We saw dh's dad on dd's first bday.
We were already at the restaurant, and they beamed when they saw us through the glass. I didn't know until it was too late that my face had fallen.
Dad asked "What's wrong?" as soon as they were in the door. I wanted to say "I don't want you to die." Instead I said "I'm having a hard day." They attributed this to knowing that Littleone was turning one without a family to celebrate her, and this was part of the reason that I was feeling so glum. But mostly, I was struck by the disparity between Dad's outward appearance of health and happiness and my awareness of what is happening inside, and the childishness of my response. They were having a "good day" optimistic about the potential for this relatively new form of chemotherapy, and all I could say was "I'm having a hard day." My hard days must seem trivial, and if they loved me less they might have wondered how I could possibly say "I'm having a hard day" side by side the "hard days" he has.
But it was a lot better -- I think -- than "I just don't want you to die."