Yes, she deserves to know in case life suddenly goes off the rails.
No, I will probably outlive her even if LGLL does the dirty deed so why bother her with this crappy news.
Yes, the kids and my brother already know so the likelihood of her finding out through someone else is pretty high.
No, my dad kept a similar secret from her so I have a stellar role model for withholding this info.
Yes, my dad was actively treated for his condition which reduced chances of his early demise.
No, even if things turn crappy tomorrow, why should I worry her for one extra day.
Yes, no, yes, no. Why not just flip a freakin' coin and let random chance be the determinant. I know that my ambivalence is due to nervousness not because it's not the right thing to do. Mari Jo and I both agreed it was appropriate and Joe supported the decision mostly because we all wanted her to hear it straight from us and not from another source with no one there to support her.
Mom took the news in rather stoic fashion. Yup, that's where my brother gets it from. God bless 'em both for being able to assimilate shitty personal news and continue to function. We all need a dose of that so we don't fall apart in case there's no one else to pick up the pieces.
After we delivered the news she was kind of quiet for a spell then asked a couple of questions - good questions. She asked if I would get my treatments from Dr. P. or Dr. E., Novant or WFBH. I told MJ and I were discussing that issue but we are probably a very long way out from having to make such a decision. Tomorrow, that mystical land where 99.9% of human intention resides.
Here is one of my favorite poems when I want to purposefully get depressed, er, I mean, when I'm in an introspective mood. It's an in-your-face atheistic apologia and powerful as hell. If you're easily led down a melancholy path then be forewarned.
Hap
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: “Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!”
Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
—Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
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