It's just the way it is

Since last March 26th or so, I’ve been writing and posting an essay each week on this platform. I began it as a way to stay committed to my writing practice and pull myself out of what became sort of a funk towards my work after four years of caregiving. I had let so many things fall by the wayside, I needed to get back into any kind of groove to see if it still made sense to work towards “being a writer” even at my advanced age and stage of exhaustion. Angelo and I were grateful that we could care for my dad in a way that preserved his dignity and well-being, but I wasn’t kidding when I told people, “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Well, you know what the Universe said when it heard me say that, right? “Hold my beer . . .”

Constant readers will remember that around August I did, in fact, skip a weekly post. We had gotten the news that my daughter Annie had breast cancer. Not the “oh great we caught it early kind” but the damnable triple negative, slightly more advanced kind. That diagnosis and the ensuing tests and appointments chucked a big wrench in ALL our plans, the least of which was my weekly essay. But I recouped and kept posting every week, mostly by my self-imposed Monday afternoon deadline.

And that’s kind of why I’m bringing it up now. After this week’s post, I might miss another one or two. This week, Annie heads into surgery for a double mastectomy. The weeks and weeks of chemo and side effects and tests and tests and tests didn’t have the outcome we hoped for which was a shrunken tumor and a lumpectomy. She is facing this unimaginable, life-changing event after only having been given the news a little over a week ago. She--and we as a family--are doing our best to face it all with bravery, love and even a little humor, but I’ve got to tell you, I’m gutted.

That word--gutted--is about the best way to describe what I’m going through.  When I’m with Annie--or her son or her husband--I try to be upbeat and not let the tears that are constantly threatening to fall uncontrollably down my face. I know all the reasons why I should be grateful; she’s in good hands...the best surgeon by most accounts. It’s the best decision and she is young and healthy and beautiful and will probably recuperate easily. (Beautiful doesn’t really have anything to do with healing, but she is so beautiful I couldn’t leave it out.) I believe I can be superhuman in my efforts to help out and support Annie and our family as we continue this terrible journey, but I feel utterly helpless. And I think that’s the worst part. I couldn’t protect her from this. I can’t make this go away. 

When Angelo and I were talking about how hard the past couple of weeks have been and I confessed to not handling it very well, he said, “It’s just the way it is.” That phrase really pissed me off when he first said it, but as I thought about it, I realized he’s right. I hate that all of this is happening, but there’s not really anything we can do about it except be there for each other with love. And we’re going all in. We’ve rallied the family to help us with supplies--and maybe some treats--and offers of help and support are pouring in from friends. I won’t be allowed to see Annie at the hospital, but I’m picking her up the next day (the next day!!) bringing her home and sticking to her side like glue. She has shown nothing but positive courage throughout and I intend to emulate her.

One way I know how to manage difficult times is by writing. Even when I wasn’t writing about Annie, I knew that sticking to my weekly practice was good for me. It’s good for everyone. Writing through hardship is one of the cornerstones of my writing philosophy. But just in case napping is also a way to get through this, I’m giving you all a head’s up that I might miss a week.

Maybe. I’ll let you know.