Big A carries me to the couch because the floor is wet. (Yes, it doesn’t make sense.) He continues to hold me in a hug. It is a week where four of my/our friends have cancer or are undergoing treatment for cancer. It’s been a month of seeing children “removed” from their homes—some through guardian ad litem work, one of them Li’l A’s best friend. Which means that after I've been strong in front of my friends and my kids, Big A has been the one holding me through the frequent, circumlocutory, incomprehensible rampages.
He tells me:
One in five people that you know will have cancer at some point in their lives. Half of them will die from it.
And this next part was quite unnecessary, but he feels the need to tell me this every now and again:
You must know that 100% of all the people you know will ultimately die.