A Day of the Not-Dead

I say not-dead because I am not dead, and yet with the pall of death on me it is hard to feel alive. To feel alive in that shiny and bright way that I imagine I used to feel. Mostly now I am tired and all the things I do are tainted with this terrible loathing. I am planning on making another stained glass pieces, will it be one of the last pieces I make? Will I always look at it like that's the piece I made when I had cancer? This is more hopeful because I am still alive to think this.

Even before I was diagnosed, I didn't think of life as bright and shiny. I thought it wasl hard, so many things to do and keep up with and make and not screw up, but at least I didn't cry when I stroked Bennett's face while she slept. Like I did tonight. That balled up fear of losing my chance to raise her. It just about kills me to love her so much. And when I cry now, there is nothing to stop my tears, because I don't have any lower eyelashes. I knew something about my eyes felt different. It's all these things that add up to feeling not-dead, and somehow not alive.

From reading this, you'd think that I had a rotten day. But I didn't. I had a very nice day. Started by going to church and the sermon was about endings bringing new beginnings. It was lovely. I took care of B this morning while Pat braved Trader Joe's on a Sunday to make sure we were stocked up. I have the big chemo on Tuesday and if  I going to be down for a week, it's good to make sure we have enough yogurt and potato flakes. Liz came and took the fish tank (thank goodness, though it is so quiet in the living room now) and Aunt Ruth came to play with B while I took a nice 45 minute nap. So nothing happened that would really bring this on except I made a joke about worrying that the house would be messy after I die and Pat told me she would be really pissed if I die. That lead to a lot of crying and most likely how I feel now.

How can it be at the happiest time in my life, I get a cancer diagnosis? We are just building this beautiful life together and bam, f*ing bam, I have to explain why my hair looks so weird to Bennett. And trying to make being bald sound cool to a three year old is not that easy. I told her it was the big medicine that was helping my body, but making my hair fall out and that she was going to be able to see my whole head soon and wouldn't that be cool.

It's not even that really cool to me. Mostly it's just sad to have half a head of half-dead hair and have your kid use the word "squigelly" to describe it. I've never heard that word, but I could tell by the look on her face it was not a word she would use to describe something good like pudding or baby bunnies.

So there it is, my Sunday, my un-dead day. My alive day? I guess so.