Doing hope

I have a quote-a-day calendar that Ron gave me for Christmas. He bought it because the box it came in had the picture to the left as its cover. My friend Moira sent me that avatar months before and I immediately printed it and stuck it on my refrigerator.

There was a lot going on then as there is now and so I've kept that mantra in plain view at all times.

It was a tough week in the Nolan family and I needed to keep that quote handy. Dad ended up in the hospital for a few days and I took care of mom while my brother coordinated Dad's care.

I struggled this week both emotionally and physically. More than I have since mom's cancer journey started last July. My chronic fatigue syndrome is always there. Like a flu you just can't shake. I've lived with it for eight years and will continue to do so, I expect, till the day I die.

To make matters worse, in the middle of this stressful week I contracted the norovirus. Strangely enough, although I have a chronic illness, I tend not to be susceptible to the contagious stuff. I may get a minor cold once a year but that's usually it. I guess the universe figures I've paid my dues.

Dad returned from the hospital, recovered and well, and I returned home. At home yesterday - where I didn't have to keep up my caregiver facade - I was surprised to find a lot of overwhelming feeling spilling out of me. It was the meltdown that I've been pretending I could avoid for the past 9 months. I had this grand illusion that I could think myself through all the feelings. "You will have no regrets." "You are as strong as your mother." "This is all part of life." "Keep calm and carry on."

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the norovirus that kicked the crap out of me, or maybe it was just the proverbial last straw. Whatever it was, it wasn't pretty.

Ron, the world's greatest guy, answered his phone while he was at lunch. What he heard was a sobbing, mumbling woman who could barely speak because all of her energy was being used to keep her shoulders from heaving themselves to the floor. He said, "I'll be right home."

I spent most of the afternoon sitting on the couch with my rock of a husband and a box of kleenex. Then I was sent to bed to sleep.

There were lots of feelings that made their way out of my mouth in between sobs while I sat on that couch with Ron. Some of it made no sense but feelings are not about sense. When I got to the point where I was too exhausted to cry anymore, I said to Ron, "So what am I supposed to do now?" He said, "Get some rest."

I know I didn't articulate my question correctly. I honestly didn't know how to at that moment. But I knew I hadn't found the answer I was looking for. That is, until this morning when I ripped off yesterday's page on my quotations calendar. "Hope...is not a feeling; it is something you do." -- Katherine Paterson.

And there it was. Something I could do, not just feel.

I can't stop my feelings from overtaking me sometimes. But I can hope. I'm not foolish enough or in denial enough to hope that a cure is found for pancreatic cancer in time to save my mom. But there is still much to hope for.

I can hope for more treasured moments with mom and dad that will carry me through. I can hope that my loved ones will continue to be there for me as they have all along. I can hope that tomorrow will be a better day. And I can hope that no matter what I'm feeling, I can still choose hope.