Procession

I don't have much to say.  I do, but I would like to get to bed to try and sleep.

I just needed to share.

I feel younger each day.  Younger and older.  More and more like a child, in a way, but also like an aging older person.

I hate the way it runs through my head, the conversation this evening.  It's not wicked painful, but it's just...there.

Granted, my mind is a tad fuzzy, and I didn't want to think about it, so I must "fill in the blanks" a tad.  But the general gist of the conversation is here from what I can remember.

Putting my plate together for a little dinner, our tiny kitchen table.  She's in the other room, two down, on the phone, out of ear shot.  I place my plate on the table, turn to the fridge to put the remainder of my things away...
"So...do you think we should have an intervention?"
I am silent, waiting for him to continue.
"To discuss things.  Like [the doctor] said, so everyone is on the same page."
I still remain silent, a little confused.  He presses on without hesitation.
"...[your brother] has lots of questions."
"Well, that's [him].  He's the biggest worrier of us all.  If he wants to ask questions, he can."
Apparently, I haven't quite grasped the conversation.  I don't know how it hits here, but the anchor drops as he bluntly puts what we're getting at.
"...funeral...but I don't want to ask because it looks like we are giving up, and we aren't."
Surprising myself, I discuss the topic matter-of-factly, not blinking an eye, no wetness of eyes, no breaking in voice.  We conclude that he shall ask, but we won't really bring it up.  I think.  I think that was what was concluded.

I guess my point is that I didn't expect this talk.  I'm still in that "shock" state, I guess, or I simply have hardened myself to the point that I am taking things scientifically and not really putting myself into the situations, despite me actually being in them.  It's like when I sometimes remember my dreams...I see myself, I watch myself do things, but I am not really myself.  I am myself, but I am, rather, watching myself.  It's odd.  Sometimes I do the same with memories.  It is as if I am hovering in the air, watching invisibly as I see my memories and dreams happen below.  So strange.  Anyhow.

The words...they seem so foreign.  So out of place.

I only overhear things.  I do not ask much anymore.  I don't want to know.

Lymph nodes turning into...  Growing...  Chemo...Thursday...two week...  There are just little things that go in and out of my mind.  They filter through but get jumbled around in the process.  Or they are there, neatly in file folders, but I brush dust and dirt onto them so that it is as if they are not there, forgotten, pretend figments of the imagination.

I guess I did have quite a bit to say.  More so than I thought, at least.

I want to talk to people about my thoughts.  I want to tell them what's going on in my mind.  I want to talk to someone and tell them things so that I can realize them and cry about it.  Only yesterday did we get the news that things are worsening.  In a way, it's to be expected, but, well, no one wants that.  And, you know, people beat the odds all the time.  So that's what I was hoping for, I guess.

She sat on the couch this evening, hand on her temple.  I knew it hurt.  I asked.  "I have a headache."  To any other person, you'd offer some ibuprofen or something.  Not in this case.  I had no idea what could help.  And I could see the pain and suffering and sadness and fear in her.  It was as if she was saying, "It hurts so much.  I don't know what to do.  I just don't know what to do."  And all I could do was sit there.  I couldn't rub her temples to make it go away.  I couldn't give her some ibuprofen to make it hurt less.  And all I could think was what I thought she was thinking, and how I couldn't help.  I couldn't make her feel any better in any way.

And that's how I feel now.  I don't know what to do.  I'm at a loss.  The best I can do thus far is give her a hug and try to put all of myself into it so that she knows it is a real hug and feels love in it.  I can tell her that I love her and hope she feels it and it heals something inside, somehow.

Distractions only do so much.  Reality is always here.  I'm going to do random things throughout the day, then shove off to work at night.  I'll temporarily forget about things for a while until I come back.  I'll be tired.  And things will just pass my mind.  I'll go to bed.  And repeat the process.

I don't know what to say right now.

What can I do?  What am I doing?

How can I make this reality not seem so bad?  How can I take what scraps we have left and sew them up into something wonderful?  How can you put together life when it's slipping away?  It's like I'm trying to make clothing out of sand.  You can only do so much with glue.  It all falls apart anyhow.  That's not even a good simile.  I can't think of anything good enough right now.

When money is slim, when so many bills must be paid off, when you can't even hold yourself together...how can you make it better for someone else whose life is...

How?  What?  Please, just...say something.