2012

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.