Unknown

Sleepless nights turn the circles under my eyes a deeper shade of grey. Our mom's passing, Craig's dying process, for so many, one of these events would fill the quota of lifetime experiences never imagined at such a young age. Yet, we've experienced both for 13 months and sometimes, in the right light, it shows. Bodies creek and snap; backs and necks hunch forward more than align; eyes close for stolen moments of rest; time outside is based on errands to run. It takes a toll despite our obstinacy; we wouldn't change it for a moment and there is no place we'd rather be. As tiresome as it is, being here for Craig is the greatest gift of all. These are our lucky days, through and through.

My sisters and I have postponed everything that's familiar to us to stand by our mom and Craig each and every day of their cancer processes - day 1 to day none. It would have made sense if I visited from time to time but ultimately stayed in Maryland, working as I've been hired to do. It would have been easy for Jill to say "I'm in Thailand, keep me posted as things develop" or for Diane to elect to stay in school on path for her graduate degree. But, we didn't. We left, we postponed, we did what was neither comfortable nor secure. We don't need a brownie badge or accolades for this and wouldn't want them; it was how we were raised. Family is what heals us and makes us bleed. Love for family at all cost means just that...all cost -- be prepared to risk it all. We've been very lucky (Craig included) to be among colleagues who share similar values -- those who might envision losing a mom or a brother and ask of themselves where they would be when put in similar positions, and how they'd like support when dealing with cancer. This may be what Craig meant when in love, you give it all.

Losing loved ones is not a hypothetical; it's our reality. As if cancers (plural) isn't enough, add to, the broken left leg of Sammie -- the cat who seems to get the sh&^ end of the stick at every turn. The running hypothesis is that he snapped it on an open grated shelf in attempt to score a taste of beloved (albeit dead) plants in Emily's basement. He did a wonder from view of his x-rays, and an even bigger wonder on my pocket book. It's a new sense of absurdity when you have to take out a credit card to pay for your pet's broken leg.

To speak of Sam screams of "whiney from Whinerton ringing her bell". To folks who just have pets without the crises, it may seem like common sense to attend to a broken leg here or kidney failure there. To others who have crises without pets, it may seem like just a damn cat. For our circumstances, it'd be easy to tap out under that mindset. But, this is the family who would brave the hard and the cold for anything and anyone.

Sammie threw a wrench in the system when he broke his leg. How am I to savor every waking moment with my dying brother and make sure my cat doesn't pee on his cast, which he's supposed to keep dry? (Too late, he christened that thing the first day). Or, to keep him from plucking his stitches out. I commute between homes late at night, between cat and brother -- it couldn't be more RIDICULOUS. There's no comparison and if push comes to shove, I'd elect banking on Sam's other nine lives than Craig's one, but come on, where's the love?! Can't burden be spread among the masses?

But, today, we met yet another corner and "the ridiculous" has grown much more serious than something to simply smirk at, but otherwise take. Craig and his tired body have taken one more step down that windy, wicked staircase toward the unknown. For a few months, we've wandered lightly never too sure if "this is the day" or if tomorrow could be the day, as we've been told for so many days that he's near the end and "he could pass at any moment". Each day is an unknown. Each day is built on the knowledge that it could be the last. Each day we wake up, glance over to see if he's still alive (quite literally, sad as it is) and assume "it's not today".

And, each day, that assumption is growing more difficult to keep. ~E