sometimes it snows in April

In the end, sometimes, this is all that's left......

It's been a rough few weeks for our little family. Dad had a much more difficult time tolerating chemo, and had about a week of severe weakness and exhaustion. He was 'out of it' most of the time, it was difficult. He's made his way past the worst of it, and we've enjoyed several days of him being like himself. 

Last Tuesday, I woke up to our kitten, Mendel, falling off the bed. He seemed to lose use of his front legs. The vet was unable to find an underlying cause, but tried steroids and antibiotics, hoping it was an infection or parasite, but by Wednesday night he began having seizures, and by the middle of the night, I was up with him every 15-20 minutes. At one point, wrapping him in a blanket because I was afraid he'd injure himself after the 5th fall off the bed. By morning, what I had to do was painfully clear. I've never heard my daughter cry quite like this before, it was a wail of true pain and anguish. My kids, these last few months, have learned some difficult lessons: sometimes things can't be fixed. Sometimes doctors can't make you better. 

So, we lost our 7 month old kitten. Dad was devastated. Mendel had brought him so much joy. He said 'I didn't think I'd outlive the kitten.' On Wednesday night, when I was still vacillating as to what to do, he said to Mom 'If I'm ever suffering as much as Mendel, please put me out of my misery.' That offered me a real moment of clarity. We offer our pets more dignity in death then the people we love. That's something I can't understand.

Last night, as I tried to fall asleep, I felt like my brain was on repeat. I kept thinking: Leo is gone. Mendel is gone. And soon Dad will be gone. It was like a broken record, over and over, and I laid in bed and cried in the dark. I sometimes feel like the world is going on without me, and I move in slow motion, dwelling in an alternate reality, unable to really communicate with anyone outside of what I deal with. It's a hard path to travel, but we all eventually walk it. We all have to lose our parents sometime, face our own mortality and fear of death. I'd like to say that everyday I carry myself with dignity and grace and handle things perfectly (with a clean house) but I don't. I struggle and get angry. I lose my patience. I want to hide from my kids sometimes. But I keep going. We all do, we have to ride the roller coaster until the end.

Until then, we try to find joy in our lives, and there is always joy to be found. Even if you have to look a little harder some days. We celebrated Tyler's 13th birthday, and I felt gratitude that Dad was there. Now we look on to Thanksgiving and all the preparations that go with it, and I feel relieved that we've passed another milestone. 

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday. Be sure to look for the joy.