Monday, January 14, 2013
Today, I learned that the woman who babysat my daughter from aged 6 months to 5 years died from cancer. Since I have moved, I had no idea she had even been sick. She was only 54 years old. My daughter is almost 21.
She was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a business woman, a talented decorator with a knack for turning cheap and ordinary things into fabulous works of art. She was extremely intelligent with a boatload of common sense; kind, warm, funny and a great cook.
I had seen her in the store when I was visiting from out of town last spring. She had lost about 100 pounds, but her face had looked so drawn and weary, I withheld commenting. Instinctively, I must have known, but did not feel it was my business to ask how she had lost the weight.
Right now, I feel depressed, but am managing to keep a stiff upper lip, since I'm at work. I'm monitoring myself carefully to refrain from eating my emotions. Regardless, it's a rough day, I'm tired and I have a headache.