*TRIGGER WARNING* Topic includes cancer.
It’s hard when someone so close gets sick. It’s hard watching them go through intensive care. It’s hard saying that everything will be okay, when the future isn’t set in stone.
I take to writing when I go through tough times. This is my way out. Writing is freedom that fills me with so much power. I have power over the words, over comas, periods, letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, this post. Actually, all over this site, I have power on what goes on it, when it’s updated, who sees it, and who can’t. But in real life, there’s no control. Life happens. One minute you can be laughing, the next crying. You’d think we’d get a break every now and then, but it is not like that.
The tough part is not being able to say: “Let me share with you this pain, so it won’t be too much for you.” “Let me go through this, because you’ve been through so much already.” Instead, it’s sitting. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Screaming on the inside. Crying on the inside. Wishing this could go away. There is no crying in front of them or worrying in front of them. It’s about being there. Being the rational person, while they go through the emotional upheaval. Being their rock, as they feel like a leaf being blown in the wind with no direction. It’s about being the compass in a world that’s new to you both. (After all this time in the hospital, I think I’ve come up with so many metaphors.)
Yet, I’m drowning. Every small accomplishment is a new breath. Every piece of bad news is like being plunged back to the depths. There’s no time to get depressed or emotional. There’s time to find out what the next plan of action will be and how it may affect her. But, it’s never set in stone. There’s a fluidity to her treatment, her sickness. It seems that whenever we seem to catch up to this disease, it’s mockingly one step ahead.
So the fight continues because I love my mom and #fuckcancer.