The Loss List

Whew!! So many blogs posts in so few days!! Are you done yet with this emotional ride? Out of selfish interest I’m posting this journal entry also. One thing I dislike about this life phase is how extreme my extremes are… Any one of them, taken out of context, misrepresents me and our nuanced life. I just really think that every feeling has its place, (and it’s post lol). More importantly, recognizing my emotional trends is one of the most useful adult skills I’ve attempted to gain. This weekend happens to encapsulate one of my common trends (from even before all this cancer mess). In the past 4 days we’ve covered “Life is Good!!” which often leads to “Wait Why am I so Pissed?” and then “Dang, That’s Really Sad” which will lead me soon to “God is with Me in This Place”, the feel that makes life all good again. 

After two days of productive “Grrrrrr” and my big, sad, mind-clearing cry, I am aware enough of what’s going on outside and inside of me to really reach to God. Tonight and tomorrow I’ll know what to pray for: the strength to pour love into a broken vessel, and a refill from the source of that godly love. 

“The past two days I've been angry. Angry that Caleb's lungs don't work. Angry that we lost another routine. Angry that the kids won't go to sleep. Angry that Caleb lost his shoes and that our car is still messy and that I can't figure out how to work the shower and that Emily is clunking around in oversized shoes instead of laying down quietly.  

And because everything feels WRONG today I wrote out some potential escape plans. Live in Utah? Maybe. My parents could take care of the kids but I wouldn't get to see Mike and Hyrum. Less independent. Oklahoma? I'd have my home and life and routine and bed back, but again we'd be far from Mike and Hyrum. I sent Michael too many desperate texts today... Ranting and raving about the shoes, the naps, the 3 hours I spent getting kids to sleep. He remains a champion, however, and reacted with neither a cold "Mmhmm" or any too permanent concern. We both know it's a mood.

Tonight, I came to the inevitable resolution of the angry phase: the big, sad cry. I grabbed all the supplies that I'd need: the tissues, water, and cozy blanket, and marched myself outside at the end of that horrific bedtime ordeal. I flipped over dewy patio cushions, absentmindedly admired the landscape lighting, and observed the cold bright moon.

Loss. So much loss.

We lost our momentum at RMH.
We lost our direction with Caleb's asthma care.
We lost so many sibling together moments during this hospital time.
We lost so much family together time during the split apart weeks.
We lost a child.
Michael lost the day of her birth.
I lost weeks of happiness to that miscarriage.
Caleb lost his innocent nights, the ones where he didn't dream about death.
Hyrum lost his speech.
His laugh.
His ability to eat.
Sit.
Walk.
He lost independence.
We lost our simple life at home.
We lost routine and habit and the security of those.
We lost the safety of those beds.
Hyrum lost his hair. 

For a while, I lost my appetite.
We lost the rest of Hyrum's life, and the simple one we thought we'd have with him now.
We lost a lifetime of easy small talk surrounding how many children we have.
We lost our emotional innocence to the weight of grief.
We lost friendships that couldn't handle our change.
We lost interest in a lot of secondary things.
We lost the privileges of excess time, energy, and space.


I'm not saying that these are all permanent scenarios. Some are. I'm just saying that right now, each represents an unremedied loss that really hurts to carry. Any one of those points represents a wound worth crying for, long and hard, like I just did. Frankly, I can't cry enough.

Because of those losses listed above, ANY living scenario we have right now, regardless of location, requires me to see my family broken. Me, their mother, the one who should shield them from pain. I have to lay there, singing, holding still, in the dark, while we splinter. Unable to sleep. Unwilling to dream.”