Seeking Balance

I have to say as a general rule that when there are gaps between posts, usually things are going well. Thank you all for your emails and calls with concern, but generally, all is well.

We took off last week for a road trip to Kansas to visit my folks and extended family. Because we've not been able to plan far ahead, we decided to drive. I was a bit skeptical at how kids that are accustomed to traveling at most 60-90 minutes occasionally would deal with a 19 hour, two day trip, but things went very well. We spent four days with at my parents house and had many visitors and also lots of down time. We got lots of great pictures and I'm eager to post them but the time since we've returned has been busy.

I have to admit, too, that the blog is strongly associated with Henry's illness; with working out feelings, with communicating urgent news, and with documenting details and memories. Recently, both Tara and I have been allowing ourselves to get caught up in the flow of daily life. His medicine has become so routine, that we don't even talk about it. I set it on the table, he takes it, we're done. The coming round of chemotherapy will be a bit harder, but 5 days is blessedly short. Visits from the Hospice workers are also becoming anticipated and routine. The kids enjoy their visits and see them as family friends more than social workers and nurses - really a terrific bunch of people. I would never have believed that life could look and feel so 'normal'.

Which I suppose is why, right now, that there are days when things are going so easily well but my head feels filled with sludge. Our family is maturing, Henry included. He's (usually) not very needy, can play very independently for the most part, and is enjoying activities and visitors. We sit around the table at dinner and have fun conversations. Henry and Sophie saying absolutely cute and silly things. We laugh. We tease Anna about boys. It's miraculous and wonderful and perfect.

And it's about at that point - when I've momentarily forgotten, lost in the pleasure of seeing what every parent hopes to have, a happy family - that I feel that squeeze on my shoulder that reminds me of what's to come. There's a moment of anger, a moment of acceptance, a moment of 'why?', a moment of resignedness. Among the flash of emotion, there's a fragment too, of the potential lottery winner, thinking that maybe, just maybe it will just go away and I can have the boy back that I cry about when I look at old pictures. The carefree times before cancer. That maybe one day we can talk of it in the past tense. The dichotomy is a heavy one. I try to keep perspective and remain grateful that we have this time without worrying about what's next. This pain-free, happy, joyful, loving time to spend with "only" the anxiety of tomorrow instead of moment to moment pain. It's a balancing act. But we're truly grateful to be in that place right now.