Tomorrow's your funeral. The 20th is 6 months since you died. I'm not looking forward to it. I'm not a public cryer. People want to touch me and console me and I just want to be left alone. Plus, I can't talk when I cry. Like, it gets physically impossible and I have to regain control before I can speak.
I wish I could sleep through this weekend since going back in time and making different decisions isn't possible. I try not to dwell on that. Nothing can be done now, you'd say. I can hear your voice clearly. It's honestly how I've been getting through this: Imagining you being annoyed at me for moping about your death.
But it's hard not to think of the things we could have done different. Maybe if they had scanned more of you instead of the area your cancer had been in previously. Maybe if you had surgery to cut it out of your liver. Lots of maybes.
You made the choices you thought were best. And I get not wanting to do surgery. Surgery is annoying and there are many other options for treatment. You didn't give up, even promising me to pull a General Leia from Episode 8 after the doctors ran out of options. It just sucks you didn't win. Stubbornness and bullheadedness are strong traits in our family, but didn't work out in our favor this time. Nothing to do now, but remember and keep living.