Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness of witherings of tarnishings.

Deep down my mom had long suspected I was gay... Much of her anger and hurt came from her sense of betrayal that she was the last to be told.

The fear really hits you. That's what you feel first. And then it's the anger and frustration. Part of the problem is how little we understand about the ultimate betrayal of the body when it rebels against itself.