There have been a lot of difficult things about T's cancer and treatment. I think I have felt every emotion known to man every day since the diagnosis. Living on such a fragile roller coaster is exhausting for all of us. The enormity of it all tends to make the little things seem even bigger than they are, and that can put everyone on edge. Well, it mostly puts me on edge. I'm used to taking care of everyone and everything, and when I can't do that, I feel helpless. I'm currently keeping all of the plates spinning, but I know my own is starting to wobble. I am not feeling my best, I'm snappish, and I'm not sleeping well. As selfish as it sounds, I have been neglecting myself and that's not helping anyone. You know the whole thing about how adults are supposed to put on their own oxygen masks in case of emergency then help children? My mask is lying on the floor in a battered heap. I need to do a better job of taking care of myself so I can resume taking care of everyone else.
I know that the kids have sensed the tension flitting around the house even though both T and I do our best not to let anything show. L & D have been whinier than usual and there have been more tears than normal. It's a really difficult line upon which we teeter, the line between telling the kids the truth and keeping them protected from what they just don't need to know. They know T is sick and has to have treatments every day. They know that cancer is a serious issue and that he can't do as much as they would like him to do. Although they KNOW all these things, they truly have no idea what's going on. I don't want them to have full understanding because they're too young to handle that responsibility. (I'm an adult, and I'm not certain *I* am handling the responsibility all that well.)
I find myself speaking on eggshells, as it were, because I don't want to reveal too much to the kids. L started a little fund in a glass jar for our next trip to Disney. We had a trip planned for December, but considering T will be recovering from surgery and going through the second round of chemo we know the trip won't be happening. It's heartbreaking to see L count the money in the jar, but I know it would be too much to tell her that we even had a vacation planned in the first place. (To be fair, I can't quite seem to hit the 'cancel' button yet, so it's technically a to-be-cancelled trip.) Dallas still seems blissfully unaware of what is happening but he is definitely feeling it all, too. He has been angrier than usual, melting down over things that normally wouldn't bother him and sleeping on our floor almost every night It is pretty amazing to see how much kids can really sense even when they can't quite put a finger on what everyone else is feeling. Kids can be wicked perceptive...until it's bedtime and parents desperately want some time alone. Then that incredible perception goes right down the drain. I'm trying to keep life as normal as possible, but frankly, none of this is normal.
This whole situation is still a work in progress, and we're all learning how to deal. I'm thankful that T and I are still making each other laugh even when we probably want to cry. This is all new territory for all of us, but at least we have each other.
Just as an added bonus, here's a picture of Lottie and my niece Kate in Lafayette.
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