Cellulite Looks Better Tan

It starts again.  The cycle.  The never ending punch in the gut, jolt to the heart, baffling cycle.

The first stage:

Denial

« Have you talked to mom? »  The question I hate to hear when one of my four brothers calls.

« Yes. »  I close my eyes before I ask, « Why? »

« She just seems,” Sigh, “Out of it. »

« No. I haven’t noticed.”  I lie.

Then I end the call and pretend it never happened.  I go about my day.  I play with my children.  We do homework.  I cook dinner for my family, a mediocre, limp mess that we call a meal.  I sit in my chair at the kitchen table, fork some food into my mouth, chew, and swallow, all the while trying to push her illness away from my reality.  I smile at my son as he tells me something really important about one of his Lego Star Wars characters…

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