life in squares.

Here we are, more than halfway through June, and I am trying to keep up. Trying to get back in the swing of things. Trying to look at the bright side of every day, instead of the immense numb feeling I have when I think of my dad. It’s so weird to me, this feeling, because it’s a mix of sadness and just nothing. I don’t know what I expected it to feel like, but I don’t think it was this.

Whenever anyone I know has died, I have been left with simple regrets, things I wish I had told them, hugs I wish I had given, chances I never took. But this is different. My dad knew I loved him. I knew he loved me. I hugged him more in his last 2 months than I ever remember hugging him in my life. We have never been an overly emotional or affectionate family; we are tough in that sense and don’t show emotion normally. We all know that we love each other, but we don’t verbalize it. So, since my dad and I had said what we needed to say to one another, I don’t have those regrets that I might have otherwise. More than feeling an overwhelming sadness, I just miss him.

But life is slowly trudging on. We are off to central Kansas this weekend to see my brother, and after that, I am putting my full effort into being the house-buying, stamp-selling, amazing-cook-of-a-wife that I know I can be.

Til then, hang around with me, okay?
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1. sweet little Layla bug.
2. ER for super-bad sprained ankle. My entire foot is now black & blue (but not broken!).
3. rose garden.
4. morning coffee.
5. new lace Toms. love.
6. my strawberry plant is a-growing.

somewhere, there is light still.

hope_textThis quote has become one of my favorites lately. It fits. It’s simple. It just about sums up things that brew inside of me perfectly. Especially the things that gather in my head at night when I am lying awake in the dark, hoping that I can fall deep enough into a sleep to ensure that the next day won’t be a complete drag at work.

Cancer is unforgiving. I never understood that before. I have known people with it. Known people who died from it. Known people who have been in remission for years. But I have never seen someone so close to me change so dramatically from it. I watch Dad change, feel good then bad, be confused and weak. I hear him quietly moan sometimes when he is in pain and refuses to admit it. And I will be honest about one thing: I am angry. Like turn-the-music-up-loud-and-SCREAM type of angry. Not that anybody deserves something so horrible, but especially not my dad. And I am scared. This is one of those things that I already know is going to break me. But on top of it all, I am hopeful. Things won’t ever really get better for Dad (maybe more comfortable but never better), but we can make them as good as they can be for the moment.

That’s all we can do.