Ashes on my forehead

I belong to a society of sufferers, a subculture called cancer moms.

I wear ashes on my face because I know the truth in my brittle burnable bones: we are dust and to dust we will return, and most of what we do in between is also dust.
These ashes are the visible marker.
These ashes are the “live like you could die tomorrow” bumper sticker stuck to my forehead.