Something I have learned during this difficult adventure is that you shouldn't judge others for things they are doing-- like getting their nails done, their hair cut, buying a few things now and then-- when they are dealing with enormous and frightening health and financial concerns.  You have no idea what it is that is keeping them from losing their minds, losing control, staying strong.  It may not make sense to you.  It may seem a little irresponsible.  That's okay.  You don't have to understand.  As long as it helps them deal and de-stress.  As long as they are able to move forward.

Another thing I have learned: people are going to judge you for whatever they want to judge you for.  Sometimes even the people helping you will judge you.

What I haven't learned, is, when people judge me, how to not start beating myself up feeling like I have done something wrong.  I always seem to feel like I do something wrong. 

Why does he have cancer?  Why is she addicted to drugs?  Why were they alcoholics?  Why does she keep smoking?  Why did she die?  Why is this happening to me?  Why did this happen to them?  There isn't a reason.  There isn't necessarily a way to avoid it.  Any of it.  It happens.  We in the path of the happening need to find ways to cling together, not attack and cluck our tongues tsk tsk how selfish or irresponsible.  Keep trying to love, both others and yourself.  Keep looking for the good, trying to forgive, learn to be stronger...

just keep swimming.

insomnia

I momentarily worried that I would be writing this “live”, right into the blog post without reading it first in word.  The network took care of that.  I probably still won’t read it over before I post it.  Not for any egocentric reason…just because it’s 1:00 a.m. and I can’t sleep.  Again.  And that is never a great time for editing and rewriting. 

So why can’t I sleep?  I guess my mind is racing.  I thought maybe if I got some stuff done it would be easier to rest.  So I did a small portion of the kitchen organizing John and I talked about.  I got bills together and sent them to PPF.  Called the YMCA guy to ask about membership.  Took the kids to the pool, Ollies, back to the pool, and picked up some $5 pizza’s for dinner.  Read “You Are My I Love You” to Neil, which is one of my favorite all time books ever!  So sweet, so lyrical.  Found it at Ollie’s in board book!  So I could let Neil take it to bed with him, which was nice.  I read more Harry Potter to Aiden and flossed his teeth and went to bed early…crickets.  Bubble popping on my phone, word search, a little grown up content.  No sleep.  No one’s on facebook right now either.

My mind rolls over crap I can’t control.  How much I hate cancer.  How it has screwed up so damn much.  Why did John have to get this??  He was my rock.  Now I have to be his.  I (guess) I know I can do it, but my version of “rock” is somewhat covered in moss, a little craggy, hollow underneath…trying to be metaphorical with the fact that I am, well, me.  For lack of a better description.  I’m smart, but not in an obvious way.  I’m very strong, also not in an obvious way. 

How do you do it?  I have no idea.  What are you supposed to hope for?  Don’t know that one either.  This cancer…cancer is bad enough, even when you have the “good” kind.  The kind you can get out pretty easily, treat with clear steps, that rarely if ever comes back.  John’s cancer is not that cancer.  Amy told me the other day that she knows someone with a GBM that is 10 years out and ok.  That will be John.  I don’t see how it can’t be.  While at the same time as being terrified that it won’t be.  How do those two diametrically opposed realities exist in the same mind???  With lots of insomnia, I guess. 

He cried the other day, just a tiny little bit.  He said he loves being a dad and he cried while he said it.  He wants time with Neil.  So the next day, I called all the places I could think of that we could send Cilly to.  I want her to go to CLC, with Sue as her teacher and her Eli and Elijah friends with Mom’s that are allergic to gluten, or with eyes like dark moons full of understanding, with Amy strong and thin and funny, and her little girls.  I hate that this is not an option.  I hate that nowhere seems to be an option.  I hate that I have taken to creatively begging celebrities that I admire for help.  I still think it’s better than playing the lottery on several levels, but still…

In Good Housekeeping, they interviewed Robin Roberts about cancer and life after it…one thing she talked about at the end of the article was when she spoke with another survivor about the way that you wonder if you will ever go a day without thinking about cancer.  She said it will happen and the woman she was speaking to called her excited, sharing that she had gone a week without thinking about it.  I don’t know that John’s cancer will let us do that.  Maybe it will, but I have my doubts, what with scans every two months, chemo 5 days on 23 days off, blood work every week, heart flutters on my part every time there is a mood swing, memory loss, headache, or extreme exhaustion. 

And I would love it if someone could find me that “who cares if the house is a mess” pill, or maybe, even better, the “let’s get off your ass and organize” pill.  That would be awesome.

I wish I knew what the bottom line was.  I think about school, and being excited to teach second grade.  I got a call today from Loudon County to come interview for a grade five position.  Now I don’t think I even want to go.  I don’t want to deal with the emotions of not getting it.  I did that with my three in county interviews.  That was harder than I thought.  Plus I have found so many cool books for the little guys!  Does that even make sense? 

Why am I even blogging this?  It isn’t funny, or interesting…It’s just my rambles.  I want to find a way to dreamland.  I want a home.  I want to have more patience with my kids.  I want to work for someone who encourages me to learn and grow.  I want to laugh more.  I want to stop having to worry about where gas money will come from and relying on people who barely know me for donations to cover my rent!!  Who wrote this play????  And why the hell am I in it???  I feel like someone cast me in this thing, shoved me on stage without a script, then they sometimes drugged me and sometimes the other players, they changed directors at least three or four times, maybe languages once or twice in there, and it’s all being run by ratings driven by the types of audiences who flocked to the Roman Coliseum to see large men devoured by lions. I keep expecting a rabid, blood thirsty rabbit to come flying at my thorax…