Mets Day 216 - a good cry

I occasionally am asked how I maintain a positive attitude.  Jennifer likewise is asked how she is holding up.  Last Sunday at church, someone asked her how she made it look so effortless.  It is not effortless, however.  At times, I feel that I or other members of my family are teetering on the brink of exhaustion, despair, and depression. 

There is no magic formula, no secret way to avoid the turbulence in our lives.  For me, I find that there is comfort in accepting that I cannot control most things in my life.  I cannot control my cancer.  I cannot control whether I live, or die.  I cannot control other people, including their feelings or actions.  I can control how I react to my disease, or how I cope with my chronic exhaustion, or how I interact with my family members and friends. 

I have found it difficult during the course of my disease to not be a taker, a needy person who sucks time and energy from others, and who does not counteract that taking with an equal supply, or greater, of giving.  I find that serving others is a balm to my soul.  I understand that there is a time for all things, a time to serve and be served, but I hope to maintain a balance.  In the past year, I feel like I have been more a taker, and less of a giver, and that has caused some internal discontent.  I compensate by trying to help out when I can - doing chores around the house, or helping the kids with fixing their cars, or assisting Kirsten with her college selection process.  Teaching at church, or mentoring others at work, helps rebalance my spirit.  I am grateful when I am given the opportunity to serve.

I sense that Jennifer is being drained in her role as my primary caregiver.  It is a terrible burden to watch a loved one fight a chronic health battle, especially when there is little that she can do that directly influences the outcome.  Her frustration at her powerlessness to cure my cancer is in addition to of all the things that she ordinarily does as the primary caregiver for our family -- the transportation, logistics, and the emotional anchor of our home.  She frequently does not go to bed before midnight, then wakes up each morning at 5:15 am to get our two younger kids out the door to Seminary and school.  Hers is a heavy load.  It is not effortless. 

In addition to her "normal" activities, and being my primary caregiver, this fall Jennifer returned to school to work on her master's degree in social work.  At times, her school work takes more time that she wants to give.  Jennifer's road is far more difficult than mine, because there is so much more to do, so many  more variables, and less clarity among the many choices she faces each day.  The differences between good, better and best are not always clear in the grey fog of daily life. 

Last night we had a long conversation (or as she put it, "a good cry") about the burdens that we are carrying.  I wish I could say that we hit upon a brilliant solution that would solve all of our problems, but I know of no such panacea.  There are no time outs in life; it is as relentless as a winter wind. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is to hug each other, shed some tears, then suck it up.   I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really: Get busy living, or get busy dying.

The best I can do is to try to maintain perspective.  For me, a total acceptance of the serenity prayer provides a deep and abiding comfort.  Accepting that there are so many things I cannot change relieves me of the burden of worrying about them.  The first portion of the second sentence of the prayer ("Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardships as the pathway to peace") teaches me that there is joy to be found in the midst of opposition. The purpose of life, I believe, is to find that true and abiding joy, even as the sand slides through the hourglass of mortality. All mortal life ends with physical death; the challenge is to do good with what time God grants us.