Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Fabric is pretty! 

Sometimes there's just so much to write about it's hard to know where to start. Well, I'll start with my mom. She's good. She's responding incredibly well to chemotherapy, and her blood counts are great. There's a lot of guarded optimism about her chances of remission. She, of course, is certain she'll be in remission by January, and in the meantime plans on living her life instead of just waiting around to be 100% well. She has books to read, quilts to quilt, and friends to visit.

Some of the best news is that the chemo isn't making her sick. She's tired, but not nauseated. She's losing her hair, but not throwing up. Right now she's on her second round of chemo, which means she's in the hospital, but she's trying to take walks at least twice a day to keep her strength up.

So thank you for your prayers. And please continuing praying! My mom's name is Jane, and she believes that all the prayers are helping.


Next up: Back to school! School starts next week, and even the boys are admitting they're ready. As always on this last week of summer vacation, we're all being total slackers. I'm turning a blind eye to extra computer time and too much TV. Whatever it takes to get us through the next few days. When school starts, both of my guys are going to be crazy-busy, so they might as well be lazy while they can.

I'm living in that la-la land most moms I know live in this time of year, imagining how the return to order and routine will make my life lovely and simple and neat and tidy. I'll write lots of books and quilt lots of quilts and make lots of cookies and muffins and put in a fall garden and go to the gym at least three times a week, probably more like five, and, oh yes, lose that last fifteen pounds. It's all possible!

History has not proven this out. Oh, those first couple of weeks of school are glorious. Things are neat and tidy, making lunches every night isn't a pain, and the children jump out of bed like little jumping beans before the alarm even goes off. By week three, of course, it all falls apart, but let's not ruin the dream, shall we? Let's pretend a little longer.


I wonder how I'll remember this summer. There have been some lovely moments. Many of them have taken place on my screen porch early mornings, the garden filled with butterflies and hummingbirds. But there's also been the intensity of my mother's illness. You always wonder how you will bear things.

What's hardest to bear right now is my father's anxieties. He's so worried and afraid. He won't be comforted, and to be honest, I don't really know what to do but pray for him.

And there is the working things out with my brothers--how often should we go see my parents? What do they need from us? My older brother, himself a cancer survivor, thinks one of us should go every other week for a few days. I'm not convinced that's what my parents want, but my brother (who is a dear, thoughtful man, but like all of us is bringing some baggage to the table) is not convinced we should leave these decisions in my parents' hands.

This is a discussion we've just started having, but it's made me realize that even the best-intentioned people (and I think that would describe everyone involved here) can be at odds with one another in a way that can result in hurt feelings, tension, even rifts. I'm proceeding with caution. Everyone is tired and emotional.

In spite of the sadness and the tiredness, I'm actually doing okay. I know I'm delusional about the order and tidiness I imagine fall will bring, but I'm still energized by the dream. So onward into September, into cool mornings and high blue skies and a fall garden filled with lettuce and kale. God is good. Let us proceed.