictedness. If it's nothing else, it's true. True as in, maybe not factual, maybe not even right, but damn true.
I'm scared the magazine will die--outside of my kids, it's the first really worthwhile thing I feel like I've done.
Clark and I wonder to each other how faith plays a role in this; indeed, the role of faith becomes much more salient as the level of desperation grows. But how does one work to define or apply a desperate faith? There are the classic stages of grief that we've spoken of, and bargaining is one. It seems to me that wild and frenzied prayers aimed to God qualify as bargaining. If that's the case, is it merely another stage in inevitable grief, or are they as good as the intent with which they're murmured or shrieked?
One of my daughters sobs. The others seem unfazed. Of course the little ones have no way of grasping metastases. But Liloo asks why I'm sad, and Megan understands tears.
I'm conflicted--I vascillate between wanting to be a sarcastic, scathing Heather--incidentally, the one for whom I hold the most affection and admiration--and the docile, accepting Heather who understands everyone's best intent and is kind and affirming to people's genuine outpouring of offers to help. There is almost a superstitious fear that the sarcasm will result in divine disapproval, and inadvertently shorten my life. On the other hand, the docile, accepting self doesn't know how to fight like hell.
And that makes me laugh. Of course I'm conflicted. I started a fucking magazine about the state of conflictedness. If it's nothing else, it's true. True as in, maybe not factual, maybe not even right, but damn true.
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