Sunday Sadness

There are tears being shed this Sunday.

Every day has a bit of a sad component to it. Cancer sucks. It brings sadness and misery. It brings about conversations you never want to have, but you have to. 

We’re in the car, this is our second drive to the lake this weekend. Both only to visit for a few hours if that. But, we can only spend so many hours trapped in the house with the weight of all the bad news. So we pack the kids up. Grab them and go. Today’s ride is particularly painful. 

Matt has every right to be honest about his feelings, and I have every right to tell him to try and stay optimistic. Today after we danced in that circle for a few minutes, we both sat in tears. We try not to cry around the kids, so we both stay facing forward, and until our voices level out around the emotion, the conversation holts. 

He’s expressing that he’s sad about what he will miss. Me. The girls. So many milestones. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his eyes are bloodshot. The tears and snot are running down his face, as he continues to talk. We should discuss these things he says. The things he puts out for discussion make me sick, and I’m back to telling him we have to keep our heads in the game, whilst staring out the window. He shouldn’t have to keep his thoughts to himself though, so I ask him if there’s anything else. 

He tells me if he makes it five years at most I’ll be too young to spend the rest of my days alone. I should meet someone. He tells me he feels like he’s failing, his body is failing, he can’t protect us and he hates it. I suck in a breath and tell him it isn’t true. But, he’s not done. He says he’s a burden and I’m no longer enjoying my life. He says he knows I no longer have any fun. 

Well I don’t care if he’s not done. I snapped back that he can’t possibly know those things, because they aren’t true. Even the smallest grain of truth in them has been misconstrued by him. I am not currently having as much fun as I usually would. Anyone who knows me knows I am a fun loving gal, but it’s not Matt stopping me from having fun, or living my life. 

It’s cancer. It’s the unfair situation bestowed on us. It’s the fact that I believe in God, but where is he now? Why isn’t he giving us the miracle we so desperately need? It’s the tears we both shed, when we should be smiling at our kids. Those things keep me from being as happy-go-lucky. The agony I’m in emotionally as a wife and mother, that’s what sucks out my joy some days. I am the spouse of a cancer patient. However, I am also the spouse of a man who is determined to miss as little as possible, because the thought alone of missing anything drives him into the darkest place he’s ever been. 

So I’ve cried this Sunday. So has he. And that’s okay. No one actually comprehends what we’re going through. I know it frustrates him. The daily ware and tear on your emotions. They really try though. I remind myself that our family and friends are desperate to understand and assist. I remember they can understand to a certain degree. They feel it in their own way and that it’s not fair to downplay or disregard anyone else’s feelings. 

Then I also remind myself of the bottom line. They aren’t Matt, hyped on toxic chemicals hanging on the days after chemotherapy by a thread. And they aren’t me. Watching him struggle, hearing his pain, holding his hand, rubbing his back, cleaning up all the daily messes chemotherapy and immunotherapy cause him. Whilst still running the household (with help some days),  holding down the fort. We have a baby, and a four year old. Our four year hold has endured more than most adults. So while I value everyone, as a human being it’s important to remind myself: I am doing the best I can. I also have to remind myself everyone else is doing the best they can also. They get small doses, little peeks into our world, the world I wouldn’t  wish that on anyone. 

So the whole household now slumbers this sad Sunday, and I remind myself tomorrow is another day. I’m going to call his doctors and demand we make a new plan. I don’t want Matt to be crying come next Sunday. I’d rather see Sunday smiles instead.