The Only Thing That Remains Constant is Change

It is time; time to close yet another door and open the next.

Our days in the Riverview house are numbered.

It has been a good run at this house; an eventful run, full of experience and learning. There have been many different types of days here; very good, contented days, juxtaposed by desperately tragic ones. There were days full of confusion and worry, and days that exuded cautious optimism and hope. We lived life here, and death.

Today I am excited and scared, but more excited than scared. I am finally feeling trust slip back into my heart, which replaces some of the fear that has been there for too long a time. I am excited for our new adventure. The girls are more reticent than I, because the last time we moved they were very young and their lives weren't impacted as greatly as they think they will be now. Little do they know that their lives have been one big change over the last few years; just all in one place.

Make way for life. I am living it. I insist that the girls live it. I am loving and living and I refuse to be led by anything less than my love for others.

Change is good.

My Mind is Out to Get Me.

I should be happy.

I have a roof over my head for the moment, food on the table, and the girls and I are doing well in school. A new relationship is blossoming.

However, I am plagued with doubts. Well-meaning friends and family (and not-so-well-meaning people) tell me that I'm making horrible decisions. Well, they don't actually say "horrible" decisions, they say, "You're CRAZY!"

Instead of thanking them for their unsolicited advice and going on about my day, I stop to consider what they say and wonder if they know something that I don't. I wonder if they actually have the secret to life and how to live it successfully. I then become afraid that I am making huge mistakes again, and that my life will be doomed because of them.

I guess it boils down to me not having enough faith in myself.

I also need to stand up for myself and stop listening to everyone who is quick with expressing their (negative) opinions of me and mine.

That being said, the real reason that I am plagued with doubts is that I don't believe that I could be loved and respected. I know what it is to love. I know what it is to give love. I know that far more than what it feels like to receive love; the kind I give, anyway. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I only base what love is on MY OWN feelings of love, which, basically, is the giving of myself totally and completely. I don't believe anyone has ever done that to or for me.

I think I'll go cry now. I'm tired of crying, though. I'm tired of being afraid. I thought I had gotten over being afraid.

Two years -- tomorrow.

I Hate Poetry

Multiple meanings, metaphors,

allegories, archetypes,

symbolism, similes,

and biographies.

The writer writes but

doesn't say what he says,

doesn't mean what he says and

doesn't say what he means. He

doesn't mean what he means,

at least superficially.

Someday I'd like to read a poem

that is right there on top,

floating, on the surface

without digging deep.

Is it possible

to be poetic

without

being

cryptic?

Life Goes On

I was angry. I was really afraid. I was so alone. Bob was completely convinced that he didn't have cancer anymore. He had convinced others that he had been cured in Brazil. They believed him! A few people even went to Brazil for some of that "healing"!

A year after he was originally diagnosed with Stage 2 squamous cell carcinoma, Bob went to an oral surgeon because he thought that he had a deep infection in his jaw, or that he had Tetanus. The oral surgeon suggested that he get a CT scan and made a referral. The CT scan came back with the results that I (secretly) knew already -- Stage 4 nasopharyngeal carcinoma. The pictures were examined by two separate doctors on two separate occasions. When the diagnosis was presented to Bob, he insisted that the doctors didn't know what they were talking about. He went to Brazil again (I believe he went to Brazil a total of 5 times) and talked to a "healer" who told him that it was an infection (again), and he, in turn, told everyone that he was cancer-free.

I was watching my husband die slowly, knowing that his particular cancer could have been arrested had he chosen conventional treatment. I watched him continue to tell people that he was cured and that I was crazy. He was sure that I wanted him dead. He said that our "contract" was over, that I was far more fearful than he had hoped I would be (as in, living a life without fear; fear is lack of faith and trust in a Higher Power, etc.), and that I was never going to attain any spiritual enlightenment like he had.

So, I was angry. I was really afraid (but not the kind of fear that he meant). I was so alone.

Regardless of how I felt, I knew that any attempt to convince him that he, in fact, WAS dying of cancer would be futile; it might be even more detrimental to our already fragile relationship and might send him over the edge. I really didn't want him to snap. I was willing to set aside my need to be right in order for him to come to terms with his demise in his own good time.

And so he did. It took an agonizingly long time, but he did. It took him getting a tracheostomy and a feeding tube, but he did.

Then came the obstinacy about everything.

When Bob was released early from the hospital (because the drs didn't want him to leave A.M.A.), he didn't want Hospice to start their care with him, but he wanted Home Health Care. The night he came home was the night the seizures started. At first I thought he had fainted, but after a few horrifying evenings and calls to 911 with his refusals to return to the hospital, I realized that they were seizures. I was at wit's end. I couldn't do this on my own. I asked Bob's friends to come help me watch him until he refused to let them stay. I had to get Bob's G.P. to prescribe Hospice. He still wanted Home Health Care. During the Dr. visit, I fell apart. I cried. I begged the Doctor to prescribe Hospice. I pleaded, crying, in front of Bob, God, and everyone else.

Hospice started their visits, and attempted to medicate Bob. He was in excruciating pain, but refused opiates. He refused a lot of things, and really tested the patience of the nurses. Because he was losing weight rapidly, there were many dosage adjustments made and he also took a trip to a Hospice facility for a week.

August to December. 2008. Hospice, arguments, Hospice, refusals, Hospice, sleeping on the closet or bathroom floor, Hospice, concessions, Hospice, arguments, emaciation, Hospice, hospital bed in the bedroom, Hospice, morphine (ahhhh, blessed morphine! He could finally sleep!), Hospice, coma, Hospice, TRANSITION.

Bob died peacefully at home on December 14, 2008.

------

And life goes on.

I was still very angry, and really afraid, and so alone.

Something was added to that, though. I was hopeful. I saw new opportunities ahead. I took those and ran with them.

Unfortunately I also ran with the anger and the fear and the loneliness. My judgment was clouded. I was grieving. I made a decision of the relationship variety that subsequently became a "valuable life lesson" (a much better way of looking at this than calling it a mistake). It took a year to rectify the situation, and luckily I came out of it relatively unscathed, and hopefully a tad wiser.

I am still hopeful. I still believe that there are unlimited possibilities, and that I should do what I love. I am doing that, and it is glorious!

I also know that I loved Bob well.

I am not angry. I am not afraid. I am not alone.

My, What Changes.

Well.

It has been a little over a year since Bob died. The father of my children. My husband of 17 years.

I still grieve. The grief changes, I am finding out, but it's there nonetheless.

It has been a wild roller coaster ride over the last 3 years.

I think 2010 promises to bring many changes to my life, at least in my own mind, because the children and I have experienced nothing BUT change on the outside. My mind, however, seems to have been placed on cruise control during this time. This holiday season has me feeling that my life with Bob is finally coming to a close.

Those who witness my life may think it odd that I say that, as I quickly "wrapped up" things in the household; my life as it has manifested (new boyfriend, starting school, etc.). But in my MIND, I was still half expecting Bob to walk through the front door as if he was coming home from a long vacation.

I miss him.

I am happy with my life as it is.

I am looking forward to continuing this good life.

Throw me a bone

It is now June, 2008, and things are excruciatingly difficult. At the end of last June I told whomever resides upstairs that I could NOT live like this for another year. At the end of last June the doctor estimated that Bob had six months to a year to live.

Well, he is finally admitting that he is in immense pain, but still insists that the pain is not from cancer, but from a host of other things that he has conjured up in his mind. He is slowing down a bit, but not enough for people on the outside to see that he's a dying man.

Isn't it lovely to have to secretly arrange for his death?

Isn't it lovely for the girls and me to have to whisper about Daddy's demise?

This has cost me my job and my sanity and my health.

His trips to Brazil have cost this family financial resources and sanity, and a FATHER.

I WANT IT TO END

NOW

Rough Times

It will be soon, I'm guessing.

The Doctor was wrong, or I was given wrong information -- I'm thinking the latter.

We are preparing, but in a secretive way, as the victim will admit nothing.

Horrible, horrible stuff.