First World Probs.

My 65-year-old neighbor puts my trashcan out on the street for me every Friday morning. It’s the smallest gesture, but it means the absolute world to me. My next-door neighbors are originally from Nigeria. Earlier this year, they learned that my husband had stage four cancer, and the wife of the pair rushed out one … More First World Probs.

The Lucky Ones

Yesterday, Andrew and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary. For those of you who didn’t marry a traditionalist like I did, the second wedding anniversary is the cotton anniversary. In addition to being a traditionalist, my husband is a sentimentalists. What this means is: I have a tub full of t-shirts in my basement that … More The Lucky Ones

The Christian Scapegoat

I believe my husband will be healed. I don’t mean that in the church goer’s weak interpretation of healing, which is actually dying. I believe that his body that was so forcefully intruded upon, these lungs that are pushing against the pressure of these disgusting trespassers of tumors for every breath, will be restored. I … More The Christian Scapegoat