But what is grief if not love persevering? Wandavision

You grew up lucky. You just didn’t know it.
A short list of distant family tragedies,
tales told around the breakfast table of long-gone losses.

Your father’s sister,
taken by illness at the age of two,
six decades before you were born.

Gramps, your mother’s father,
succumbing to a misdiagnosed cancer when you were five.
What you remember most is your mother
running down the hallway in tears after she heard the news.

Distant cousins, dying by suicide.
The rest of the family bursting with longevity.
A grandmother and father clearing a century,
another grandmother missing the mark by just a year.

When cancer came for your son,
you thought he’d outsmart it.
Sail though treatment, fend off infection,
leave it all behind him.

But like a renter who’s walked off with the key,
the cancer returned, let itself back in and made a bigger mess,
eventually spreading into every space despite the damage to its host.

More than ten years later,
you wonder why you’re still here,
growing old, going gray, slowing down.
It isn’t what you wanted, but it’s what you got.

You’ve tried everything to find your way through.
Putting off the pain. Letting it burn.
Sinking to your knees, rising again to go on.

Life is unfair, you know that now.

You do not have to know the path,
You do not have to walk alone.
Grief is just the price for loving hard and loving well.