Hunting is Hunting

October is the elk hunt. He's prepared. He's day dreamed about the trophy. He knows exactly how to prepare the meat. He rehearses the path he needs to take and when. He's traveled the hills and knows every land mark. He has camp all set up. He gets there, completely prepared for what is coming. He heads out, like every scouting trip he has done, knowing full well that when he reaches the top of the next rise; he will be able to see the heard off in the distance in the valley below. He can smell them in the air. His breath pushes out of his lungs like a smoke signal.

He steps to the top of the hill and bends down to remove his backpack. He picks up his binoculars to glass the area below. As the dawn breaks, he breathes the cold air deep into his lungs and he whispers to himself, "Here we go!" The anticipation of all he has hoped, prepared for, and dreamed of, is about to become reality.

There is nothing but chilling silence. Peaceful anticipation rises to confusion when nothing is seen on the horizon. The elk have not made their presence known and the hunter is frustrated that this day is not going the same as all the ones before it. "What's different? Is it me? What have I done? Why would this happen to me?"

Shots ring out in the distance. The full sun lights up the sky and chill that once froze the morning dew is now gone. The soft dripping of melting ice sounds similar to a ticking clock telling my hunter to be quick and get to the next location before others do. As much work and preparation as he can do, has not resulted in what he had hoped. Anxiety from not getting his kill is setting in. Disappointment and self doubt begin to fill his mind. It's not fair and he deserves this. But what if it doesn't happen for him this year? Does he give up and quit trying? Is he jealous of other's success?

Maybe...

Why some people have all the luck and others have more challenges in this life is something I'm sure the creator will explain in enough detail to satisfy my angst. But not now. That will have to wait until my return and I know that's not today. So today I will do what I can to be prepared, go where I need to go and do all I need to do to be open to the possibilities that lay before me.

My life as I knew it, the life I planned and rehearsed for and worked hard to attain, has been changed forever by the events that have occurred since my hunter took his first ambulance ride almost 730 days ago. Its not just what has happened, but my perceptions of it all that have changed the course of my life. The reality is, there are more hard days than anyone should have to endure. Scott keeps reminding me that this is the same for most people, our reasons things seem so hard are just different. He didn't quit hunting when the opportunity wasn't present, he kept going, preparing, and being hopeful that next time would be successful.

It's hard to look at and talk about the messy, dirty, angry truth - I may have to live without him some day. I may be doing all of this to end up a widow. But so may every other wife out there - No one knows when their time is up. I just got a bit of a heads up I wish I didn't have. Do I feel bitter about it? Yes. Does it make me sad. Yes.

Do I have a right to feel cheated...I think so. Anyone would. I've just learned to work really hard at changing the focus of my feelings. Negative feelings come and I force them go. Sometimes they are fleeting thoughts and other times they move in and keep me from better things. I've learned a lot from giving myself permission to feel what I feel, say what I need to, write it down, then let it go. Trying not to feel is a more of a waste of energy which ends up being pretty destructive.

I get defensive, edgy, and loose my complete cool. My moods swing and I loose myself. I often say, Why us? What is this supposed to teach me, and why do our lessons seem so much more difficult than others around us? Oh that comparison thing... it gets me sometimes! I must confess, my family hears me yell, sees me cry, and feel me pull away to be alone to understand what I am doing and how I am going to cope from time to time. I don't have it all figured out and I don't pretend to.

The miracle here is that my family also sees me pull it all back together again and keep on going. They see me wipe my tears, apologize when I am wrong, take care of myself when I need to, and are learning that it's not about living a perfect life. It's not about getting what you want every time you search and hope for it. Its not about being good enough so that life is always good back to you.

I want my children to learn to have the courage to face what they don't know how to do and experience what life has to offer no matter how good or bad it may feel at the time. Having the fortitude to call things as they truly are, living with that kind of honesty, not making excuses, and not staying stuck in the yuck. This is how they will survive any challenges in life and still have joy along the way. Hunting is hunting, whether for bulls and bucks or joy and hope. The same mental strengths are required.

My husband hates that I write this blog. He can't listen to me talk about it. It drives him crazy. It's too real and painful for him. I asked him if he wanted me to stop writing and he told me no. "This is for other people, not me. Its too heartbreaking to hear how you feel and know there is nothing I can do about it."  This conversation sparked another where he realized that understanding how I really feel can help him know what to say or do to be more supportive of me and vice versa.

This is a huge deal. Caregivers often feel everything becomes about the person they are caring for and there is nothing left for them. This can happen in parenting and marriage too, not just illness and could be part of the reason divorce rates are so high. Scott just put the final board in a bridge we've been building across the gap of this illness for almost 2 years. Because of this breakthrough understanding, we can finally allow each other the freedom to be, feel, and express ourselves in the ways that make sense for us. We can each let go, because we have the security of knowing we won't fall into that chasm of difference, with a sure way to connect.

So, he doesn't like my blog, but wants me to keep doing it because writing about my feelings helps me. I used to begrudge his hunting trips, but he still went and we're still married. I've learned to appreciate the hunt for him. Not because I love it, but because it's necessary for him. We're finally on the same page.

Sometimes the hope is simply recognizing that no matter how painful, there is a beauty, a strength, loyalty, and a love that can come about no other way, than through a very difficult trial. Sometimes you get what you've worked for and sometimes you end up stronger with the benefit of knowing what to do next time. No matter how we could begrudge the harshness of this illness and the havoc it has wreaked on our lives,  we only truly appreciate what we have, by working in our own ways to keep it all together, and continue our hunt for hope.

Awakening

It's been one year since an awake craniotomy and diagnosis of an inoperable grade 3 anaplastic oliogadendraglioma forever shaped the landscape of our lives.

One year, since I learned what true love and sacrifice really is. 365 days to learn to become more patient, less reactive, more nurturing, less judgmental, more creative and much less willing to succumb to this trial and throw away any chance of real happiness. 

We've had another year of sorrow and heartache, disappointment, fear and anger. We've had a year of isolation and pulling away. We've also had a year of hope, joy, laughter, growing closer, working hard, and learning to truly appreciate everything and everyone in our lives. 

This year has been the very hardest and simultaneously the most rewarding year of our life together so far. I have been by his side, to literally watch as my hunter put his entire life in someone else's hands with the confidence and strength of the one of this world's greatest warriors. I am in awe. It's been the most terrifying and joyful emotional roller coaster and physical endurance test I can imagine.

But the result...

I don't know how else, but pure hell, to describe the anguish that comes from any terminal disgnosis. Yet to see, feel, hear, and live such love, faith, and hope through this, is nothing short of remarkable. 

For anyone who is a caregiver, whether for a spouse, a child, a parent, other family member, or anyone who is intimately close with you, there are days...more days than anyone likes to admit, where you want to disappear and not have to deal with all you have on your plate. 

For the one being cared for there are just as many, if not more guilt and anger filled days of wanting it all to end and for everyone else to just shut up and leave you alone. Enough with saying we are in this together! Being the one...is not at all what it's cracked up to be. 

I've learned in the past year it doesn't matter what horrible things happen, there will always be insensitive and ignorant people meaning well, but causing hurt feelings. I've learned to ignore and forgive a lot. I can't carry that kind of negativity around with me. 

I've also learned things about myself that have made me truly appreciate the kind of human being I am and what I have to offer myself, my family and those who want to know me. I've had to learn to fall in love with new aspects of my husband's personality and my own. We've both been tested on loyalty and compassion. 

In the last year I have grown faith only to loose it and gain it over and over again. We've been frustrated with why these lessons again and why now? I haven't learned all the answers yet, but I have found hope in people, places and things I never thought possible, especially in myself. 

That moment I heard a whisper, "This will be hard, and you will survive it," was a friendly reminder of all the other obstacles and adversity I have triumphed before. It was that familiar voice telling not only me, we are not alone and there is someone else who knows and understands this pain. 

That prompting, along with a need to feel whole, helped me connect with myself again. I knew Scott was having similar conversations with himself and God and reconciling the purpose of all this. 

I've struggled, been weak, and felt utterly defeated by every aspect of life at once. As soon as I feel overcome with hopelessness, one tiny thought creeps in...and then another. When I finally give in to a smile coming through tears, it forces me to remember our very first  conversation. 

That smile and that thought changes my heart literally, in that moment. I have no choice but to keep the reel on repeat for the first time he told me he loved me and I knew he would be the love of my life. 

In those moments, defeat is instantly replaced with success and my brain and my chest fill with warm fuzzies...I force this exercise over and over because remembering all the good, makes me forget right now and reminds me of the reasons I said I do, in sickness and in health. 

My heartache can be violent and so crippling. I've spent hours and days in torment from fear of having to live with all the effects of chemo treatment on my love, and it's possible outcomes. These automatic negative thoughts are so prevalent, and I have many people depending on me to function, that I had to learn ways to cope that could allow me to not stay frozen in fear. 

My husband kindly reminds me that it doesn't help any of us to dwell on the negative and surmise the what if's. They simply don't matter, even if they do happen. I am not as easily able to get there as he is. I had to really train myself to take time to think about thoughts that take me to another place and time. I've learned to trick my brain into thinking I am there instead of here. It works, one moment at a time.

I've learned in two semesters of this post surgery and diagnosis education, that my husband is far more equipped than I gave him credit for, to live his new life in remarkable ways. What man goes from brain surgery to super dad in a matter of months? Mine. 

He drives me absolutely crazy at times and I know the feeling is more than mutual, but we've been perfecting this rhythm of give and take which frees us to be who we are, feel what we feel, and learn to do all these new things together. 

I know this is not everyone's story and that's okay. I remind myself some of the most epic love stories in history are also tragic. I read somewhere that grief is the price you pay for love. I've learned to be grateful for loss, because it means I truly have something special. 

I've learned it's okay to grieve and mourn and have deep lasting sorrow. These are genuine emotions of the human condition not to be glossed over, reduced to weakness, or medicated out of us. 

They serve much more purpose than most of us realize. Not only to sweeten joy after sadness disappears, but to also remind us of how deeply and securely connected we can be to one another and how our souls rejoice at knowing there is so much more to relationships than superficial attractions and dislikes. 

True love is not perfection. In fact, it's the absence of perfection that tests our ability to compromise and build bridges where none exist. I've learned how to feel weak and not be sorry for it. In the last year I've learned not to apologize for my strengths either. Through truly having to suck it up and bite my tongue, I've also learned I don't always have to say what I think, but I can if I'm prepared for unintended consequences. 

I've learned...

The way life has completely changed for  the good of my marriage and my family is different than any of us ever expected. Our children all have a Dad who's learning how to be sensitive and nurturing. 

All of our children have the opportunity to know and spend quality time, not rushed by outside demands with one of their biggest fans. I don't know how, except for sheer determination to do the opposite of what he was told, Scott does all he does! 

He volunteers at school twice a week, takes kids swimming 3-4 days, drives kids to and from school, is an emaculate house keeper, keeps working on projects, ideas, stays up with technology, and just keeps going, even when he's sick from chemo. 

It's not at all what we thought. It's more painful, difficult and absolutely wonderful than any of us ever had the experience to imagine. Hope keeps finding it's way to us through unexpected ways. 

I'm beginning to embrace that hope springs from not knowing everything. It's in the tiniest spaces of the unknown where we unconsciously leave room for possibilities. Even if everything we know and love right now is destroyed...the potential for something more glorious than we could imagine, still exsists. 

We haven't done this before. But once we do, there's no going back. We are stronger, more empathetic, more willing to forgive the weaknesses in ourselves and others because we recognize where we once where. We had a very hard road to travel to get here too. 

Compassion comes much easier these days, because we've come to understand this one life we have should be spent in sharing hope, love, faith,  strength, and willingness to help others. It's the pursuit of happiness through these activities which truly brings us joy and purpose. 

Awakwnings come in the ways we need them and at the right times individually. The important thing to know is you don't have to do anything remarkable to begin to wake up. Just leave the tiniest bit of room for possibilities and wait...

One Year Surgiversary

January 19, 2015 has come and gone. So many things make it feel like a 100 years ago. Yet, moments come, and thoughts enter that take me instantly back there like it was yesterday. He could care less if anyone ever knew what we were experiencing. At first when I shared with him I was blogging about his brain cancer and my feelings about it, he said he didn't want me to. It made him uncomfortable to know people are reading anything about his life.

If for nothing else I blog about this, to remind me of the universal connections that bring us together whether tragic or joyful...in darkness or light.

Hope is what brings me back to writing this blog. There are times when things get so hard, the pressure so unbearable, and our weaknesses become so unavoidably obvious, that I throw my hands in the air and beg for this to be all over. "Take me now, I can't continue. What is the point?" It doesn't have to be cancer that brings us to the brink of self destruction! Many things in this life push our mortal being to the edge of security and sanity.

What stops us from giving in and giving up?

I've had more teary days and nights than I can count. I have done more second guessing than I care to readily admit. I like to think of myself as a good, caring, person, willing and able to help make a difference. But I get tired, emotional, and drained...I feel guilt for wishing we could go back to the way things were before cancer, even though I still had things I complained about then too. "Will I ever truly be happy with anything?"

I wonder...

I haven't had a perfect life. I don't believe any of us do. Although there are arguments for perfection out there, I think most of us struggle at one point or another to become who we truly are comfortable being. Scott and I have discussed this many times. This illness has brought about so many changes for both of us, its hard to imagine such rapid change being possible. I wonder why it has to happen so quickly?

What's around the corner if we are coming from this?

I rarely talk about the anger outside my close circle because it's uncomfortable. The grief. The deep, deep sorrow that comes from knowing the sickness is here, it's not going away, and my best friend who has it, is changed forever. It feels like I'm drowning in mourning some days, because Jan 19, 2015 the person I have worked to know live with and love, was still whole and we didn't have to try to remain connected.  We just were. Everyday since has been an exercise in mental and physical endurance to remain loyal, faithful and kind.

I don't openly share how difficult it is to wake up in the morning and go to work to take care of our family, all the while praying nothing comes apart while I'm gone. I've said, I am fortunate to have to work to escape to. I went through months of feeling guilty because I have my career and Scott doesn't anymore.  I willed myself out the door and then back again, because I knew once I left I would feel some sense of relief. Yet on my return, someone will be crying, unhappy, or yelling because emotionally, everything has changed and I'm not here to run interference so the guilt sets in.

I've been asked why I don't tell the whole truth when I write about this journey. And the truth is, unless you have to live with this kind if reconciliation, even if it's written about, you will trivialize it. You will judge the perception. You will say things like, it will get better or it doesn't look like anything is really wrong, or I know it's hard now, but it will not always be this way...etc.... and unless you have personally had to watch someone you love so dearly, morph before you eyes and without your permission, into someone you barely recognize and know - you don't always understand what it takes to mentally and physically live this kind of life.

People constantly compliment Scott on his weight loss. "He looks so good. He looks amazing. How is he doing that? Aren't you so proud of him?" If I never get anything else across to you, let me share this. It's not amazing that he has lost 140 lbs. It's not something he feels proud of. It's not a compliment to tell a cancer patient that since they've been so sick, and wishing God would just take them, rather than keep them here experiencing this pain and heartache,  now that they are thin, they should really be excited about that!

Its wonderful to be healthy. It's fantastic to be fit. Weight loss during illness does not equate to happily ever after and finally achieving weight loss goals. You ask him, if he would rather be fat and healthy with his career and his memory...or sick and thin from his treatment, retired and without some of his brain, which do think he will choose? For any one out there who thinks finally reaching your goal weight is the cherry on top of this whole cancer thing...it's not. It's one hell of a consolation prize for loosing so many other things you once held so dear and hardly worth it.

And then there's me. Angry with people for thinking he has this whole thing beat because he looks so good and seems so happy. I'm jealous of the weight loss, because I can't do it too. Feeling lost and frustrated that he gets to be home with the kids and run the house, while I don't get to anymore. He gets to sleep and do whatever he wants during the day, and I don't. My life doesn't feel my own anymore and even though I feel this way, so does he. I tell myself the same thing I just told you.

But I'm still mad about it.

It doesn't mean I've lost hope...don't get me wrong. We have asked the question, what is the point of all of this? Should we keep doing this? What if we try so hard and we loose anyway? I have cried and screamed and cursed God for all of this. We have bad days, or weeks or months.

And then, something happens.

The anger and resentment subsides. The smile returns to our faces. We can laugh, we can forgive each other for being weak in moments that overwhelm us. We remember that neither one of us asked for this and we are not in control. We can, look for the good in each other and those around us. We finally find a way to say the things we keep inside for fear of being rejected or abandoned. We find that in letting go, a new kind of security finds its way into our thoughts.

We keep moving forward because no other direction makes sense and we hold on to what we know, what we have made, and what we have practiced because that's how we hunt for hope.