The journal feels heavy in my hands, like it’s full of things I’m not ready to face. But I know that if I don’t open it, if I don’t at least try to understand her, the questions will eat me alive.
I sit on the porch steps, the cool breeze brushing against my skin, the journal balanced on my knees. Nanna is inside, probably doing one of her endless projects, and Pops is out in the garden, tending to the vegetables like he always does. It’s peaceful here, but inside my head, it’s anything but.
With a deep breath, I flip open the journal, my fingers trembling slightly as I turn the first page.
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August 4th
It’s strange, writing this down. I’ve never been much of a journal-keeper, but I guess now’s as good a time as any to start. Dr. Murray confirmed it today: stage four breast cancer.
