Being strong

I'm not a cancer warrior.  This is not a battle.  You cannot cry in war, or the enemy will strike.  You cannot show fear because the opposing side will slaughter you. There can be no uncertainty, no hesitation.

I will break down at some point, probably to the extreme.  If I were to bet, it will take place when the side effects from whatever treatment will be at their worst.  I'm already going through much without the extra issues.

Right now, I'm strong because I have to be.  My husband looks at me like I'm dying before his eyes.  My (very strong, quite grounded) mother's voice cracks when we talk about my disease.  My older brother looks away and his voice trails off with his thoughts before a swift subject-change.

I'm unsure how people around me will handle things when I'm unable to stay stoic.  My mother thinks my serenity is a facade because I let slip a fraying edge on occasion.  Even a rock erodes with enough water and time.  I'm aware.

But, people around me deal with everything better (though, still not amazingly) if they see me navigating through with no tears.  I can try to grant them my strength.  I'm (sort of, but not really) the one who made them sad in the first damn place.  I hate being the reason for their distress.

I know they have my back when I need it, something a lot of people can't boast.  I know I can crumble and they'd fix my pieces.  But, I can give them this version of me, just for a while.  Then, maybe, we can trade places or fall apart together and be reforged into better people ready for the road ahead.