Bumps

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a fan of writing. When I would be mad at my mom as a child, I would send her notes under her bedroom door (misspelled and with illustrations, no less). In middle school, I was the queen of passing notes. When I had an important phone call to make, I planned it out ahead of time with things to say and took notes feverishly on responses. And when it came to guys – writing was always the best way for me to express myself.

That being said, it likely shouldn’t come as any surprise that I have kept many blogs over the years. Two of them during my WMU days – both of which I like to go back to from time to time and read again for a good laugh. It helps me remember things I have otherwise forgotten and relive some of the best moments of my young life. Even now – I take to this blog (athough not as often as I would like) to record life moments, get things off my chest and to just write for the sake of writing. Writing is part of what makes me, me. I’ve been given a desire to write and I make use of it as much as I can.

Needless to say, when something major happens in life, writing is the best way for me to sort things out for myself.

The last few years of my life have been filled with wonderfully high points and some utterly low and dark moments. I’ve seen my mom move to Big Rapids, my dad move to Texas, my brother move to Oregon. I’ve been promoted, went to Latin America for work and gone on a cruise-trip-of-a-lifetime with some of my closest friends. I reunited with a childhood best friend, made temporary enemies with two of my lifelong friends and met new people (some of whom have remained in my life, some of whom have not.) I had major surgery, witnessed my cat give birth and laughed many times until it hurt. But I’ve also cried, watched myself sink into a depression and had to coax myself into knowing when it was time to ask for help when the blueness wouldn’t go away.

I am once again blue today, but in a way that medicaton likely cannot heal. I feel a surreal sinking in my stomach that makes me just want to throw my hands to the sky and cry “why” to Him. I know that God doesn’t make mistakes. But I can say that at this point I can’t help but question the intentions behind His actions.

A year ago at this time, my grandma was being treated for breast cancer.

A year ago at this time, my stepdad was being treated for cancer.

Flash forward to this year:

My stepdad is still being treated for cancer.

My dad will soon begin treatment for cancer.

My grandma is in remission.

My heart is absolutely broken for these 2 men who are pillars of strength to my family. I’ve been blessed in the fact that my stepdad is not some stranger that stepped into my life when I was 19 and later married my mother. He has become an integral part of our immediate family and someone I deeply care for and respect. My brother and I spent many years chasing away suitor’s of my mother’s when we were young. What we in turn ended up with, is a true blessing considering our prior actions! My dad on the other hand is well…my dad. I’m his baby, and his only girl. Sometimes it takes everything in me to not crawl up on his lap and cuddle my head into his neck like I did as a child. He is the first man I loved and will forever be the first man I loved. I have not always had a wonderful relationship with my dad – there have been trials over the years and important times in my life that he missed out on. But that is in the past; I have been closer to him in the last 5 or so years than in any other period in my life.

For these two men to have cancer is devastating from my own perspective, as I’m sure anyone who knows with cancer can tell you. I simply cannot even begin to imagine putting myself in either one of their shoes. Cancer is not something that is easily cured or that you wake up one morning with and it’s “all better.” It seems like in the last 3 years of my life I’ve known more people who have had cancer than I’ve known in my entire 27 years. That in and of itself is a very scary thought.

I’ve been good lately at putting both of their illnesses at the very farthest, darkest corner of my mind. But, these thoughts have since made their way to the front and center of my mind and it’s tearing me apart. I know I need to be strong. I need to be strong for my mom, my stepdad, my dad, my stepmom, my brothers, my nephews. But I also need to let the sadness and the grief out in the best way I know how: crying. It’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be sad and to be upset with God. But God will not give us more than we can handle, as I said before. I have to truly, deeply believe in that notion to get me through the day to day.

There are people out there who have cancer that is incurable. There are little kids out there who are growing up with a deceased parent and will never know the love of 4 parents like I have. I need to reflect on what I have, what I am determined to hold on to, and be there for both my dad and stepdad through this entire process.

It’s not the end of a journey; it’s simply the beginning of one with more bumps than anticipated.