"I remember telling my coworker I had to leave, recognizing that he instantly knew what I had learned; I remember seeing a sunset so beautiful that words don't do it justice, as if grandma was telling me, "I'm better now," on my way back to the hotel, where I'd spend hours crying, wishing I could see her one more time, wishing I could squeeze cancer like a rotting orange, ridding this earth of its putrid juices."
"I have always hated cancer - it takes and it takes and it kills and it infects and it taints and it threatens indiscriminately. I like to believe my grandma is in a better place, wherever or whatever that might be; surely she's not suffering anymore, right? But she did at one time, and my grandpa, who has since told me countless times he's ready to depart from this world to see her again, does"
As a teenager I watched my grandma defeat breast cancer and my family celebrated many milestones with her presence. My wife and I had a baby daughter this year whom my grandma never met because cancer returned and she died in 2023 while I was on a work trip in France. I vividly remember the call, nauseating smells of food, leaving with a coworker who understood, and a sunset that felt like a final message. I rage against cancer's indiscriminate harm and anguish that my family endures. Playing the horror game Total Chaos became a cathartic outlet to take violent action against symbolic rot.
Read at Game Informer
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