I have realized something in these last two weeks. I always knew but it has become glaringly obvious to me. How much of a team Sean and I are. How much we bring to each other for feedback, for opinions. Sean is in a great deal of pain and he is here physically but not here mentally. I am struggling with this to say the least. So many times I have caught myself saying, "Seany, can you..." only to have the words hang in mid-air. That's because he was always right by my side. I would wash the boys, he would dry. I would cook dinner, he would clean up. I would read to one boy, he the other. Now I wash and dry alone, I cook dinner and clean up alone, I read to both boys nestled close to me. Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. These are my jobs. It just used to be fun with my best friend by my side.
Today I was struggling with something and I tried to talk with Sean about it and he said to me so wearily, "Wife, you need to pray about this and figure this out." He gave me no feedback, no opinion. I know what he's doing. He's preparing me. There will come a day when he will not be here and I will have to figure things out on my own. I'm just not ready.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Today while waiting for the bus, my son John said, "Mama, I love Daddy more than I love the monkey bars, the computer and my legos. " That is high praise indeed from my little six year old whose heart truly loves these treasures.
My heart broke. The truth is that everything will remind me of Sean. Yesterday while he was at the doctor's, I was flipping through a magazine and I came across an article about the best places to ride bikes. One such town is Tyler, Texas where Sean had lived during high school and graduated from the high school. Another page had a shar-pei dog, his absolute favorite. One day these will make me smile, yesterday I just wanted to cry.
But, we had some better, more encouraging news at the doctor's. Actually Yale. He had his endoscopy done and when it was finished, they allowed me to read the report. His doctor here in New London said that the cancer had spread throughout his abdomen and didn't really give him much time. However, when I read the report yesterday, all these places they had checked in his abdomen had come back clear. They did confirm that it had spread to his liver. But, so far that is the only place so it is somewhat contained. The doctor said that Sean was healthy otherwise and strong so that he could live several more years. I think several in this case is probably two, but I will take it! He said that the drugs would be able to give him quality of life. I asked about removing the parts of the pancreas that are affected and killing the rest of the cancer with chemo, if that was at all possible. He said usually not and that usually in this case surgery was not an option. But, he did say that he does not treat people with cancer, only diagnose them. And that every person is different and every cancer is different. So, here we sit.
He is tired all the time. His body has had his gall bladder removed, a cat scan and now this endoscopy all in under three weeks. It needs time to heal. But, every time he wants to take a nap or rest, it scares me. I want him to be that ball of energy he always was. That man who could easily toss our children around or would dance with me in the kitchen. There are no traces of him here.
But, he is healthy otherwise and I have to keep holding on to that.
My heart broke. The truth is that everything will remind me of Sean. Yesterday while he was at the doctor's, I was flipping through a magazine and I came across an article about the best places to ride bikes. One such town is Tyler, Texas where Sean had lived during high school and graduated from the high school. Another page had a shar-pei dog, his absolute favorite. One day these will make me smile, yesterday I just wanted to cry.
But, we had some better, more encouraging news at the doctor's. Actually Yale. He had his endoscopy done and when it was finished, they allowed me to read the report. His doctor here in New London said that the cancer had spread throughout his abdomen and didn't really give him much time. However, when I read the report yesterday, all these places they had checked in his abdomen had come back clear. They did confirm that it had spread to his liver. But, so far that is the only place so it is somewhat contained. The doctor said that Sean was healthy otherwise and strong so that he could live several more years. I think several in this case is probably two, but I will take it! He said that the drugs would be able to give him quality of life. I asked about removing the parts of the pancreas that are affected and killing the rest of the cancer with chemo, if that was at all possible. He said usually not and that usually in this case surgery was not an option. But, he did say that he does not treat people with cancer, only diagnose them. And that every person is different and every cancer is different. So, here we sit.
He is tired all the time. His body has had his gall bladder removed, a cat scan and now this endoscopy all in under three weeks. It needs time to heal. But, every time he wants to take a nap or rest, it scares me. I want him to be that ball of energy he always was. That man who could easily toss our children around or would dance with me in the kitchen. There are no traces of him here.
But, he is healthy otherwise and I have to keep holding on to that.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Very dark day
People mean the best. But they can also deliver the worst. I know all the things that I should be doing. I should be "taking it one day at a time" and "enjoying every day I have with him". This day sucks pretty much all the way around. We got an appointment at Dana Farber. But, Sean looked at me today and said to me, "I am terminal. All they are trying to do is lengthen my life a little." For some reason, that undid me. I knew, obviously, that he is terminal. I mean, really, aren't we all? But, God, how do I go on without him. Then the mind wanders to, "what if I just took some pills", "what if the car just wandered over the yellow line a little"? I mean, I have wonderful people who would take care of my children. It's all set. Do I want to live without Sean?
And then he is there with his advice as well. "Jen, live after I go." "Sew, knit, do the things that you love to do". How can I when I won't be able to show him the finished product? How can I when the other side of the couch will be empty? There will be no one to hold my hand. To help me with the boys' birthday parties. To mow our lawn and cut their hair. To tell me I am beautiful. People tell me all the time how strong I am being, how I am a lot stronger than I think I am. And to me it feels like a bunch of crap. I don't want to be strong. I want to have my man here. The man I have loved for all these years, the father of my children. I feel like I am slowly but surely losing my mind.
But, I have children. I don't have that luxury. This death will forever change my children. They will not be able to have kisses and hugs and stories read to them by their father. They will be stuck with me. I don't get to drive that car over the yellow line or take a bunch of pills. I know that.
My boys are really spectacular people. They are funny and kind and loving. I pray that God keeps His hand over them and never lets them go. I pray that He helps me every single day. But, will He want to? I feel like God doesn't really like me very much right now.
And then he is there with his advice as well. "Jen, live after I go." "Sew, knit, do the things that you love to do". How can I when I won't be able to show him the finished product? How can I when the other side of the couch will be empty? There will be no one to hold my hand. To help me with the boys' birthday parties. To mow our lawn and cut their hair. To tell me I am beautiful. People tell me all the time how strong I am being, how I am a lot stronger than I think I am. And to me it feels like a bunch of crap. I don't want to be strong. I want to have my man here. The man I have loved for all these years, the father of my children. I feel like I am slowly but surely losing my mind.
But, I have children. I don't have that luxury. This death will forever change my children. They will not be able to have kisses and hugs and stories read to them by their father. They will be stuck with me. I don't get to drive that car over the yellow line or take a bunch of pills. I know that.
My boys are really spectacular people. They are funny and kind and loving. I pray that God keeps His hand over them and never lets them go. I pray that He helps me every single day. But, will He want to? I feel like God doesn't really like me very much right now.
Friday, September 24, 2010
My boys
I find it so hard to look at my boys. They are losing their precious father and they don't even realize it. The man that was supposed to help navigate them through the pitfalls of life will not be here to hold their hand.
They will be left with a Mom who loves them but at the end of the day will be a poor substitute. I will just have to love them enough for the two of us and pray that they find their way.
They will be left with a Mom who loves them but at the end of the day will be a poor substitute. I will just have to love them enough for the two of us and pray that they find their way.
May I find the words to answer those difficult and uncomfortable questions when they arise. May I have the wisdom to know when to hold them and how to explain where Daddy has gone. May they walk through this life knowing that they are treasured. Because I do. I know that Sean loves me. He has told me and shown me a million different ways. And in the end, isn't that we could ever really ask of our husbands?
But, may they, in their "sixness" and "threeness" KNOW it.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The mundane and the mess
Today I asked my dearest girlfriend in all the world to take care of my children if something happens to me. What a question to ask. What a responsibility to give someone. To pass along those who I hold the dearest to me, those who I would KILL for. But, I must be honest and ask those around me for help.
Yesterday Sean and I were having one our our "dark conversations" and Hunter was on the potty and yelled to me, "Mama, I need help!" Such a mundane task as my world is being rocked to its core. But, I must put one foot in front of the other. I must meet with John's teacher tomorrow and check on his progress, I must make John's lunch and prepare Hunter's for when I visit with Sean's doctor. I must find a way through this mess to fold laundry, to wash dishes and read books.
I look at my husband and my heart is grateful. Thankful for all the years that he has loved me. What a gift they have been and I must somehow in some way walk with him through this crisis.
I find that I hate his doctors, the kind nurses who look at you so pleasantly as they are ushering you into another office to hear more horrifying news. They get to go home to their safe little houses. I know, I know, they are going through hard times too. Sean says to me, "Don't hate them. They are kind." How can he be good when all this is happening? That is because that is who he is.
So many people have come along beside me and supported us. So many people have offered food, hugs, babysitting services, a shoulder to cry on. You truly do find out what mettle people are made of. People who I haven't seen or spoken to in years are offering their phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Such a lifeline to a drowning woman.
Yesterday Sean and I were having one our our "dark conversations" and Hunter was on the potty and yelled to me, "Mama, I need help!" Such a mundane task as my world is being rocked to its core. But, I must put one foot in front of the other. I must meet with John's teacher tomorrow and check on his progress, I must make John's lunch and prepare Hunter's for when I visit with Sean's doctor. I must find a way through this mess to fold laundry, to wash dishes and read books.
I look at my husband and my heart is grateful. Thankful for all the years that he has loved me. What a gift they have been and I must somehow in some way walk with him through this crisis.
I find that I hate his doctors, the kind nurses who look at you so pleasantly as they are ushering you into another office to hear more horrifying news. They get to go home to their safe little houses. I know, I know, they are going through hard times too. Sean says to me, "Don't hate them. They are kind." How can he be good when all this is happening? That is because that is who he is.
So many people have come along beside me and supported us. So many people have offered food, hugs, babysitting services, a shoulder to cry on. You truly do find out what mettle people are made of. People who I haven't seen or spoken to in years are offering their phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Such a lifeline to a drowning woman.
These days..
My brain is flying in a thousand different directions. We have officially had our darkest conversations. Where ashes need to be scattered. How to eliminate our debt. How I need to learn to use the riding tractor to mow the lawn.
And you know what I keep thinking about? What should I do with the kids after we come home from Sean's funeral? Should I let them play outside? Would that be disrespectful? Would I want them to cry the whole rest of that day at least? Should the television be on? What do I do? Such a stupid thing to think about.
We went to the doctor yesterday and he said, "Mr. Coffey, sometimes people get healed of this. Why can't you be the one?" Indeed, why can't he? And everytime I allow myself to think like that with hope in my heart, my mind gets assaulted again.
My faith is stumbling right now to say the least. The Scripture that keeps coming to my mind is, "Rain falls on the just and the unjust." Sean's faith seems to be growing if that is at all possible. All I see is a God ripping my beautiful love from me. My faith is failing. And I am ashamed of that. My love for God has been so conditional. If He fell into my line and did what I wanted Him to do, then everything was good.
It is no longer about me. I have been too obsessed with the television and my computer and my sewing and looking forward to the nighttime when I can be alone. I have been sleepwalking through my life. I would love to go back to Sunday night and slap that girl right across the face and grab her shoulders and shake her.
I can no longer stand to be out of the same room as Sean. For fear that I will miss a touch, a smile, a chance to tell him how much I love him.
Today we go for his cat scan. That will tell us things. Part of me can't wait to get there and the other part of me is dreading it with my whole being. This cat scan will tell us exactly where it is and where it is not. I am terrified today.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Turn of a Dime..
It's amazing how your life can truly change in an instant. How things that mattered so much two days are utterly meaningless to me today. Sean has cancer. It is completely unbelievable to say those words to people or to read them.
It was as if the doctor had walked into the room and punched me in the stomach.
It's hard to look at him. It's hard to touch him. It's hard to hear him laughing with the kids. I wonder, "Will he see Hunter's first day of school?" Did I tell him enough times how deeply I love him? Does he see that look of admiration that I can see in John's eyes when he looks at him? No, you can't have him, cancer. He is OURS.
It's as if we are entwined. He is such a part of me, he is like the very breath that I take. He is perfect for me. Not perfect, but perfect for me. No one has ever loved me deeper, believed in me more vigorously and been a better friend. In November we will be married for 11 years. We have kissed and hugged and touched for almost 17. On Thanksgiving Day it will mark 18 years ago that I met him when I was sure he was not for me and he looked at me and thought to himself, "I am going to marry that girl." Since I was 22 years old. It seems like my whole life. I can't remember a time when he wasn't in my life and I frankly don't want to. I am not sure how to describe how much he means to me. How much I have been honored to be his wife.
Those two children laying sweetly, contentedly in their beds know none of the turmoil that is broiling in their home. They just notice today that Mama is crying a lot. I have got to keep that behind closed doors. They are free, young, untouched by this ugliness and I will keep it that way as long as I can.
It was as if the doctor had walked into the room and punched me in the stomach.
It's hard to look at him. It's hard to touch him. It's hard to hear him laughing with the kids. I wonder, "Will he see Hunter's first day of school?" Did I tell him enough times how deeply I love him? Does he see that look of admiration that I can see in John's eyes when he looks at him? No, you can't have him, cancer. He is OURS.
It's as if we are entwined. He is such a part of me, he is like the very breath that I take. He is perfect for me. Not perfect, but perfect for me. No one has ever loved me deeper, believed in me more vigorously and been a better friend. In November we will be married for 11 years. We have kissed and hugged and touched for almost 17. On Thanksgiving Day it will mark 18 years ago that I met him when I was sure he was not for me and he looked at me and thought to himself, "I am going to marry that girl." Since I was 22 years old. It seems like my whole life. I can't remember a time when he wasn't in my life and I frankly don't want to. I am not sure how to describe how much he means to me. How much I have been honored to be his wife.
Those two children laying sweetly, contentedly in their beds know none of the turmoil that is broiling in their home. They just notice today that Mama is crying a lot. I have got to keep that behind closed doors. They are free, young, untouched by this ugliness and I will keep it that way as long as I can.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)