Under Water

(This is from Friday, March 21, 2014)

 

My mom called me this morning before work to tell me she is cutting her hair. Lately, she’s been wearing her hair pretty long and she curls it nearly every day. She wants to cut it in stages, so it’s not so shocking for her. She plans to cut it to her shoulders first and then shorter after she starts chemo. We talked briefly about getting a wig and I told her I had already looked up the possibility of donating my hair to make her a wig. I’ve cut my hair twice before to donate it and while I was trying to see how long I can get it, I would definitely cut if off if it helped her in any way. She was worried about losing her job stating she needs to keep working because their health insurance comes from her employer. It’s sad to think that she works in a women’s clinic, dealing with women’s health issues (like breast cancer) and yet still worries about losing her job. It’s terrible. She mentioned being disappointed she had not called my photographer friend to take pictures of her and my dad (I had given them a gift card for the photo shoot two years ago for Christmas) “before all this.” I cried after I hung up the phone.

 

I feel like I’m living under water right now. When I was younger, I would sometimes get tired of playing in the pool, so I would roll onto my back and float. With my ears submerged under water, my sense of hearing was dulled. I could hear my breathing, the calming whoosh of air pumping in and out of my lungs. Other sounds were muffled, barely audible and distorted by the water. Now, instead of feeling calm by the quieted world, I feel trapped, like I am sitting under water and I need to hear but it’s garbled, I need to see but the water refracts my vision of the world. My movements are lethargic, fighting the weight of the body of water that encases me and yet I know the pace of the world has not changed, I’m just helpless to react to it. Life does not stop. It does not slow down so you can process one thing first before the next thing hits you. Like the relentless waves pounding the shore, life just keeps coming at you with no pause, no delay. I don’t know whether to scream or cry or both. Last night I wept as I took my shower (after the kid went to bed). I cried for my mom and what she’s facing. I cried for my dad and my family because we are going through this together. I cried for the kid because it seems like no one wants him and that’s a terrible, terrible thing. I took in a kitten because he was the only one in the litter no one wanted and I couldn’t let that happen to him. He was the sweetest cat ever (unfortunately, he passed away). How can I let a child feel unwanted? He said to me again this morning how he really wants me to be able to get what I want (a baby) and he told me he will be alright. I cried for me because it feels like my placement is now tainted because I have to kick this kid to the curb to get it. I thought I was helping, I thought I was doing a good thing by taking this kid in, but it doesn’t feel that way anymore. I  was just postponing the inevitable. If I were to get a placement today, he would end up in a shelter, when I took him in to prevent that very thing from happening. My heart is screaming at me to do something but I am frozen, what can I do? I can tell them not to move him – after demanding his stay be temporary, after whining that I don’t have a permanent placement. They might call into question my mental state if I start going all bi-polar and flip-flopping on things. I don’t know, I can’t seem to piece things together, to make sense of my world right now. I’m blinded by the pain of it all.