Why is it so hard to pick up the phone? What is it that scares me?
I would rather text or e-mail even my own father. Why is that?
Somehow hearing his voice and having to share mine is just too hard. His might sound different. I won’t be able to keep mine from wavering. There will be awkward pauses and scrambling for things to say that mean anything compared to what we both know is happening: you are dying and I am losing my mind.
Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.
I will just keep sending you pictures of the grandbabies you haven’t been able to meet yet and you will keep writing how cute they are and what a good mom I am.
We will continue to love each other mostly in silence, as we always have. Because we are quiet people, even in love.