A friend left town today. I don’t know if it’s permanent or just for a period of time… and I’m not sure what to do with the uncertainty of that. Part of me wonders if the distance will actually rekindle our friendship, or at least bring it back to something steady again… I just keep thinking about the last four words I said to them the last time I saw them. “Don’t forget about me…” as if my senses were already picking up on what was about to happen.
My heart is a little bruised, and I know I’ll be okay, but I’m still sitting here trying to make sense of how everything unfolded. The timing. The closeness. The way certain moments happened side by side with some of the hardest phone calls of my life… calls that change your whole nervous system in seconds. That kind of day ties you to a person in a way that’s hard to explain. Just two humans in a real moment. It mattered. Now it feels like another piece of my heart got tugged on and then left hanging. Life moves on. One foot in front of the other. I know that. I’m doing it anyway. But it still stings.
Weirdly… something else has been stuck in my head too. A friend and I were talking about our natural personalities… how we naturally carry ourselves as humans. Like the characters from Inside Out. She said she’s a naturally angry person… Anger. She told me her other friend is naturally sad… Sadness, to the core. I remember looking at her, genuinely curious, and asking… what am I? I thought for a second and half-jokingly said… “pretending?” She chuckled and said, “Yeah… you’re about the best pretender I know, actually.” Something about that has stayed with me ever since. Pretending. Because it’s true… I can be falling apart and still show up like I’m fine. I can be hurting and still laugh at the right moments. I can be exhausted and still keep moving. I can keep the tone light while my body is heavy. It’s not because I’m fake… it’s because I’ve had to become someone who can hold it together in public and fall apart in private. I didn’t realize how automatic it’s become until someone named it.
Tomorrow is another gastrotomy. I feel like I haven’t even recovered from the last one, and I already know what it’s going to do to my left flank pain. Every procedure has its own toll, and this one isn’t exactly gentle on whatever is going on inside that neck of the woods of my body. I’m overwhelmed; my brain is skipping steps. I’m missing meds because I’m not getting things filled or picked up on time. I have weeks where I have as many appointments as there are days in the week, if not more, and I’m trying to keep it all straight while living in a body that doesn’t cooperate and a mind that’s running on fumes. Sometimes I wonder if there’s some kind of service my insurance would cover… someone who helps keep everything organized, medication timing, scheduling, follow-ups… all of it… because I’m drowning in logistics on top of everything else.
No matter what else is falling apart… my kids are the one thing I refuse to drop. I might need a thousand alarms and a calendar that’s doing the most… but I’ve got them. Always.
I’m tired. Exhausted. I’ll get a small burst of energy and think, okay, maybe I can do a couple of loads of laundry, maybe I can unload and load the dishwasher, maybe I can make progress… and then it takes almost nothing to wipe me out again. I’m so far behind on laundry it’s actually insane. I hate admitting it because I’m the person who likes things handled. I like things done. But the truth is… it’ll be there tomorrow. Even though it makes me cringe to say it, because I don’t want to be the person who’s always catching up. I just am lately.
The strange part is… underneath all of this, there’s still hope. We’re building a home. It’s starting to feel real now that there are concrete walls going up. It’s not just a dream on paper anymore. It’s becoming an actual place we’ll live our actual life. I’m excited for it in a way that almost feels like a lifeline. I’m anxious to get things organized and put away and in their new spots… to feel like I can breathe in my own home again. I want a space that supports me instead of adding to the mental load. A place that feels like exhaling.Honestly… I think the only thing keeping me breathing some days is my little jungle of houseplants… Not because my family isn’t my whole heart… they are. Those plants are literally cleaning the air in this house, and somehow that feels symbolic. Like… even when everything is chaotic and I’m running on fumes, something in my space is still quietly working to make it easier to breathe.
I pray affection finds me in the right way… the kind that feels safe, steady, and real. I know God has a plan through all of this, even when I can’t see it from where I’m standing. So I keep whispering those little prayers all day long… Lord, give me the right words to say. Lord, give me patience to get through this. Lord, help me stay calm and composed when I feel like I’m coming apart. Lord, help me be a good mom… a good wife… help me be the woman You created me to be, and help me be okay with that. Lord, give me patience with the doctors… and give them listening ears. Help them hear what I’m saying, not just what’s easiest to explain away. Keep steering me in the right direction… correct me when I’m wrong… and close doors that aren’t meant for me, even if I don’t understand it at the time. Help me love my enemies the way You ask me to… soften my heart where it wants to harden, and draw them closer to You. Encourage my steps as I walk through each day… and remind me, over and over, that I’m not alone.
I don’t know what tomorrow will feel like. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep doing this at the pace life demands. Writing helps, though. Putting it somewhere outside of my chest helps. Tonight I’m choosing one foot in front of the other… even if it’s slow… even if it’s messy… even if it’s just enough to get me to the next hour.
#MomWithATube
