You’ve always been one of the strongest people I know. Not in physical strength but in spirit. You’ve always fought for others with a stubbornness people can’t ignore, and I love you for that. I’m proud of you. But I’ve been scared.
It’s been creeping up for a while now. Since I can remember I’ve known you with your cough. I only knew properly about emphysema when I was a teen, but I knew it was getting worse before that. You told me to never smoke, even though you did yourself, and I never did. Nowadays I can’t go past someone smoking without a pang of dread in my stomach. It’s not disgust of the act, it’s the fear I have for them. I can’t stand the thought of anyone going through what you’re going through now, even though it would be years down the line. It might not even happen to them, but it’s still that risk.
Since your cancer diagnosis I’ve been scared for you. Since you turned down any treatment, I’ve been scared for you. I know the treatment probably wouldn’t help you, but I can’t help be scared.
I can’t take your spirit being broken. I can’t loose you.
When they told us there was nothing they could do, every time I thought about it all the air would go from my lungs. It’s been a few months now but it sometimes catches me off guard. I can’t think about time much anymore, because it makes me think about how much you might have left and I’m afraid.
I wish you could see me in the future. I know you’d want to see how I do in life. I hate that you won’t be able to.