These questions float around my head often in these weeks since Andy's cancer diagnosis.
Andy's cancer diagnosis. I wrote it, and then deleted it, because maybe if I didn't put it down here, in this space that has held our family's sweet memories, it wouldn't exist.
But it does. In every moment, of every day now, it does. Sometimes I wake in the night with a shock like someone has pressed my hand around an electric fence. A literal jolt of electricity that brings me to the surface of sleep, and to the gut wrenching reality of this diagnosis.
Sometimes I ask myself, are you wondering why? Why us, why now, why here? I ask myself, are you wondering how? How can this happen with this lifestyle, these choices, this man who is pure goodness in every ounce of his being?
The truth is I'm really not. At least not right now. I know that we are no different than anyone else. That cancer has happened to us, like so many good people before us.
When I asked Andy how he felt about me returning to this space, he said "I love that you write, and this is part of our life now, of course you'll write about it." When I asked him "how do I start?" he said, "with gratitude". Of course he did.
And so I do.
Thank you for holding us in your thoughts.
Thank you for your calls and emails, your cards and well wishes.
Thank you for coming to cut our wood.
For stopping by to bring a truckload of your own.
For moving our hay around.
For bringing us food.
Thank you for watching our girls.
For offering to take them places.
For plowing our driveway.
Thank you for giving advice, for listening, for crying with us.
Thank you for being the amazing community of friends and family that you are.
And every day we recognize how lucky we are to be coming from such a solid place in which tackle the challenges of this disease. We know we are fortunate to have education behind us, comprehensive insurance, a supportive workplace for me, good food in our kitchen and more at our fingertips, space for Andy to heal without the pressure of returning to work, family and friends nearby who can provide a nurturing space for our girls while we visit doctors, sleep, finally vacuum the house. We have our deep love and commitment.
From this place of gratitude Andy will begin his healing. We all will.
5 comments:
As always your words are filled with great depth and wisdom. I, too, have asked myself those same questions, and I, too, have concluded the same, why not 'us', we are no different than all of the other good people to whom this has happened. You and Andy are strong, earth-loving people who live a life that is to be admired. Your support community is vast and all the strength and good thoughts of all who love you reverberate with great spirit and healing.
I so love you both.
Jonel and Andy,
Thank you for sharing this very private and difficult time with family and friends who dearly love you. I read your blog religiously every week - reading out this beautiful family every week - makes me smile. I've been thinking about very often and hope to see the blog come back. I love you both and the girls. You are always in my thoughts and prayers.
Jonel, you write so beautifully. Thank you for being so amazing! Hug the girls and Andy for me. Big hugs and kisses. I love you guys.
Kristine Petroshius
Such a lovely post. It brought tears to my eyes. You are so wise in the ways of the world already. Knowing that you did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to bring this on is the truth. We are all vulnerable. I think sharing is a good thing - it takes the stigma out of it. Enjoy the cocoon of love from all your friends and family.
Much love to all, especially Joanne.
Thanks for writing this, Jonel. Thinking every day about you and Andy. You write so poignantly.
Jonel.
It's wonderful to hear your voice, again. Especially now. If it was hard to write, it was also hard to read. It is not right or fair. But right and fair doesn't apply, does it? I think of you, Andy and the girls often, and hope and believe it will all be better again. I wish it never happened to your family.
with love, Susan
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