On mastectomies and sex

My mom had her mastectomy today. Apparently it went well, this I know from calling Marijo at 5 am (5 pm Manila time). Despite the less-than-ideal relationship I have with my mom, I'm no longer surprised by how pervading my worry is about her throughout my day. The death of my dad showed me that you never really get over your parents, no matter how much you've prepared for their loss by emotional or geographic separation.

Yet many times these past couple of days, I've had the urge to post some inane thing about life on this blog. This American Life had a great segment on people reflecting on thier relationship with their television. I had a series of photos of (yet again) Mugsy and Jakob. Yet I hesitated, knowing that other people (well, mainly family members) might read it and think how selfish of me to think about things like these at a time like this.

Of course I know I'm wrong. For one thing, none of them read this blog. Also, they're actually concerned that I'm worrying too much about her when I do call. And more importantly, I know all of them are leading their lives as before. Granted my mom takes up a lot of their time. But I think all of them, like me, continue on living: laughing at our dogs, imagining what we would like for dinner tonight, chatting nonsense with our friends. I heard this poem on the radio about this woman feeling guilty, almost immoral, about having sex right after September 11 and it definitely resonated with me. But maybe it's this spirit in us to actually keep on living in the shadow of death that is the more moral choice. As I'm reminded that my time here on earth is finite, how could I not eat, laugh, chat, fuck, and dance my way through it.