This is the easiest January I've had in a couple years, meaning I'm not going through chemotherapy and I'm not packing around a wound-vacuum as I have for the last two. Given that, you'd think I would spend every day on a cloud, happy as a lark. But I've learned something that I didn't used to know. Life is hard... and people suffer more frequently and deeply than they admit.
"Sounds like a whole week of triumphs". That was the comment left on one of my weekly posts by a sweet reader. When I read it I thought, wow...that is not at all what the week was. Instead, the week was a strained marriage relationship, speaking only when necessary. It was taking a hard look at foster care, questioning if its the right thing for our family. It was feeling like I was in over my head at work and not crossing things off the to-do list at home. Triumphs? Yes, we had some but that is not the whole story. It rarely is.
I don't want this blog to be a place where I display all the ways I have it together. I also don't think its appropriate for it to be a place where I detail my husband's shortcomings or the ways my kid's sinful natures are exposed in everyday life. I desire to be authentic and not add to the already saturated market of put-together, photo-shopped lives.
"Normal", whatever that is, is not how we can be described. We know this, are aware of it. And usually its okay. Somedays I look around and think, wow...we really are crazy. The other day I left work and went directly to school for pick-up. When we got home, my nurse was waiting for us. While I was sitting at the kitchen table having my monthly medi-port flush, H and his friend from arrived home from high school. Then my SIL came in to drop off my nephew for the afternoon/evening. And I was sitting there with needles and medical supplies strewn over my kitchen table, chatting with my nurse as people traffic came in and out and I thought, yeah...this is not normal.
But its us and we're doing it and another January is in the rearview mirror.