Cancer sucks

His head is covered in silvery fuzz and he runs a palm over it and erupts into a coughing fit before settling down in his easy chair with a couple of blankets.
I reach for the breakfast dishes, oatmeal that he made for himself.
“No, leave it. I need to start doing things for myself.”
I check the pill box, see if he’s downed the morning meds.
“I took them. I need to remind myself of that, too.”
I retreat into the kitchen.
A bit lost.
He knows I’ll be gone in a few hours to step back into my life.
He wants to be as independent as possible.
All I want it to be there, just in case.