I'm sure at some point I'm going to offend someone with my writing here. This blog could be it. {Meh. It's my blog anyway.} Many of you know that I did something pretty difficult the past week. I let my circle of trust know and as always they were supportive and understanding. Those in that circle were chosen a long time ago when Jace first got sick, but I learned how powerful the concept was while I was going through my divorce. Not everyone needs to know every detail of your struggle. Not everyone will be compassionate. Not everyone will know what not to say. Not everyone will care.
My circle of trust doesn't try to inspire me or give me advice or lecture me on what I should or shouldn't do or feel. They just ask how to pray, check up on me, and love me through it all. {they also pour me coffee} I know I'm the so-called queen of the "feel good messages." I've been reading through past posts from several years ago and even I get annoyed at myself and my gratitude some days. I get it. It's great and life-changing to be positive and grateful and joyous. I know that is what we are called to do, but when people are hurting sometimes they just want you to get on your knees with them and say, "Yeah. Life sure can suck." Since Jace started chemo, I often think of Mary and how she felt watching her son die a slow, brutal, and difficult death. Even though she knew this was how it was suppose to play out that did not make it any easier on her heart, I'm sure of it. In 2013, there was a day when I was fearful of losing my own son. In 2014, I lost my mom much earlier than I expected. In 2015, well, let's just say it's already looking to be another painful year after a recent visit with my dad. Do I trust that God's plan is bigger than my life? Yes Do I know that His promises will come to pass? Yes Do I know that I'm redeemed already? Yes Do I need to only hear the good, the promises, and how God doesn't waste pain? {my own words} No. In my hurting and grieving, I need people to recognize that even in the promises life can SUCK. I know people don't like that word. I don't like it either. But I'm going to be very honest. If you know the details of my story and all the nooks and crannies of complication that have come about in the last several months, then you know I'm not exaggerating or asking for pity. Some days I think I'm the brunt of satan's biggest joke and he's just waiting for me to give up. {I'm not.} Instead of pretending our lives are always happy, great and inspirational, I wanna see authenticity, genuine feeling and compassion and the ability to recognize that it's ok for life to be hard. It's very hard for me to listen to PERSON A tell me an inspirational message when they never show they are struggling and are in the business of masking their hardest days. Life is perfect or so they want me to believe. I want to hear from PERSON B who has been in the depths of the valley and admits life is a struggle and isn't always sunshine and rainbows. I want to surround myself with those who have the ability to recognize: "this is hard," I can barely breathe through this day," or "today seems to be against me on all sides." I am Person B. These things I'm having to sort out, the feelings I'm having to deal with, the loss I'm continually seeing is hard and some days I'm not sure I'll make it through. And I'm ok saying that.
It's been a few weeks since I've blogged. The last post "Unapologetic" had a lot more response than I expected. I got messages from so many people, comments, and emails came through from many of you who "get it." Or many of you who couldn't believe that people would actually be nasty and negative during an already exhausting journey. You can rest assured that I am not angry. I wasn't angry for very long, but as a "mama bear" when I hear what people have been saying to my girls, well, that's another version of Tisha that you'll see. Moving on. . . The last month has been a struggle. A struggle is an understatement even as we know the struggle IS worth it. Honestly, in this moment of this journey, when most everyone has disappeared, stopped interacting with us, stopped daily reading, this is the hardest. I knew this, though. Many of you know that I've been down this type of journey before. Losing a young brother at a young age, I saw a lot more and learned a lot more than I wanted to about grief, tragedy, emotional trauma, and people. My heart has always ached for those going through grief. I've always had a nudge in my heart to help people like me. I didn't expect this journey to feel the same and it does. I knew I would feel vulnerable, just as I did before, but this time I'm so much more aware of it all. So often people will comment "You're one day closer to the end!" Nope. Anyone who has gone through any trauma in their lives knows that is a myth. There is no end. This doesn't just stop. Chemo continues for another 1 1/2 years. So, yeah, that'll be over, but to say THIS will be over. Nope. I've been doing some research on this and have learned that many who have gone through this cancer journey also have to overcome what many deal with as post traumatic stress disorder. I've never really tied the two together, but an amazing conversation with 2 amazing women who've also experienced loss pointed it out to me. There will always be anxiety about dr appointments, blood tests, simple illnesses....We will always feel the need to "look over our shoulder" in a sense. We will always be working through the emotional trauma of all of this. What I know now after a LOT of talks with our 13 year old is this: Not everyone will be able to handle being our friend. Not everyone will want to. It's a heavy load to be a friend during this heavy time. Don't hold it against them. Just know that God will bring to you who He knows you need in the exact time you need it.
#AWARENESS {Our day yesterday} Picnic Day. Jace: What's a picnic? Yep. It's been that long since we've gone on one. After we pulled into the parking space at a pretty cool park, Jace looked around and said "Can we go somewhere with less people? It's so crowded. It scares me." Once at the smaller park with no people, we eat. I can see the anxiety on his face. He even says, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
We eat, clean up and the girls shriek in delight to go play. "Mama, I don't want to to do that. I'll fall." "I don't want to swing again, It scares me." My heart drops. He's missed out on so much and this has affected more than just his body. Lord, please give me the wisdom and tools to be able to help these little people through all of this BIG stuff.
It's already been a long steroid week. His food of choice = Chick Fil A. 15 miles away one way. Though, the month has already been better than the last (catch up here www.facebook.com/graceforjace), it's still not easy. Being "alert" every second of every day is exhausting for all of us. He yells more. He hits more. He sleeps less. His outbursts cannot be predicted which means we are very strategic about where we go and what we do. Steroid week usually means he wants Jason at night to sleep with him (on the floor) and during the day it's me or Avery that he insists on having at his beck and call. All the while, we remind ourselves -- it's the steroids. So, we pack up to go to our next stop. The girls had been excited about a thrift store visit. We went in and their faces already seemed defeated. 5 minutes in and Jace started crying that his feet hurt and he needed to be carried. So, we load up to leave. These are the moments no one knows about. The pull as a mom on the one hand wanting to make the week break fun for the girls and the other pull as a mom to get Jace through this week - again. The stress on siblings having to change what they want to do at a moment's notice. We drive home in silence. Jace gets angry. More silence. We all know we are at the end of our rope. Thankfully, Maddie had a sleepover. We dropped her off. Jace was mad about that, too. We got home and collapsed. Before the night is over, I think of a way to redeem some time with Avery. So, we head off to the store alone. We have a great time shopping and laughing. The drive home is hysterical as it always is with her. Then. The call. Jason: Jace has a fever. Again. The unspoken rules fall into play. The laughter stops. Plans have to be made just in case. Packing has to start just in case. This is our life. Everyday. "It's scary, mama, when Jace has a fever or is sick. It scares me when he has to go to the hospital or clinic. We always have to be separated and pack and don't know what's going to happen. It's hard doing this journey. " How I ended my night was rocking my girl who was crying through her words. Over? It has never once stopped. Neither has our love for each other or for him. It never will.
