Rambling: I figure T kept her illness from me because therapy is supposed to be about me, not her. But it does affect me. She looked like she was in pain. I asked, "Gosh, are you ok? Do you need your Advil? Do you need some water?"

I didn't ask further because I didn't want to intrude. Maybe the issue is personal. But she is 68... She uses a cane and I have never asked why. I care about her. I worry about *us*.
I've spent all week thinking about her. Yeah, it's about me, too.