Day with Mud

So there it is, I have become a widow.
We has become me.
Almost two years after diagnosis.

I have taken possession of him. His clothes, his car, his children, his memories are all mine to with as I see fit.
So I take possession. Drink out of his coffee cup, wear his watch, delete his files, preserve his memories, donate that which I deem unnecessary, save what I feel are treasures. It is astounding how much there is to a persons life. How while in the maze we can not possibly imagine the nooks and cranny's that go into making it. The intricate turns and surprise dead ends leave you crawling on the ground. Every path we take we leave a bit of ourselves in the trail. Sometimes we circle back not sure if we heading the right way, sometimes we stay and grow the vines into a home and build a maze within the maze. While holding the maze of his life in my lap I am forced to lay mine on top. Layer his maze with mine. It is strange how in death his maze does not stop. It simply becomes mine.

I have to keep moving in the maze.

Most widows and widowers gather our strength and find a new plan A. I was reminded at camp widow this past weekend we do not settle for plan B. Who would willingly choose the B plan. It will take time to get there, my plan A changed many times during my marriage and it will likely be fluid for sometime. I will get there though. I will take possession. These things will become mine. In time the everything that was us will become the everything that is me.

He left us in degrees and then abruptly all at once. I figure we will be reversing that process. In degrees we will become whole again and then one day seemingly all at once we will be standing in clearing of the maze, sun on our faces. We will begin to gather to vines to build a new maze within the maze.

Posted in: on Wednesday, April 24, 2013 at at 10:55 AM 1 comments

Has it really been a year since I was here? Well no time like the present to jump back in. It was a lovely Christmas here. The children did not lack for anything except a football. I know, I asked. My sister has moved here to help us walk through this cancer life. While it has been a dreadful trial I keep hoping it will turn around and they will find a way to be happy here. It's great to have them here I only wish it weren't so hard to start over.

I'll have to figure out my voice in this space again. So much of who I am has changed this past year. I no longer have children homeschooling with me and just this week I cleared out that closet. Even if I choose to homeschool again it will be from a completely different place than before. I haven't knit or sewn anything all year. We didn't harvest a single tomato. It has been a year somehow set apart from the life we had/have?. I'm not even sure.

Cancer has redefined Us. Yes the capitol Us. It shapes how I think and plan. Looking at moments and thinking this could be the last such and such...or not. Do you amplify the important moments or make the regular moments more important. It is as though something caught us under a glass jar. Dropped it down over our regular lives, we travel in that jar, under that jar. Through the birthdays and school days, bike repairs and bills. Looking for the jar to break at any moment. We are waiting, waiting to be set free but how. Both how's will require a whole new life path. When you fight cancer for so long it becomes a part of you. A part you don't want. Dr's and MRI's and hospital's they are all the normal events of life. Go to the grocery store, pick up the kids, take lunch to dh in the hospital, fold laundry. It becomes a part of the mundane. Yet it is the paper on which you are now writing your life. Two years in and we know how lucky we are to still have the "privilege" of fighting. Trudging through all the various regimens seeing all of the glum Dr's faces, we are aware of the situation. We are the lucky ones. Lucky is a witchy lass. Trapped by treatments, planning funerals, hoping for another six months a year. But not really, just hoping not to die near a birthday or too close to the beginning of school, or Christmas. Robbed of so much boring living. waiting for freedom. Feeling that it might just be trading one glass jar for another. Finding a way to be moving forward.

And then in the blink of an eye, my dh walks in and the bottom drops out. We are far from close to done with this. The tumor markers we cling to, the barometer of our mood have more than tripled. In a week the cancer has grown to three times it's previously measurable level. What does it mean? It could mean nothing, it could be a die off, it could be massive growth in his head. Only time will tell.

Posted in: on Wednesday, January 2, 2013 at at 11:48 AM 0 comments

Christmas is in full swing here.

My husband began his third attempt to conquer his cancer yesterday,

this has apparently unleashed the wild homemaker in me.

And by wild I mean:

I glittered those deer

I repainted that elf

I made three wreaths

one of them didn't photograph well

Painted a plastic reindeer. Love him!

And

made sausage balls

Plus fed the kids, chatted endlessly on the phone

to both of my sisters

and blogged.

So...... lest anyone should think that I am some sort of

over achieving miracle mom I will share with you how my kitchen looks.

This is remarkably similar to the rest of the house. Dishes included.

Standing in the kitchen doorway eating sausage balls and contemplating coffee,

I imagine being one of those uber organized people who cleans as they go. Alas that would've required the dishwasher to be emptied first and that didn't seem like as much fun as glitter.

Posted in: on Friday, December 16, 2011 at at 12:07 PM 1 comments

Just sharing

Out on quick and very necessary run to the store for milk yesterday, I made the split decision to race over to our favorite thrift store to find a replacement hot chocolate mug for Simon. We were gearing up for a peppermint ice cream, popcorn, hot chocolate, movie afternoon and while the milk and candy canes I was racing out to get before pick up time with only 30 min to run into and out of Costco were critical it seemed as though perhaps the mug was more important. I'm sure you understand.

The store was obviously sending me signals.

I got these wonderful paper ornaments