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" I woke up to a ringing cell phone this morning. I squinted at the clock. 8:45 AM.  &amp;quot;Who is calling me this early on a Sunday?&amp;quot; I mumbled, getting out of bed to go grab my phone. By the time I got to it, I had missed the call. I checked the caller ID: Mom and Dad.  My heart racing, I listened to the message.  &amp;quot;Hi honey, it&amp;#039;s Mom. Haven&amp;#039;t talked to you in awhile, so I thought I&amp;#039;d give you a ring and see how you are. Give us a call when you have time. Love you.&amp;quot;  I sat down on the couch and took a couple of deep breaths. Then I dialed.  Mom answered the phone, and we exchanged the usual pleasantries, although I couldn&amp;#039;t even tell you what we said, because I was having a should-I-or-shouldn&amp;#039;t-I debate in my head.  &amp;quot;I know, Mom,&amp;quot; I blurted out, interrupting her story about some lady at church. &amp;quot;About the breast cancer.&amp;quot;  She was silent on the other end.  &amp;quot;Hello?&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;I didn&amp;#039;t want you and your brother to worry,&amp;quot; she said quietly. &amp;quot;Or feel guilty.&amp;quot;  In that moment, it all made sense. Little Brother and I had both been furious with her, and she didn&amp;#039;t want us to have to forgive her just because she was sick. God, Brandon was right -- my mom and I are more alike than I&amp;#039;d ever imagined. All of my anger melted away, instantly.  &amp;quot;Are you okay now?&amp;quot; I asked.  &amp;quot;Yes,&amp;quot; she said. &amp;quot;I really am.&amp;quot;  We made more small talk after that, both with the understanding that that was all of the talking we were going to do about her illness. Dad was out golfing, and I&amp;#039;m sure Mom isn&amp;#039;t going to tell him that I brought it up. I still haven&amp;#039;t decided if I&amp;#039;m going to tell LB about the phone call yet, either.  After we got off the phone, I climbed back into bed.  &amp;quot;Who were you talking to?&amp;quot; he asked sleepily.  &amp;quot;My mom.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You were?&amp;quot; he asked, instantly awake. &amp;quot;What happened?&amp;quot;  I told him the story. The more I talked, the more puzzled he looked.  &amp;quot;I don&amp;#039;t get it,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;Why are you so happy? You barely discussed it.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Because I understand where she was coming from now. And she&amp;#039;s okay, health-wise.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;So are you going to talk about it at some other point?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Probably not.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You honestly feel like what just happened on the phone with your mom is a huge breakthrough?&amp;quot; he asked.  &amp;quot;Yes. For me and my mother, it was.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You have the weirdest family ever,&amp;quot; he said, covering his face with a pillow. &amp;quot;Seriously.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Look who&amp;#039;s talking,&amp;quot; I said, prying the pillow off and tickling him. We wrestled a bit, and then fell into our regular Sunday routine -- sex, out to brunch, and then a nice, long walk.  &amp;quot;Thanks, by the way,&amp;quot; I said as we walked through the park hand in hand. &amp;quot;For being so supportive and stuff.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s what I&amp;#039;m here for,&amp;quot; he said, stopping to put his arms around my waist and give me a kiss. &amp;quot;Even though you totally suck at letting other people help you.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I do,&amp;quot; I admitted. &amp;quot;But I&amp;#039;m working on it.&amp;quot; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a8058/bedroom-blog-042609/>