December 23rd

Yesterday I woke at 8:33 with a start. I'm not used to sleeping in, getting up without an alarm clock, or letting by body finish getting the rest it needs. Ten seconds later my cell phone chirped, announcing a text message. Caro was picking me up at 9:00 because I was taking her to breakfast. I had to hurry and my hair was dirty. In the work with our neighbors, and the shock of their news, I had forgotten to tell you about my breakfast date, and you were unhappy, I could tell. You made your own breakfast and ate while I scurried around trying to get myself ready. But people like Caro keep me refreshed and keep my head in the right place; I need these friendships and the nurturing they give.

As usual, you napped a lot but you had a bit more energy today. We were able to resume intimacy, something I had sorely missed over the last two months. You felt good about it too. It represents another step toward normalcy. Which also reminds me... last month I told you I wanted more PDA. On Sunday you put your arm around me in the mall. Later, when Laura and I were alone, she commented on how sweet it was to see you do that. Sooooooo...keep it up!

I finished working in my classroom and got everything ready for a substitute next Monday. Then I visited Dad again. It still worries him that you don't seem to want to have anything to do with him. I see the pain in his eyes sometimes, and I find it hard to address. Today I said you were consumed with your issues of life and death. Other days I have pointed out the differences in your interpersonal styles, your need to be left alone and how it differs from his need to be liked by everyone. He will come home and Carmi will help him practice leaving the door closed. I will continue to pray the arrangement works out. I will ask others to pray for it too. I am tired of driving to the health care center, I am tired of the dearth of parking spaces around there, I am tired of parking meters, I am tired of the cramped quarters in Dad's shared space. When I go back to work, I will be glad to have him at home. And he may never understand why you don't want to see him; you two are hard-wired so unlike one another. He will have to accept it but I would like you to relax about him. He's 89 and his brain isn't working like it used to; you can't take him at face value, and sometimes he doesn't make sense. Sometimes he loses track of the conversation. Sometimes he just doesn't catch on.

It was our evening for cancer support groups. They were glad to see me again and again expressed their regret that I had to be in a cancer support group. "Good to see you. Sorry you're here." There I see how unpleasant our future can get. They are all ahead of me in this process. There I can talk about death and body functions. Poop is a common subject. They give me tips. Last night, as we discussed the coming year, the topic of hope and hopelessness arose. It is hard to be hopeful when cancer dominates your relationship. "We have cancer," is a saying. And when the cancer is gone, usually so is the "we". Right, "I" don't have cancer but "we" do, and when you pass there won't be a "we" anymore. The leader asked us if we were hopeful; I said I was very, very hopeful. But, then again, I'm new at this. You're not in pain and life hasn't gotten ugly.