My son is the only one who is willing to say it out loud. Cancer. There, I wrote it. I am looking at it, and there it is. Cancer. My mother has cancer. The cancer is not rare, and it has a high survival rate. She is most likely in stage one. Cancer. Even with all the positives, it is still ugly. It is still harsh. It is still not right. This is my mommy, and my mommy has cancer.
Tonight my son walked in and said, "Mom-mom, we need to talk."
She put down her book and asked, "About what?"
"Well, duh, cancer."
Finally, there is the white elephant in the room, and Thing Two is the only one not ignoring it. Stepping around it isn't going to make it better.
He also told her later in the evening she shouldn't take out the trash because she has cancer. Did he offer to take it out for her? No, but it is the thought that counts.