As crappy as this is, and it is indeed very crappy... there are some good parts. There really are.
I have had the opportunity to really find out who people are. People I thought were my friends dropped me like a hot rock as soon as they found out I was not going to be around for the long term and considered "useful," and I'm thankful to know just how horrible they are now so I didn't waste years bothering with them. People that really are my friends have become closer friends and come through for me in ways I never imagined possible and I value their friendship more than ever. And I've met people who, when faced with the most horrible disease imaginable, are living and loving with strength, grace, and courage beyond comprehension.
I have gotten to be more open and loving with the people that truly matter to me. I know I and everyone I associate with all subscribed to the typical American belief that you do not tell people you love them or how much they mean to you. And now, it's like walls are gone. I tell people I love them. They tell me they love me. Even macho men have cried and told me how much I mean to them. I'm certain under normal circumstances that would never have happened.
I value my days more than I ever did before. Days used to be things you just survived in order to crawl into bed, exhausted from doing what you thought was important, just to drag yourself out of bed the next morning and do it all again. Now, I spend my days doing what I can and want, when I can and want to. Whether that is just sitting and staring at a wall and marveling at the wonders of sheetrock, two-by-four studs, and bricks that have been holding up my roof for more than 50 years... or going out and whoopin' it up with my best buds, I am LIVING LIFE, not just surviving it!
While I always tried to be a good mom before Mr. Gehrig visited my motor neurons, I realize I often let teachable moments and what could have been special times slide by in favor of doing something else. Now, I take every moment I get and turn it into something special and my son is absolutely blossoming in all the attention. He's developed excellent manners in speaking and at the table, we've have game time nightly and I see him developing problem solving skills and good sportsmanship (which was sorely needed!), and we take time to snuggle and cuddle and tell each other how much we love each other. I've definitely had a change in priorities that has been beneficial to both of us.
The list could go on and on....
I think this all goes back to attitude. Either suck on the lemons straight and make a face and cringe... or take your lemons, find some sugar to go with it, and make some lemonade. Can we all make lemonade all the time? Of course not. There are good times, there are bad times. I think this is where the "roller coaster" analogy comes from. Just when we get on an uphill climb where you are used to what you have and are settled into a routine of how to handle it, another loss occurs, and you go downhill all over again with the grief of loss and learning to deal with it. It's an analogy of perspective. Some people perceive their illness this way... others look at it as a giant slide down a rusty razor blade into a tub of alcohol.
I sincerely hope that all my friends here find a way to become rollercoaster lovers... though I certainly understand if you choose the rusty razor blade... that's your right.
Ok... off my soapbox now. The boy wants tacos for dinner and I'm gonna attempt to cook some up!
~ Sarah
