Boys Don’t Cry
One in eight women will get breast cancer their lifetime. Back in September, my wife, currently pregnant with our second child, found a lump in her breast. After testing positive for invasive ductal carcinoma, she is currently undergoing chemotherapy, and it sucks.
There are millions of Americans who are in the same boat, so this is not a 'woe is my family' post, but I cried, hard, for the first time in front of my wife the other night. After looking through some pictures that were taken at a benefit show, (Whiskey City), I lost it at the sight of her newly bald head.
Even though she looked her normal pretty Jorja, it was a sure reminder, my wife has cancer. Witnessing her frequent fatigue, nausea, and everything else chemotherapy entails, I chose to hide my tears. In the car, when she would nap, to cry anywhere, EXCEPT, in front of her was acceptable to me.
Shedding tears, becoming puffy and red faced for the first time in front of my wife was apparently, unbelievable, as she thought I was faking it! 'Am I that cold hearted', I thought? The point is, I was pleasantly surprised at the lack of shame I felt crying in front of my wife, knowing she knew my tears were for her. I actually found it quite relieving, and I felt our bond grow even stronger.