- my daughter not reaching for me first anymore

- the words "mass detected. MRI recommended"

- the loneliness that has settled into my joints

- not being able to remember the last time he looked at me like I was his entire world

- the waiting

- not being together for October

- one of us not being here for October

I do it without realizing, but I end up selling myself. Convincing them I'm a better person than I am, I'm funnier than I actually am, smarter, nicer- anything, that will keep them wanting me.

I continue to do it. I attach, I sell, I beg, and cry and beg, and then I lash out. In humiliation, in anger, in rejection, in the kind of humbling that hollows you out and leaves the wind echoing through you.

86 beats per minute, to be exact. So tiny, and fragile.

Slow, but steady. A pattern I notice everywhere- rain hitting the window, foot steps on the stairs, bubbles popping on the ground, 86 beats per minute.

I watched her heart beat. I saw it. And as much as my brain lacks the capacity to remember what was real, this was real.

And then I think of how many times I sent shots of cortisol to her tiny heart. An overdose of fear, anger, loneliness, despair. A direct channel to my very core. A death sentence for her.

I think of the strongest person I know. It is not me, despite everything I have weathered. Everything I have witnessed. Every hand that has touched me. Every tragedy that has rocked me.

I brush my fingers through my family's hair, and leave microscopic traces of myself.

I kiss their cheeks, and allow them to wear tiny parts of me like a shield of love.

I spend hours kneading bread, preparing meals, pouring milk, all while leaving tiny whispers of my very being in the very food they eat- an unavoidable act of love.

Jesus said "this is my body", and for the first time that makes sense to me.

Isn't that what we all do? Allow our loved ones to consume us, microscopic piece by invisible piece.

And what keeps us from withering away? From loving someone until there's nothing of your essence left, because you have left it scattered in small accumulances- everywhere?

The trust, that they are rebuilding what's been depleted with their own undetectable pieces of themselves. That they are using their own acts of love as a way to fill in every crack and gap you have accumulated along the way.

I want to be happy and loved.

But I've been conquered.