On Cancer

Cancer makes me angry. Mad and pissed off. It takes away my power. I can't make it go away. I can't take it out of the people I love, like taking an ingredient out of a bad recipe. It sticks. It stays. And even when the doctors tell you it's gone it lingers in your head. You're paranoid it will show up again. It could slam into your family like getting t-boned in an intersection. No airbags in the world can protect you. You can stuff your face with lettuce and jog like the devil himself is behind you and cancer can still find you.

Cancer doesn't care if my cousin has a fifteen year old son she's trying to raise into a decent human being. It doesn't care if my aunt is in pain all day, every day. Today. Right now there is no solution. There is no cure. But I can fight the anger. Good, long and hard.

I'm going to show my kids I love them. I'm going to tell them over and over. I'm going to tell my husband how much I appreciate him. We're going to run all over the city today to acting class, and birthday parties and eating in restaurants we've never tried. Our individual passions served. We're going to laugh out loud. And act ridiculous. We'll try to embody every trite, overused cliche you've heard. We'll try to live like we're dying. We'll try to dance like nobody's watching. Too bad about the dust on the TV, the unmade beds. I don't care. My friends don't care.

So today I'm going to take my anger and my fear and turn it into just what my cousin and my aunt would want. I'm turning it into memories. Into LIFE OUT LOUD. So screw you cancer. Screw you.