Some days I am crying and alternately on the verge of tears, what doctors would label an eight out of ten, with ten being the worst pain.
Physical pain is an amnesiac. Always there is a danger in forgetting the mask and wearing one’s own face.
There isn’t much more frightening than a loved one’s eyes glassy, focused someplace between nose and space. He sees there is no way to hold my body that doesn’t hurt, and asks, “Oh, honey, what can I do to help?”
If hiding it weren’t a lie, I’d rather wear the mask than tell him there is nothing he can do, the sinking of his shoulders and drop to his gaze brings out the guardian in me.
Masks have their tell though in smoothness around the edges.