I’m typing this sitting on my back porch, wrapped in a polka dot blanket, listening to the owls, in the time between waking & when I take my meds. Some days this is the only peace I get.
Yesterday my husband admitted that he feels himself dying, an experience he didn’t have with the last bout of cancer. I had it. I’m pretty astute with certain things. I can smell when people are sick. I can feel when people are dying. I felt him dying last year… but I do not feel him dying now. What I feel is him living. He has bigger emotions and larger truths. He’s beginning to understand himself & the other people around him. He has become open to a healthier lifestyle & better healing habits. What I feel is him struggling to live, really wanting to, perhaps for the first time. And it is brave, & beautiful, and amazing, and terrifying all at once.
I want to live too. Probably the most I eve have. I’m trying desperately to care for myself. Five years ago I wouldn’t have accepted this many Dr’s appointments, or tests, or pills… I wouldn’t have tried therapy again after those failed experiences of my youth, I wouldn’t be sitting on a porch at 7 in the morning lining up strings of bits & bytes to reflect on anything. And yet here I am.
It’s incredibly difficult to explain to people that I am happy. Terrified & frustrated, yes, but happy. How could I not be? This is the most alive I’ve ever seen the man I love. This is the most he has ever opened himself up to healing on any level. And my nature is to reciprocate his efforts so… I’m more alive too. And yes, there are uncertainties & unpleasantness that we face… but holy shit we’re alive! That passion & peace & thirst for living, we have it, both of us, for the first time ever. Giving up is not an option. Going back is not an option. Stopping is not an option. We’re walking straight through the heart of this motherfucking volcano & we are coming out on the other side.