Hello, blog friends. I'm back for a short stint as a blogger again. Only this time I reappear a different woman. Remember all that mumbo jumbo about a creative renewal, blah blah blah? Yeah, do I have a story for you. I guess you could say I got what I asked for, and much, much more. Lucky me. And for the record, this computer has no spell check, so I apologize in advance.
Where do I begin? Should I get right to it or string you along with the memories that litter my brain of what went on that particular night? String you along, you say? Okay, whatever floats your boat.
Here's what I saw. Father's Day night. Around midnight, in fact. A very full, bright moon. Ants circling the kitchen floor. For some reason my eyes and brain were fixated on those ants. I couldn't tear them away. They just circled and circled, and had not a care in the world. If only I could have felt what those ants felt at that moment, instead of what was about to drop onto my soul. I heard words coming from the other end of the phone. I understood the words, but I didn't, all at the same time. I heard myself saying things like "how big?" and "where is it?" and "how much time?", but the answers didn't register. Honestly, that voice could have told me I'd won the lottery, and it wouldn't have mattered. My life was different. In a flood of nausea and pounding ears, I heard myself scream for my sister. I felt my feet on the floor, but nothing else. I felt my head in my hands, and the cold tile on my soles, and I heard the dog door swing as one of the poodles jumped exitedly through it. But still, I was numb. The details are easy to remember. They are burnt into my memory as fresh as the birth of my children. But it's the words, the reality, the knowing, that are all just feelings. I know I felt a strange sense of calm, and then a subsequent urgency to call my brother and sister to come and be with us, even though it was the middle of the night. We sat outside, smelling the damp summer grass, and hearing the swing squeak as we lightly rocked and reflected on our situation. There were many tears, and surprising bursts of laughter, dotted with bouts of anger and frustration. There was prayer, and more tears, and then finally exhaustion.
This doesn't happen to me. We are not those people. I am not the one whose children will be raised without a grandparent.
But it seems I just may be. And it sucks. I'm pissed. And yet, I'm well aware of a strange chain of small miracles that have been happening over the last year or so to prepare me just for this situation.
I don't understand why She has been chosen to travel this road. I cannot fathom that in the preexistence she would have chosen to leave her family at such a young age. And yet I can. I can't understand that she is fine with it. And for some reason I feel fine with it as long as I'm around her. How is it that she is the one with Pancreatic Cancer with Liver metastises, and she is the one buoying us all up? I know how, it's because She's just that way. She always has been.
She is the caregiver, not the care receiver. And even in her yellow state, she still wants to make sure we know where the money for groceries is, and that she needs a draw for so-and-so at the office. She's just that way.
I'm still numb. I'm still pissed. And I'm still in awe of Her strength and beauty. If anyone can make yellow skin fashionable, it's her. She is wonderful.
I love you , mom.
For an update on what's going on with the cancer situation, please check our new blog, Cancer Sucks, and feel free to comment.