I hate you. I hate you more than anything else in the world. I hate you more than cilantro and the stomach flu. More than waking up at 5:30 am everyday and wearing high heels. I hate you even more than when I forget it’s my turn to wake up with the kids the next morning and drink three too many Margaritas. (And THAT really sucks.)
I don’t throw the word “hate” around lightly, but you? You’ve earned it.
It happens every year… May rolls around and Mother’s Day approaches and I’m reminded once again of what you’ve taken from me. What you’ve taken from my family. You’re an asshole.
You swoop in on people when they least expect it – good people. People’s moms. People’s uncles. People’s fathers-in-law. People’s cousins. People’s friends. You knock the wind out of them – and us – and then you try to beat them down. Sometimes you win. And that’s why I hate you. You steal what’s rightfully ours. Painfully. Yes, sometimes you win.
Sometimes you lose. More and more often, you lose. HA! I love it when you lose!!!!
When you lose? Best. Feeling. Ever. (Even better than when your husband says, “Go back to sleep. I’ll get the kids.”) When you lose, we rejoice. We gloat. We high-five. We ugly-cry. We hug. We celebrate your miserable failures.
Because cancer, you’re a bully. A mean, vicious, non-discriminating bully. But you know what happens to bullies? Eventually, they fall.
You should know, your days are numbered. You’re weakening. And we’re getting stronger. The doctors. The patients. The survivors. The fighters. The mothers, uncles, cousins and friends… we’re ALL getting stronger.
You’re going down.
I hope I get to see it. I want my Mother’s Day back.
PS. Sorry for all the profanity. Sometimes name-calling helps.