I cried oceans reading this book by Karen Kingsbury.
My heart breaks when a child suffers from and gets caught in circumstances not of his doing but of adults’. Kingsbury makes each character so real they seem to be within patting distance. You can almost feel their heartbeat or lack of it.
After an exceptionally busy and productive week, we usually want to reward ourselves for a job well done.
When I was still in the workplace, after a difficult project had been completed, my colleagues and I would head to the beauty salon or go shopping or spend a leisurely time in the spa where we would enjoy a relaxing soak in the jacuzzi and a good massage.
By end of December, I should have finished two chapters. The deadline for my new book isn't till end of February so I declared, "I have enough time."
Then, bang! My trusty computer, Blackie, zonked out on Christmas Day. I lost two days.
“Peripatetic” is the most apt word I could find to describe the big C. It goes everywhere, it is always there.
It was there in my dad’s last four years; it was in my late friends’ death beds—Mila, Sonia, Brenda, Amar, etc.; it was with Tony 20 years ago; it was with my friend Lucy and others before they went into remission; it is there, right now, in many others’ lives.
Growing big and growing old seem to go hand-in-hand.
I can say this with authority as I continue to traverse the road toward numerical maturity. I can't speak for the rest of the baby boomers of my generation, but I have certainly grown bigger in many dimensions with every calendar page thrown away.