Rock Star Hour

Superhero

That song's been in my head for about the last hour today, and I haven't listened to that CD in forever. I've got some things to say, but before I do, I just want to say that on the whole I have been doing very well lately. Staying very busy. Grades are good. Graduation is coming. Home is home. But I've got some things I need to say, for the fact that maybe writing them could make sense of them in my own mind.

My grandpa was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer a few weeks ago. I'm doing OK, but I'm not. I haven't called my grandma in two weeks. I want to call, but I'm afraid to because I am afraid of bad news, I'm afraid of the tone in her voice that has of course changed, and most of all, I'm afraid of crying.

First off, my family has this issue with crying. We have to bear our pain on our own. It's not that we can't talk about it. We, meaning my sisters and I, sometimes me and my dad, my grandmother and I, would talk about things in solitary phone calls.

At least, that's what we would do after my mom got sick. And it would help. But now with my grandfather things are even more difficult. I can't look to my grandmother for strength and comfort, and to be able to just talk, and cry if I need to, about my mother, because now it's my grandfather too, and everyone is so sad.

I can't imagine how she must feel. How everyone individually must feel. And my mother, trying to stay strong through all the chemo and remain positive and heal, has suddenly taken this emotional turn, where she knows exactly, more than anyone, what her own father is about to experience.

Do you know what it is like to go home and not even recognize your own mother?

I don't know how to talk about it, to explain it enough. Only a few of my friends who have gone through it can truly understand, and even then, everyone has their own story of grieving and coping and healing, and what it feels like to stand on the sidelines and feeling so helpless in the face of seeing someone weakened and put through all this agony, someone you love so much.

My mother, last I heard, weighed 108 lbs. That was a couple weeks ago, and judging by how quickly the weight has been dropping, she probably weighs even less. And that's less than what I weigh also, and she is two-and-a-half inches taller than me and has had three kids.

Her hair is less and less. The light in her eyes, less. They say the cancer did not show up on her last radiology report, so I'm trying to keep a positive perspective, but she still has to brave two more months of chemo. In the beginning, six months of chemo did not sound so long.

But in the beginning, I had no idea what to expect. How much she would change. Instead of looking forward to the end of the therapy, it is hard not to be so scared of what can happen in that seemingly short time.

The chemo causes ulcers to form in the throat. It also changes her nerves and the way things taste. So, she can't eat, really. She refuses to try new things, but does, when pressed. She watches food shows on tv, though, and talks about what she's going to eat and where, when she gets better. It makes her happy, and gives her something else to look forward to.

A couple weeks ago I went to visit her, and she had gone to the store earlier that day. She's not really supposed to go anywhere or drive, for a couple of reasons.

The first is that she is so weak, no one thinks driving would be a good activity for her.

Second, her immune system is so low she has been advised to go out in public as little as possible. She cannot be around school-aged children. She can't even go to church, too many people there.

She had gone to the store and she was so weak when she got home, just from that. She said she did the best she could. She carried all the food in so that it wouldn't go bad, but could I get the rest of the things she bought, out in the car?

Of course. I brought the items in and put them away. It just broke my heart, though.

Yesterday, I went to the house and we all watched a movie. My mom switched the TV mode from Satellite so we could watch the DVD. When it was over, my dad gave me the remote to turn it back, but I did something wrong.

I haven't thought about this much. It didn't really bother me, but my mom got frustrated and snapped at me for a second. She got on the phone with the Satellite company to figure out how to fix it, and within a few minutes it was back on.

My dad said it happened all the time, so that's why he didn't even try anymore.

And my mom kept apologizing to me. She kept saying, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have said ..."

But it didn't even matter to me. It didn't even phase me. I just told her it was all right, and okay.

I guess that story to me just didn't add up. She just seemed overly apologetic. I didn't understand. Maybe it would just take a lot more than that to make me upset with my mother right now.

I don't know.

***

I remember a few years ago, I wrote this blog about a couple of friends that I knew, who were slightly older -- the town mouse and the city mouse -- and how they were trying to have a relationship, but knew they weren't willing to compromise.

I actually admired it at the time. I thought they knew something I didn't. I thought things were lighter than they actually were. Looking back, I remember them each talking to me about it, and I remember the expressions on their faces, both when they were together, and when they were apart.

There's different kinds of heartbreak, you know. There's the all-encompassing, tear your heart out, lose your shit, drink too much kind. There's the cut off from the world and throw yourself into a book kind. There's the grab a new instrument and play it six hours a day, or whenever your not asleep or at work kind. There's the black coffee and cigarettes kind. There's the shrug your shoulders and hang out with your friends kind.

I guess there's no point in trying to figure out which ones are better, or easier to get over. For me, I'm trying to figure out what I'd like to do with the present.

I asked myself and the other person in question several, several months ago.

I told him about volunteering in order to take care of my community service as part of my sentence. I told him how, not everyone was just parties and hanging out. Some people work out. Some people volunteer. Some people find passions and causes. And I said, "How do you want to spend your time?" I asked myself the same thing.

I'm still asking myself the same thing.

So many things point to "No," in this situation. But it's not just been a relationship for a year. He's been my best friend for this whole year. And it hasn't always been great, but it's never been bad. Yes, we've fought. We've disappointed each other. He's let me down countless times. Flaking on plans. Not taking much of what I say as important. Not considering my feelings in certain situations. If I keep listing these I won't be able to continue my point, so I just won't.

But for some reason, it is beyond me why something that seems so doomed to work does work. We don't have anything in common. Very little. That does become more and more apparent.

At the same time, I make compromises. I'll go places to be with him, or I'll watch movies he wants to watch, or I'll listen to the music he wants to listen to. I've gotten to know all of his friends pretty well. I've been to lots of the major social things, and countless times for the mundane. He does not do any of these things on his side, nor does he see them as important, or relevant to our relationship.

I know all this, and more, and yet I still persist to spend time with him. And when we do spend time together, things are okay. We had a lot of fun together over the weekend. We did spend a Saturday together, the whole day, for the first time in since as long as I can remember. We ran errands, we had lunch, we saw a movie. It was pretty good.

But overall, I keep asking myself if this is healthy. There's no pressure anymore, because he knows and I know that the relationship is over. And from that perspective I can rest easy, because I don't make a point to depend on him or have expectations about anything. And when I catch myself doing so, and if he does disappoint me, or if we disagree like we do about many, many things, I just tell myself I made the right decision.

But what decision have I made really, when we still see each other or at least talk nearly every day?

I'm confused. I go in and out of thinking things are right and wrong. Right for now. Wrong for later. Better now. Unhealthy now. I know once again, I'm going to have to figure it out for myself. And I know when I feel I can be more articulate about it, a conversation will take place. I feel almost like writing this is not right. A long time ago I wouldn't have batted an eye. But as I said, if it will help me make things make sense a little more, I'm all for that.

Labels: Ani Difranco, Breaking Up, Cancer, Relationships