[klif]:a critical point or situation beyond which something bad or undesirable may occur:

So… life is full of irony.

One: I made a post earlier about how the cancer was gone, and everything was back to normal.

Two: I wrote a speech about cliffs.

I find the second one odd.. there I was on the stage shaking and fumbling words out of my mouth like vomit. Talking about metaphors of loving cliffs and they are what keeps my place of work holding up. That they are the strong ones, the ones that have seen it all and have been through it all. That the new stones are the ones that are excited with all of the new things.

At work I am one of the wise cliffs. There from day one when everything started. I watched the cliffs come and go as the years past by, but I stayed along and am one of the biggest cliffs of them all.

Cancer and my wife are like cliffs, and I am the lost and confused stone. I am the one that asks too many questions:

“What did they say when you needed this test?” “What did they say when you needed this last test?”

I ask a lot of questions and I hover over her like a vulture wanting to know how she feels and if she is scared.

“I don’t want to say much when the kids are here,” she says.

I think a lot in my mind… “Screw the kids and talk to me!” Which is really selfish and probably makes me on the top 10 list of things a mother should not do.

But I cannot help myself. Especially when your wife writes on her Facebook page:

“When the oncologist rings and says that they missed doing a stick test, and you have to come in again” It feels like I am am wobbling on a cliff; am I going to fall or turn round and run,”

This is where she was 3 years ago, Mammogram was ok, ultra sound waked curiosity (which is one minor plus in this case” and puncture test was “Hello you have cancer”.

So my thought process is a little bit turned upside down, I don’t know how to act when a person feels this way.  I don’t think I am so good at being strong with my 50,000 questions and I absolutely sit on my hands looking like a zombie watching as she slowly takes off her shirt, hands over her breasts and sits and lays on that table with the paper sheet.

I hate the paper sheet. It is so in personal and so depressing. Especially when you know hundreds of people have laid on that same bed and found out they have had cancer before.

I take that back, people in every medical situation sit on those sheets; you me and everyone you know. BUT in the Cancer wing it feels just about a million times more awful than at the doctors talking about a sore throat or how your knee hurts.

And those awful chairs that the other person (me) sit there and just wait. I want to be able to go there and hold her hand and make her feel like I am really there, but I have to settle for being on one of those poorly upholstered chairs from the 1990’s.

I am an awful stone and I just don’t say this to say this but I know I am an awful stone.

I remember when I was in Bosnia we were told to never walk on the grass because we could step on landmines. When I got to where I could walk on the grass I stayed off the sidewalk and walked on the grass as much and in any place I could.

I forgot how good it felt to walk in that grass and not step on a landmine. Now I am back to being on the sidewalk; walking a few meters behind, but still there. I just wish we could walk on the grass next to each other again.

So… this is not back to normal anymore. It is waiting and wondering, beds with paper sheets and 1990’s chairs and not having to have the person you love wobbling on a cliff.

A cliff you talked about a week ago and it sounded so strong and brave.

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