Life As We Know It

Life as we know it now is so very different than it was before January 30, 2013. It doesn't seem that long ago, when you look at the amount of days, but it feels like a world away. On that Wednesday afternoon, I was at work, trying to wrap things up while researching vacation homes in Rosemary Beach. We were trying to plan (or dreaming about) a beach trip in September. At the same time, I was stressed about how much our tax bill was going to be and making a mental check of my seemingly never-ending to-do list. Life as we knew it then sure didn't seem easy. In fact, it seemed pretty hard. Parrish and I had busy, stressful jobs. We had two amazingly wonderful children. And there was never enough time in the day, so it seemed, for the needs of home and the needs of work. There were bills to pay, and it felt like never enough money to pay them. I worried because I didn't host enough play dates for the boys or have enough "teachable moments" with them, I didn't give enough back to the community, didn't see my friends as much as I should, didn't have time to exercise or eat like I should, didn't have enough date nights with Parrish, didn't tell my family enough how much I loved them...the list could go on and on.  

And now, well, all those same worries, stresses and concerns are there. They still seem significant. And yet, those worries have fallen far down on the list because of our new reality. Don't get me wrong. I have friends--lots of them, actually--who have even worse realities. They have even more terrible tragedies going on in their own lives. I don't begin to pretend that a husband with cancer is the worst thing that can happen to a family. I'm not sitting and wallowing in my misery, thinking poor me. Trust me, I'm not. But, I also don't think it does anyone any good to pretend that everything is just fine. It doesn't do anyone any good--especially Parrish--to pretend that he is doing great. Pretending is hard. Pretending is exhausting. Pretending is debilitating. And, Parrish doesn't have any extra energy to spend pretending. 

Just before all of this hell started, Parrish and I heard a speaker that our church brought to town. After listening to Brene Brown, I couldn't read enough of her stuff. I was--and still am--pretty obsessed with her. If you haven't heard of her, check her out. She is amazing. She will make you think. She will make you squirm. She will make you want to be more.  Brene (yes, I consider us on a first name basis) talks a lot about daring greatly and living wholeheartedly, both of which require being vulnerable.  She talks to little old church groups; she talks to Fortune 100 companies. Her message has broad applicability. I won't begin to paraphrase what Brene writes, but after hearing her, I made a commitment to be more vulnerable. I sort of thought, oh, I'll be more open and honest with my close friends about what I'm struggling with. Little did I know that I would soon be sharing our family's journey on a blog. I mean, I'm not even on Facebook (insert: shock and horror!), and now, I'm opening my soul on the Internet. Of course, being vulnerable isn't about over-sharing, so I won't share everything on this blog. But, I feel called to be honest about this journey--to be vulnerable so that Parrish, our family and others going through similar struggles know that it's okay not to be fine or great or awesome. That it's okay to think that the journey isn't so wonderful or inspiring. That it's okay to wish that this weren't happening. So, this post--and others--might make some of you squirm. My vulnerability might at times be too much or make you question my mental status (don't worry, there are days I question it too). But, I can promise you that I won't pretend. I just don't have the stomach for that right now. 

Which is why I can't pretend to be celebrating the fact that Parrish's cancer is Stage 2B "Bulky" and not Stage 3B. I know that some of you really want to celebrate and are concerned that Parrish and I aren't right there with you. Some of you wince when I say that Parrish isn't having a great day. A close friend said that the worry in my voice made her think I didn't believe Parrish could beat this. Please don't mistake my vulnerability for lack of faith. I am so thankful that Parrish has Stage 2B Hodgkin's and not Stage 3B. But, I also recognize that the lesser stage changes nothing about our current reality. I relish Parrish's good days because I have lived through some bad ones and know that there are even worse ones to come. I truly believe that Parrish will beat this cancer. I believe it with every fiber of my being. But, I also understand the pain and suffering that all of us, including my children, will have to endure for that to occur. I worry about the scars that cancer leaves behind. Not the physical ones, necessarily, but the emotional ones. 

I worry constantly about the boys. Yes, I know--children are very resilient. So many of you have told me that over the last couple of weeks. Honestly, that gives me very little comfort. I'm not worried about whether Ivey and Campbell are going to grow up and be normal 15 year-old boys. I'm worried about right now. I'm worried about the fact that a three and a half year-old has completely regressed in every way relating to potty training. I'm worried that he can't sleep alone . I'm worried that he tells me that he worries about Daddy and doesn't want him to get that bad medicine at the hospital. I'm worried about an eighteen month old who hasn't yet had a chance to learn that Daddy is the best fixer, the best builder, just the best. For him, Daddy is tired and sleepy and hurting and can't play or even hold him. 

I worry about Parrish. Parrish is a shell of the person he used to be. And, I don't mean that he has lost a bunch of weight (which he has) or that he looks gray (which he does). I mean, I worry about where the person I married has gone, because the cancer seems even to have taken his personality. He has to spend every last drop of his energy just to get out of bed everyday, just to function. There is nothing left for conversation, witty banter or his infectious laugh. Honestly, I miss my husband. I know he will return, but after a night like last night, that can seem like a long way away. In full honesty mode, Parrish had a really bad night. He passed out about 10 pm walking back to bed from our bathroom. He collapsed in a heap on the floor, and I had to pick him up and get him back into bed. I had to call the after-hours number and decide whether or not I needed to take him to the emergency room. I spent the entire night watching and waiting. I want to help him, to take away his pain, but the truth is, I can't.

Don't get me wrong. I am not doing this alone. I can (and will) write an entire post about all that my mom is doing. We wouldn't be surviving without her. If anyone has to go through some sort of tragedy in life (and I hope you don't), I can only hope you have someone like my mom with you. She was back at our house in seconds last night, and not because I asked her, just because she knew I needed her. She is truly our life line these days. And, the outpouring of support and love from other family and friends is truly unimaginable. That is where I see God in all of this. For me, in my faith, I believe that God's heart is breaking right along with mine. He can't bear to see Parrish suffer, can't bear to see my little boys hurt, can't bear to see me trying so hard to fix it all. And so, He sends family. He sends friends. They are His angels on earth. We couldn't even imagine surviving the last three weeks without all of you...life as we know it now is so much richer in that respect. 

   

And don't worry, I'm not all vulnerability and no fun. I haven't lost my ability to see the beauty in small things. Quite the contrary. Just look at the smiles in the pictures below and try not to smile yourself. It's impossible, I promise. As you can see from the pictures, life as we know it now has a lot more hats...and Campbell thinks that is pretty fun!