Sometimes when I talk to friends/family/strangers about the cancer I confuse them, because I’m not wailing and crying on them. Some people are uncomfortable around crying people (maybe most of us are) and so perhaps this is a relief, that they don’t have to deal with me sobbing, but I often sense that they’re confused: why aren’t I crying? How can I smile and make cancer jokes and get my grocery shopping done?

It’s a funny thing, to feel pressured to grieve in public. Sometimes I let the crying come, depending on the person. There are wonderful, sympathetic huggers in my life. But most of the time I suck it in, focus instead on relaying the updates that Brock would be comfortable sharing: I don’t mention the diarrhea, but headaches are okay.

I’m careful not to be too specific about our treatment plan (pills), because we are surrounded by well-meaning hippies and if I open that door then there will an onslaught of homeopathic advice. I know people have loving intentions, and they want to be helpful, but those suggestions enrage me, and suddenly I’m holding back mean words instead of tears.

(Brief pause here to watch a favourite Mitchell and Webb clip …)

Ha.

From a practical perspective (and we’re very practical people), if I cried on every single person I ran into who asked about the cancer or Brock, then I’d be crying quite a lot and wouldn’t get many of my daily tasks accomplished. I like it that our community cares about us, and I like it when people ask how Brock’s doing. I am trying to figure out a response that doesn’t confuse the nice people who check in with us.