Replacing Myself

“Everyone is replaceable, Dr. Shedd.”

She stares steadily at me in defiance from the back corner seat, arms folded across her chest. Her backpack in front of her remains zipped, contents tucked inside, while her classmates continue to file into the classroom. Her seat is between two immense windows in the back, and I glance beyond her to see the snow is picking up, flakes landing on the shoulders of the students trudging across campus to their various classes.

The “How” of Grief

He holds up the object in front of him with a wide smile on his face. A cookie – seemingly innocent and yet it looked enough like a breast. The first Pinktober after my mastectomy and lymph node dissection, I stumbled into ‘a bake sale for breast cancer’ and “boob cookies” were being sold – sugar cookies frosted pink with nipples. 

The Everyday Things

I don’t remember these things from before. But I do now. Because I have more time that I didn’t expect, but is suddenly before me. Six years ago, this thing that I thought, that I was told, I would run out of is inexplicably before me and I get to observe and imagine and reflect. All of the little things. The everyday things.

Julian

The front desk staff person comes out to hand me more forms and talks to the man next to me, telling “Julian” to be nice to me. Julian is peering over my shoulder as I complete the paperwork.