confessions

I admire Andy for so many countless things.  Throughout this walk with cancer I have watched in awe (but not surprise) as he relates to others.  Nothing has really changed, he has always had a knack for making people feel at home.  But especially now, when sometimes people don't know what to say, he helps, just by being Andy.  I admire how he is never shy to pick up the phone when it rings, that he doesn't hesitate to go out in public (at least when his blood counts are fine), he enjoys small talk, and he never forgets to ask after someone's sister's friend who has a tough case of eczema.

Me, I tend to hide. I have never been overly comfortable in the social realm, but now I feel even more awkward at times.  I'll find a reason to skip the big gathering because I'd rather not small talk when everything feels so huge.  I'm often distracted by the social situation or the worry in my heart and will forget to ask after your Aunt Hilda. And I had caller ID installed a couple months ago.

Case in point:  A few days ago the girls and I needed to get out.  We were bouncing off the walls and Andy needed a nap.  So, I took them to a town not far away to swim, and go to the thrift store.  I strategically picked a town where we don't really know anyone.  But of course, at the thrift store I spotted a friend from high school who I haven't talked to in years.  She was a close friend of mine once, and my first thought was "Oh, there's _____ " and my heart almost lifted.  But then my next thought was "I wonder if she knows".  And then I avoided her and hustled the girls through our little purchase and out of the store.

Now, to cut myself some slack, I was just coming off having three separate but in the same store tearful exchanges while in La Crosse last week. There is something about hearing myself say "andy has cancer" and then seeing the person's shock and sadness, that just brings it home.  Again.  And although these three exchanges in La Crosse were sans kids, in the thrift store they were with me, and believe me, they have endured more than enough tears in public to last them a lifetime. I always stumble when we get back in the car, after a tearful grocery store exchange,  and say something like "I know Linda and I were crying in the store but it's because we all care about papa so much and people really understand that this is hard for our family".  And Iris always says "We know, mama".  But I wonder how it feels for them.

So back in the car, after the thrift store, I berated myself a bit for not taking on the conversation.  And then I gave myself permission to be who I have always been.  Someone who is a tiny bit awkward in public.  Who doesn't know how to small talk and so says what's on my mind, which at this point in our lives, often brings tears.  I gave myself permission to protect my kids from sadness on a afternoon that had been easy and not tearful.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this.  Maybe as a way of acceptance.  I love that Andy is so socially easy.  It's one of a million things I love about him.  Isn't that the way we are with our partners, filling each others gaps, knowing we can't all be everything?

This path is hard, and it strips bare our emotions, our abilities.  But what rises to the top is, at least, honest. 

Postscript:  I wrote this post a few days ago and then just let it sit, not sure about it, maybe it was too rough around the edges, not full of the hope I often feel.  Then yesterday and today were enormously hard, just with emotions piling up and parenting gone bad. And I thought, dang it, it's real and honest and hard.  Just like this ride is right now.

This morning we broke down, in so many ways...anger, sadness, fear, worry, the whole ugly deal. Somewhere in the midst of it Andy took a walk (smart man) and came back with news.  The entire north hill of the pasture was teeming with monarchs.  We quickly found rubber boots and were all out the door.  He was right, hundreds, in the trees, in the air, on the clover.  Not alighting for long so my camera was nearly useless.  But there they were in astounding abundance (Kingsolver's Flight Behavior right here in the Kickapoo) After several summers of absence, they were returned, in numbers like we have never seen.

And it couldn't help but feel like renewal. Like toughness emerging on delicate wings, ready for the long flight before them.