Thursday, January 28, 2016

Sad

When I started writing the blog, I tried to describe everything that I'm experiencing, but those thoughts keep coming back to sad.

Damn, I am so sad.

My willingness to feel this sadness came while I was in her bed with Maybelle.  "Snuggle," she requested as I was drying her off.  A snuggle sounds good to me, so of course I did.  We read three books, and at that point she was exhausted, so she turned on the white noisemaker, turned off her bedlight, and in minutes she was asleep.  I was lying beside her, smelling her sweet hair, listening to her breathing, feeling how long her legs are as one of her feet is pressing into my lower leg.

I wanted to fall asleep there with her, but the sadness is what emerged.

I lay there in bed and thought about Maybelle.  I felt--feel--really happy about her, imagining what her life is like.  I was even happy recognizing how irritating she could be.  And then I felt sick with sadness about the fact that I won't be in her life.  I'm glad that I'll die before she does, no matter what, but I want to see her more, longer.  

Okay, as I wrote this sentence I realized that my parents are hoping that, too, with all their kids--that my parents will die before we do.  But my parents know that I might die before they do.  That has to be especially painful.

Sadness.  Other thoughts that emerged while I was with Maybelle:  writing.  I love to write, and I'm still able to do it, but communication is often very challenging.  I know I've talked with you about this--I know that I've written this multiple times--but I don't care.  I hate having to read three times before I feel I can sending things.  When I don't edit edit edit, the message is often really confusing in some places.  

Cindi was with me and my neuro-oncologist yesterday, before my chemo got shoved into my chest, and she was talking about communication.  "Sometimes what she emails has parts that I can't really follow," she told him.  I immediately said that was because I sent something quickly, without going over it again and again.  Only friends.  Neuro-oncologist-Scott nodded and said that I'm probably going to be up and down in my communication.  He's a really honest guy, so he went on saying that it's possible that my communication is going to continue being harder, but he said it's almost certain that I'm going to be feeling better at my next meeting with him.  "Today is hard, but I've seen harder writing from you a couple of months ago."

Sadness.

Next I thought about sadness with my teaching.  I've done the foolish thing of teaching a brand new course this semester.  What was I thinking?  The students are great.  They learned about my brain tumor, and they've asked a lot of questions.  They're on board, helping this class to go along well.  And it is going well.  But on Tuesday, two days ago, I felt sad when the class left.  I wasn't furious or guilty--I just felt sad.  Like I'm not quite there.  Like this is the person I am now, a person who should only teach a class once a semester.

And what's happening?

When I learned that the tumor was growing, I cried and cried.  A few days later I was on the porch, on our new house, a house that was there to be together with Maybelle, Brian, and I.  Maybelle was asleep, and I sat sobbing.  

This is how I'm feeling tonight.  I'm not in the place of explaining things, where people ask were I am and I said, "I'm okay."  Right now I'm not feeling like it's okay.  Right now I'm sad.

21 comments:

  1. A very eloquent post, Alison. I wish you didn't have to experience this, but I admire the way you're exploring your sadness here. It's an emotion that I (for one) am reluctant to express publicly — I think because of the (false, sometimes damaging) notion that we're supposed to face life's challenges with a smile. But sadness. Yes. Sometimes, that's where you are. And so you need to dwell there for a little while.

    I don't know if this is your experience, but a recent bout of sadness was clarifying for me. It may have been (in part, at least) because disillusionment was a source of the sadness. But I remember thinking: Well, I don't like this, but I am grateful for the clarity. And I thought: Hmmm, I never realized that a clearer-eyed perception could be an effect of sadness.

    I don't wish sadness on anyone, and I realize I was just trying to (if I may quote the song) "Look for the silver lining, whenever a cloud appears in the blue...." But, because I want to find hope (even when it's scarce), perhaps something ameliorative emerges from your sadness, too. Maybe it won't be clarity. But I hope it'll be something.

    Though, of course, it might just be... sadness. (Sometimes my hopefulness is misplaced....)

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    1. I always appreciate your thoughtful comments in my blog posts. Thank you for sharing your experiences with sadness, and the thoughts that can emerge from that sadness.

      I'm often taking care of things, assuring that everything's fine. And I have the hopeful experience you acknowledge. But right now I'm appreciate friends--like you--allowing to me be who/where/how I am.

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  2. I'm sitting here with you, abiding. I'm also sad. But I'm sitting here with you.

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    1. I'm sitting with you, staring at the world around us, holding hands.

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  3. I hear you, my dear lady. You're one of my favorite Whos in Whoville.

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    1. Whos in Whoville--that's wonderful! Gives me some space to smile.

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  4. I can't think of anything that might be comforting to you, dear one. But I'm sitting next to you, holding your hand and feeling sad with you. Xoxox

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  5. Damnit, cancer is so random and so deeply unfair to everyone involved. I am reading your words and listening to your experience and honoring your sadness.

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    1. Thank you for honoring my sadness. It really matters.

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  6. I feel your sadness too. I wish anything can heal that kind of heartbreak but i don't think there is. I think we just feel it, grow around it, and try to not let it always win. But of course it will win sometimes. ::::hugs::::

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    1. Thank you. Sorry can be so painful, but I can tell right now that it's necessary.

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  7. Kurt and I love you and are here for you. You are welcome to come over and be sad or happy or anything whenever you are in town. xxx Rita

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  8. I'm sad for your sadness. And I love you and Maybelle. From Rosemarie.

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  9. I wish I had the honesty to admit when I'm sad and to do so as courageously and eloquently as you do. (Note, though, that my envy of you does not add to my sadness though--you're writing helps alleviate it).

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    1. Thanks, Mark! I'm glad to hear that my writing does a little bit.

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  10. Sadness is not punishment, it's a moment to peel yourself deeper
    gedeprama|bellofpeace.org

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