Wednesday, July 31, 2013

the long journey

I am pretty sure that along this journey, I've screwed things up...a lot, and often.  I tried to be friends the way I used to be..where I'd listen, and talk a bit, and listen, and listen, and talk a bit..but in hindsight, I couldn't really speak or hear.  I was trying to still be there for others, but not really able to relate or hear. It was/is like I'm under water.  I see you, and I want to be me, but I am not sure it's getting through.  I want to say it all to you too, to tell my broken heart to you, to cry on your shoulder, to lean on you, to call at any hour, but I don't.  I hold it all in.  It spills out in furious jogs and obscure blogs.  blogs and jogs, it seems to be the reality of it for me.
I can't put my finger on it and name what it's called.  Is it tragedy, trauma, grief, post traumatic stress disorder?  Is it truth? Is it lies?  Are you honest with me?  Do you keep things from me that you think may hurt me, but in turn, it hurts me more?  Do I tell you truly how I feel, how I cope, how I fail, how I flail?  Who talks to who?  Who shows their truest selves?  What are the consequences?  It's the sign we put up in our cluttered country living rooms that say "SIMPLIFY."  It's the makeup we plaster on our faces, for the "natural look."  We show only so much, like a small corner of a page, it's not really an open book, it's just the table of contents, cleverly hidden, and falsely advertizing.  I used to think that as I was alone in the long and horrible journey of childhood leukemia, for my boy, that I would want, that I had, that I needed the world here, in it ...with me, to save me from drowning.  But...the truth is, we are all in it alone.  Not that we are not loved and supported, but we do it alone.  We have no choice.
I think the more we talk and listen, the more we will all  hear.  The more we hear, the more we can relate and somehow that breaks through to the dark place fear lies.
I call out to my God to rescue me.  My cross around my neck will not save me.  My attendance at church will not fix me.  My God will save me.  He will pick me up where I am, and He will let me talk and He will be honest, and he is available at 3am, and I will let Him.  I cry for my friends and their struggles.  I see the pain, the suffering of mothers who can not enter the hospital without severe anxieties.  I know the medications prescribed to not only their battling babies, but to them, themselves.  Sometimes the fear is so great it threatens to swallow us up.  The marriages that teeter back and forth, hovering over dismal failure.  The other children who fear for their siblings and their own heath.  The communities that hold their breath, hoping this child "stays well."  The answers we give, always..."things are ok, thanks."  If things were okay, really okay, no one would have to ask.
I can see my old's in the pictures, it's flashing in the background like an old movie.  I can not look at the pictures of him when he was so so sick anymore, it makes my feet sweat.  It's a journey, a journey no one plans to be on, and one that must end well.  One that ends with peace, with love, with a healing deeper than chemotherapy can provide.  I am traveling with my boy, with my family, to find that  healing. It's a really really long journey, but I am I am thankful for the time, and sorry for the roads that have been left behind...

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