what do you do when your whole world is turned upside down?

how do you determine what to do next when you can’t even figure out the best thing to do right now?

what about when you start to question your sanity, whether you’ll make it through the day without breaking down?

last week went from bad to worse. they operated on mom wednesday to remove a blockage in her bowels. they weren’t expecting what they found. more cancer; more fucking cancer. the surgeon had to keep cutting in the hopes of finding places cancer wasn’t. all he found was more. i got to the hospital mid-afternoon. my dad delivered the news to me. the surgeon told mom when she woke. the word hospice was mentioned. “there’s nothing more i can do, he said.”

no no no. this isn’t the news i was expecting; isn’t an announcement anyone wants to hear. my mom is sick, so sick right now. and she’s tired. goodness i can’t imagine.

it’s my job to keep it together – for her, my dad, my own little family, myself …

grace.

that is the word i used to describe mom later in the day when talking to j. “yes,” he said. “what a perfect way to describe her.”

she’s been so strong, such a trooper through all of this bullshit. but she is so very sick. she wants to be well, live more life. her options are few. chemo can save her life but she’ll never be cured. the treatment will be aggressive. it will be hard on her. she’s been through it before. she knows what it will be like. when she finished treatments back in 2000, she told me she didn’t want to go through it again. but if she doesn’t she’ll never be able to eat again, and she will die sooner rather than later. ain’t that a huge crock of shit?

i can’t imagine how feels. all i know is how i feel and how i feel for her. i just can’t image. and i can’t save her. though i want to; though i want to help in any way i can, in any way she’ll let me. all i can do is be here. hold space for her.

i’m sitting on the sofa in her hospital room, watching her dream. i want to be here in case she needs anything, and so that she doesn’t have to be here alone. i don’t know what she wants or needs. i feel lost. sad. mad. confused. but how i feel is nothing compared to what she’s dealing with.

what lessons am i supposed to learn through this?

that its okay to not know?

that the most important thing i can do is be here?

that life sucks?

nobody ever promised us it would be sunshine and roses.

i guess just being here for each other is what we are called to do.

and that’s where i am today.