The phrase sits in your throat like an unswallowable stone. Now we just use the measuring stick to beat ourselves. Am I worthy of this? This love, this hurt, this unremarkable Tuesday, this costly coffee, this unwilling body, this life continuing unasked permission first?
My mother's faith was deserved. You are rewarded what you earn. Work hard; success belongs to you. Be nice; then you deserve happiness. Never smoked, consumed her vegetables, volunteered at the food pantry every Saturday. And I watched her attempt to solve the equation: what did I do to warrant this?
As if aberrant cells possessed morals. As though tumours reviewed your résumé before metastasizing. That's when I came to understand: deserving is a fairy tale we relate to ourselves to keep the randomness from completely engulfing us. The red lights or the green ones are not deserving of you; neither is the compassion of strangers nor their cruelty.