The past year has been a testament to just how little
control I have in my world. There were
some wonderful things that took place.
There was a lot of positive reinforcement from friends and family. For
the first time in my adult life, I have reached the pinnacle of my
solidarity. I’ve hit my stride, so to
speak.
2012 brought me a wonderful experience of reengaging my
musical passion with the Thunder Mountain Band.
It was an absolute joy to be welcomed and wanted back in the little musical
community of my hometown. There were
many times I was overwhelmed with support and appreciation for my return to the
stage. Sometimes you don’t really know
how much you miss something until you are staring it right in the face.
I met some new people this past year and I look forward to
the cultivation of those new bonds.
There hasn’t been a year yet that I’ve looked back on with regret when
it comes to the friendships I’ve gained and lost. This past year was a year of gaining and it
has been a welcome experience.
This was the first year I have felt, from start to finish,
at peace with the losses in my life.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss my beautiful son and
mother. But what was once a painful
gorge of sorrow is now a mound of new pink scar tissue. I’m healing.
I have come to terms with the reality that I will never fully understand
why they were taken from me when they were, but I have accepted they have
been. To me that was a key element to
the contentment of my soul.
My husband and I have hit our stride together. We’re in the prime of our marriage. We have recovered from the bumps and
hiccups. We are on the same page and act
as a unit. We celebrated 15 years of
marriage. Accomplishing such a feat has
been very satisfying.
The bond between my teenage daughter and me is challenged at
times. I am working hard to maintain the
proper balance of mentor and friend to her.
That will exist until she’s on her own.
I accept the dynamics between a mother and her teenage daughter. In a weird way, I’ve bonded with my mother
experiencing some of the mishaps of raising a teenager. I’ve grown a deeper respect for her, knowing
fully she probably wanted to kill me a number of times. Yet, here I am. There’s honor in that. HA!
2012 taught me how to be a better mother. The intense love I have for my kids is
immeasurable. The need I have for them
to be around me has grown beyond what I thought possible. My sweet little boy is an absolute
delight. I have such a deep appreciation
for the experience of raising little people.
Seeing the world through the eyes of a toddler is incredible. I’m growing more and more excited to see what
kind of man I’m raising. But, I can
wait.
When it comes to what I’ve learned about the deeper aspects of
myself, the past couple of months have introduced new facets to that
ever-expanding machine. Despite the
sincere acceptance of who I am and solace in the condition of my life, there’s
always a lurking sense of anxiety.
Perhaps it’s because of the hands I’ve been dealt that have contributed
to my emotions sort of always being on guard.
The beginning ten months of 2012 were slightly irritating
because of that feeling. I would log in
my journal how happy I am. I would say
aloud to my best friend how content I am.
Yet, at the same time, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. The best way I can describe it would be to
compare it to leading in a race in the last second, but knowing my opponent is
only half a breath behind me. I’m
confident and paced. I’m sure footed and
oriented. But there’s this sense of
something out of my control that could throw the whole race.
As usual, the hindsight being a crisp HD image that it is, I
understand why that anxiety has loomed.
Two months ago, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. BOOM.
Opponent steps on my shoelace and I go tumbling onto the rubberized
running surface.
I think it’s only because I’ve been silently waiting for
something to go wrong that prepared me for the fall. Sure, I’ve cried about this. But, I haven’t curled up into a ball and lost
control. I have the surest grip on my
emotions right now. What is most
interesting is, I’m not numb. I’m
feeling all of the emotions associated with this situation. All of those emotions aren’t running me over,
though. This is truly a first for me.
I don’t think I could be this secure in how I’m handling
this, if I hadn’t already gone through such difficult circumstances
before. I’ve said goodbye to two people
in the last 4 years. Not just friends or
loved ones, my mother and my first son.
This next year intimidates me. With the way things are shaping around my
dad’s cancer, I’m very nervous about what is going to happen in the next few
months. There’s no magical storyteller
popping up in her gypsy wagon ready to tell me what the future holds.
Right now, we are in a slight panic mode. The last cycle of chemotherapy didn’t change
the amount of cancer in his body. During
his two-week interim between treatments, he sustained new bone breaks. The doctor was surprised to hear that and
immediately ordered new x-rays and blood work.
He proposed radiation therapy in addition to his chemo. He wants to maintain the current medication
for at least one more cycle. If the lab
results don’t change, we’ll be looking at a more aggressive approach.
We’ll talk to the doctor about the specifics of his plan on
Monday. With each day, I’m feeling more
and more certain I’m going to be staying in Oregon through the spring. Our hope was to reach bone marrow
transplantation by April/May. That is
starting to sound unrealistic.
I’ve learned a lot about medications and multiple
myeloma. Being the information junkie
that I am, it is a requirement for me to properly process all that is going
on. Fortunately, there is so much available
to me that I can easily become engrossed and feeling overconfident in
comprehension. I’m not a doctor. But I’m getting pretty savvy reading lab
results, tracking symptoms, and identifying possible complications. Having a firm understanding of what’s going
on inside my dad has helped keep me from freaking out. I ‘get’ it.
The things I don’t understand or know are the things that will keep me
awake at night.
Monday will bring us answers as to the direction we’ll be
taking from this point. Until then, I’m
doing the best I can to keep my dad comfortable and as pain free as the drugs
he’s prescribed will make him.
I am finding it hard to find the positives in his
cancer. Sure, there are obvious things
like, it could be worse. But, I’m not
that kind of thinker. Of course it could
always be worse. But, there’s this
little seed of anger that has taken root in the core of my perspective. Seeing past anger is not easy. I’m feeling the growth of that anger begin to
take shape when I think about the effects this cancer is having on my entire
family. Why now?
I am so grateful for a daughter and husband who have such a
fantastic bond with one another. It has
been because of that bond, I’ve been able to be away as long as I have and not
have to worry myself to death about the quality of their lives. They have played the hands they were dealt
with such grace. It makes me so
proud. None of this has been easy on
anyone. But, they’re not calling me and
complaining. They are doing the best
they can to support me from where they are.
It has been a blessing to have my family’s affairs in order. My daughter understands the necessity of my
absence and has accepted the responsibilities that have fallen on her. I can’t wait to wrap my arms around her and
tell her to her face how immensely proud I am of her.
I’m not going to dart through this New Year with a pair of rose-colored
glasses. I’m fully armed and suited for
battle. I’m cautiously optimistic about
the things to come. I’m going to work
hard at keeping a positive attitude. It is
imperative I chose my battles appropriately.
The small stuff is growing ever smaller.
The real grit of existence is what matters. True acceptance of the things I cannot control
is being challenged, but some things are never fully achieved. I’m not seeking perfection. All I can ask for is resilience. My
armor is chinked, but hearty. My weapons
are handmade, but trusted. My outlook is
ahead, not behind. These days to come will
test me to the brink of destruction. But
as long as I keep a white-knuckle grip on the things I can control, I will
overcome.
Here’s to you, 2012.
Thank you for a year that prepared me for the next adequately.
