For Whom the Belle Tolls

by Jaysea Lynn

She was going to die. The knowledge sank into her soul like a stone. She wanted to panic, to completely lose it, to let herself finally fall to pieces. To let herself cry, scream, beg, and rage. To shatter into shards so small she wouldn’t see herself in any of them.

All she had to do was die, and with death would come the end of the pain, but they would have to live with the memory of it. Of her. So, she’d swallowed the bitterness and rage down—mostly—and tried to give them as many good days and things to remember her by as she could.

It had gutted her when the community she’d always known, the community she’d always believed would be there for her, had thrown her away when she’d dared to ask uncomfortable questions about God’s grace,

The unconditional love she’d been told to expect had had some conditions after all.

She’d already fallen from one pedestal, and it had hurt down to her core, leaving indelible marks on her soul. The last thing she wanted was to fall from another, especially in the eyes of someone whose opinion mattered to her.

“Cancer may not be sung about in songs, or woven into a tapestry but that does not make the heart and fight required to combat it a lesser thing.”

Kids shouldn’t have to take care of their parents like parents take care of their kids. Absolutely be there with him, spend time with him, all of that, but it’s not your job to make him happy or feel better,