Apologize

At one point on Saturday evening, I looked at the clock and sorrowfully moaned to Warren and Chris, "It's only 5:00." The time between when I start feeling badly and when I start feeling better seems interminable, although it is typically less than 48 hours. It is a joyless time, for me and for those around me - I can see how painful it is for my family to see me weak, tearful, hurting, at a loss to stop the depressing thoughts swirling around in my head. I am sure there are secret tears that I don't see and I want to say to them over and over "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" for bringing this misery down upon them.

It is just wrong that I should be held tightly by my 17-year-old daughter while I weep, she tenderly stroking my back, kissing my cheek, whispering that she loves me and telling me to stop apologizing. It is wrong that my husband and Taryn's dad should stand by helplessly while I pace the living room floor screaming, "This is stupid! It's stupid to go through this a third time! It's better to die!" It is wrong that the fallout from this illness filters out to so many, much like (here's some irony) a tumor spiders out as it grows.

I can see why people get to a point where they say "Enough." It is not because we are not strong, or because we have lost hope, or because there are no options left (although I'm sure that is true sometimes). I think it is because we want to stop the suffering felt by our loved ones; we want them to start healing and stop hurting. And while it is true that I am a long way from "enough," I can understand how it is one arrives there.

Forty-eight hours have come and gone. Depression fades. Amnesia sets in. Smiles begin. But I need to share all of this journey and so I will apologize to you as I have (rightly or wrong) apologized to everyone this weekend - I'm sorry this has to be part of your life too.