No Running Away
The chemo was hard, very hard for my sister. It's hard to accept such poison is actually going to help her in the long run.
A very long run, as in marathon, not 5k.
We talked last night about how to be positive, how to stay in the moment. It's not easy. My mind races to what ifs, when... of course her mind is doing the same. It's normal to be scared.
I was in Chicago over the weekend for a conference. It was easy to be there and totally forget all that is going on.
Or so I thought. I know I was running away from reality. On the plane yesterday, sitting on the runway for a mere two hours waiting for something to be fixed, the recycled, stale air brought me back to the real world.
My sister is dying. Not today, not tomorrow, or even this year. There are more treatment options after the chemo and she'll do anything to feel better.
It reminded me of when my mother was dying. Slowly, for years, but in the last few months, I was painfully aware this time would be it. No fabulous, remarkable recovery was going to happen.
My mother was so mean to me, it was easier to let go. Her body wracked with pain, it was a relief when she finally slipped into a coma and shortly after died.
It won't be like that with my sister. I love her too much.
I started to cry. It's odd to be sitting on a plane, surrounded by strangers, having such an intense moment of recognition.
Worse when they hear you snoring, though. I did that later.
I stopped myself. Here I am, racing down the road of writing the story before it happens. Stop it. Be here. Now. We have five more months of treatment before we even have a clue to it's effectiveness. Calm down.
Being thoughtfully in the moment is the biggest gift I can give my sister. I know that. It doesn't mean not having discussions about how she wants the rest of her life to look.
It means not being afraid of the future. Not acting impulsively- which is a huge challenge for me. I want to take care of, fix, make better... I can't.
When I got home, I raced out to Ben's track meet. Jeanine was there with Jake and Zachary. I walked up and they were wrestling away, as always. I felt my heart come home. And then, the magical song of the ice cream man played and those two stopped mid-wrestle as if in a cartoon. They came running over- ice cream man! ice cream man!
That is my life today. It is about the ice cream man, track meets, and family dinner. It is about meeting with the MA Senate president tomorrow and telling her trans rights bill or no support from me. It is about my friends, going shopping for fabulous flowers, talking about politics, parenting and the wonder of how socks go missing in the laundry.
It is about holding my beautiful wife at night, being grateful for how much love I have.
And it is about my sister's journey.
A good friend told me to buck up. Stay present. Focus on you and what you can do.
I'm trying.
No story writing, just an even pace. Lots of love, compassion and kindness.
No running away. This is a marathon of holding, staying in place.
Like I said, I'm trying.
A very long run, as in marathon, not 5k.
We talked last night about how to be positive, how to stay in the moment. It's not easy. My mind races to what ifs, when... of course her mind is doing the same. It's normal to be scared.
I was in Chicago over the weekend for a conference. It was easy to be there and totally forget all that is going on.
Or so I thought. I know I was running away from reality. On the plane yesterday, sitting on the runway for a mere two hours waiting for something to be fixed, the recycled, stale air brought me back to the real world.
My sister is dying. Not today, not tomorrow, or even this year. There are more treatment options after the chemo and she'll do anything to feel better.
It reminded me of when my mother was dying. Slowly, for years, but in the last few months, I was painfully aware this time would be it. No fabulous, remarkable recovery was going to happen.
My mother was so mean to me, it was easier to let go. Her body wracked with pain, it was a relief when she finally slipped into a coma and shortly after died.
It won't be like that with my sister. I love her too much.
I started to cry. It's odd to be sitting on a plane, surrounded by strangers, having such an intense moment of recognition.
Worse when they hear you snoring, though. I did that later.
I stopped myself. Here I am, racing down the road of writing the story before it happens. Stop it. Be here. Now. We have five more months of treatment before we even have a clue to it's effectiveness. Calm down.
Being thoughtfully in the moment is the biggest gift I can give my sister. I know that. It doesn't mean not having discussions about how she wants the rest of her life to look.
It means not being afraid of the future. Not acting impulsively- which is a huge challenge for me. I want to take care of, fix, make better... I can't.
When I got home, I raced out to Ben's track meet. Jeanine was there with Jake and Zachary. I walked up and they were wrestling away, as always. I felt my heart come home. And then, the magical song of the ice cream man played and those two stopped mid-wrestle as if in a cartoon. They came running over- ice cream man! ice cream man!
That is my life today. It is about the ice cream man, track meets, and family dinner. It is about meeting with the MA Senate president tomorrow and telling her trans rights bill or no support from me. It is about my friends, going shopping for fabulous flowers, talking about politics, parenting and the wonder of how socks go missing in the laundry.
It is about holding my beautiful wife at night, being grateful for how much love I have.
And it is about my sister's journey.
A good friend told me to buck up. Stay present. Focus on you and what you can do.
I'm trying.
No story writing, just an even pace. Lots of love, compassion and kindness.
No running away. This is a marathon of holding, staying in place.
Like I said, I'm trying.
posted by Sara at 10:17 AM
3 Comments:
You're doing it right. You've got what the teachers in Sunday school call a "right relationship" with life, with your family, with things that are going on in the world. Will you get your priorities inverted sometimes? Of course you will. But you'll go through it, and it won't matter that much. Tell your sister we're thinking about her. She isn't supposed to like chemo. She's supposed to hate it. In between there are pauses she can rest in and cram a little life into. Thinking about you all and wishing you well.
Sara,
I feel for you. Its really hard to stay strong and positive...but you have to. Some days will be better than others.
Ive gone thru the past 5 months with my Mom (diagnosed with Lymphoma on 12/28/09) scared and unsure. So was she. I wouldnt break down in front of her. But I had my moments when I was alone.
She had her 6th treatment 2 weeks ago. We are waiting for another PET/CT scan to find out if she is in remission.
It seems like things are moving in a positive direction and she IS starting to feel better now.
Im hoping you have the same outcome.
Everyday life does go on. Keep the even the smallest things close to you for comfort.
If I can help at all (even though you dont really know me - lol) please reach out.
Sending all of you the best wishes.
Hiya Sara,
I've just been reading your site and now invite you over to mine whenever you've the time.
http://waitingforjohn.blogspot.com
Love and Thoughts, Tristram. X
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