Feel like Talking
Do you ever feel like you're trapped in the in-between? Like life around you continues to move, vibrant and colorful, and yet, you're stuck in a gray haze with your feet moving through sludge? It's the one place you never want to be when you have a to-do list ten miles long and very little time in which to complete it. Well, I'm there.
My writing is going well. My edit is coming along, and I have two other books in the works. Still plugging away with submissions with my first book. I am behind in critique partner work, but I'm sure they'd forgive me if I let on what is going on in my life right now.
A friend of mine is dying.
A wonderful man with music in his hands and Jesus in his heart. I haven't known him long, only five years, but it is enough for me to feel like I'm losing a piece of my soul. He is like a grandfather to me. He filled the void I had when I moved to Los Angeles and didn't have family support. He has pictures of my children on his fridge. He gave me back my voice when I didn't think I could sing again.
I've watched him waste away from the cancer that's eating him. His face is sallow and his body fragile and weak. I watched chemo take his hair and his appetite. I watched the pain from his disease take away his ability to play the piano.
Then, I watched him slowly recover - his weight went up, his hair came back, his fingers no longer too numb to do what they love. Our friends and his family felt hope after three years of watching him suffer. We had hope that the chemo had finally done it's job and the cancer would fade into the background.
Hardest of all, we watched the cancer come back aggressively. Within a month he had lost at least ten pounds, his skin was so pale, and his attitude raw.
When he lost hope we tried to find it for him.
When he lost the will to fight, we gave him words of love and encouragement.
When he didn't want to eat, we all but spoon fed him.
Then, when he found peace with the idea that he would soon be with the Father, we lost our hope, our fight.
Today, he is sitting in the hospital. I am praying he pulls through enough to come home for a while because I can't take my kids to see him. They don't allow children. On top of that, my family has made the decision to move back to Oklahoma for our kids to be with family. We leave in a month. I don't know if I have the strength to say goodbye, and I know I don't have the strength for a funeral. That's selfish to say, I know. This isn't about me. His illness isn't about me. But knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less. I love him.
He isn't the only person we will be leaving behind. I had to break the news of our moving to my church family just days after our friend went into the hospital. Here they were, waiting for news about him, and I give them more sad news. Needless to say, I spent yesterday lying in bed and drinking. Every now and then I need a pity party.
I don't know what the point of this post was. I think I just needed to tell somebody this. Thank you for letting me ramble.
My writing is going well. My edit is coming along, and I have two other books in the works. Still plugging away with submissions with my first book. I am behind in critique partner work, but I'm sure they'd forgive me if I let on what is going on in my life right now.
A friend of mine is dying.
A wonderful man with music in his hands and Jesus in his heart. I haven't known him long, only five years, but it is enough for me to feel like I'm losing a piece of my soul. He is like a grandfather to me. He filled the void I had when I moved to Los Angeles and didn't have family support. He has pictures of my children on his fridge. He gave me back my voice when I didn't think I could sing again.
I've watched him waste away from the cancer that's eating him. His face is sallow and his body fragile and weak. I watched chemo take his hair and his appetite. I watched the pain from his disease take away his ability to play the piano.
Then, I watched him slowly recover - his weight went up, his hair came back, his fingers no longer too numb to do what they love. Our friends and his family felt hope after three years of watching him suffer. We had hope that the chemo had finally done it's job and the cancer would fade into the background.
Hardest of all, we watched the cancer come back aggressively. Within a month he had lost at least ten pounds, his skin was so pale, and his attitude raw.
When he lost hope we tried to find it for him.
When he lost the will to fight, we gave him words of love and encouragement.
When he didn't want to eat, we all but spoon fed him.
Then, when he found peace with the idea that he would soon be with the Father, we lost our hope, our fight.
Today, he is sitting in the hospital. I am praying he pulls through enough to come home for a while because I can't take my kids to see him. They don't allow children. On top of that, my family has made the decision to move back to Oklahoma for our kids to be with family. We leave in a month. I don't know if I have the strength to say goodbye, and I know I don't have the strength for a funeral. That's selfish to say, I know. This isn't about me. His illness isn't about me. But knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less. I love him.
He isn't the only person we will be leaving behind. I had to break the news of our moving to my church family just days after our friend went into the hospital. Here they were, waiting for news about him, and I give them more sad news. Needless to say, I spent yesterday lying in bed and drinking. Every now and then I need a pity party.
I don't know what the point of this post was. I think I just needed to tell somebody this. Thank you for letting me ramble.
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