After writing the last post I went back and read the blog I posted at this time last year. It was very instructional and surprising at the same time. It reminded me to consider perspective yet again. As I well know but often forget, things can change very quickly, in a matter of minutes. Other times they change imperceptibly, particularly when we are marking time and hoping for a specific outcome.
This time last year Phil had a normal bone marrow biopsy and a PET scan showing that his lymphoma had regressed and he was responding well to his chemotherapy. There was a small area in his chest which appeared to be residual scar tissue but otherwise he was looking fairly good. We were referred to UCSD for a bone marrow transplant consultation where we set those wheels in motion. We were cautiously optimistic even though the lymphoma continued to plague Phil with effusions.
And it was around this time last year that Phil went to Atlanta for a buddies trip - to see his high school friends whom he'd been getting together with for years. It was a calculated risk, that trip. He had developed new swollen lymph nodes prior to his departure which we weren't certain about. By the time he came home from that trip he was drastically altered. He came home with another pleural effusion and over the course of the next 2 1/2 months he'd deteriorate quickly despite an incredible will to live.
Two and a half months. I don't recall things changing so quickly or declining so rapidly. Each day was crammed with so many things to attend to, appointments to keep, endless emotional ups and downs. It was all so surreal and time took on the quality of suspended animation. It's no surprise to me that I lost sense of time. As my counselor so aptly put it this week, "don't be surprised by your capacity for storage. You had to put a lot of stuff away for later because of the chaotic nature of your life at that time." Well, I've been doing a good deal of unpacking lately. All of the sudden there seem to be a lot of packages showing up on my front door.
I don't think it's any coincidence that it is happening as I am rounding the bend into the anniversary of Phil's death. The routine of school, the approaching holidays, the heat and humidity - everything conjures up memories of those last days. As I lit a candle the other day the scent of it instantly took me back to our rental house on Lomita. I saw Phil in repose on our red couch, his feet swollen and propped up on pillows, in his hand the cup of "juice-water" he continually drank in those last days. I felt the bond of the circle of friends and family gathered there with us, surrounding him with immeasurable love and care. Those last days were time multiplied.
Now, as I go through the stuff that's showing up for me (my storage unit so to speak) I'm increasingly anxious to get through this year of firsts. To get it over with and start into the next year, the year after Phil died. Yet when I pause to reflect I realize I don't want to miss one moment of the next 2 1/2 months this time around. At this point last year I was inconsistently available for my children's needs emotionally. Thankfully there were other wonderful adults who stood in the gap. Now it's just us, Sally, Bennett, and Olivia day in and day out.
In these last weeks something subtle and sweet has been slowly developing between us a midst the anguish and anger we feel ~ feelings we too quickly take out on one another. We are all quite tired. We are collectively ready for a change. For our little threesome a crucial part of moving forward in change will require that I consistently be there for them as the painful and sad moments ahead intensify. "Life is change, growth is optional." I want to continue to show them the way through to growth and healing. May it be so.
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