Something To Break Your Heart

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We are taking turns balancing a pineapple-shaped promotional stress toy on our heads. As with many of the tricks she has me perform, I am unsuccessful. The pineapple keeps sliding off. “Maybe it’s because you have hair,” she remarks. There’s no hint of self-pity. These are just the facts. Facts: She is six. I am thirty-four. She has cancer. I ...

Sometimes it is when I think I am happiest that I miss you the most.