Limbo

Every time I turn around, limbo is lurking at the door. Neither Guy nor I do well in limbo. We both hate it and crave stability.

Guy is still laid off. He has a great job just dangling in front of him, but they won't lay down the contract and say "sign." The funding is still just out of reach to hire him officially. They call and email, reminding him that they want him, but come on, folks. April is right around the corner, and we start eating into his severance package. We really don't want to do that.

I am in the dreaded two week wait. The cheap internet tests that I bought have caused more harm than good. I, of course, have tested early and although my temps look promising for some implantation, the tests are still saying negative. I have another six days before I can officially give up for this month though.

My mom goes back to the oncologist today. In December, they declared her miraculously cancer free. While I feel as though these past three months have been limbo, my daddy has been living as though Momma's reprise from cancer is a done deal. Momma doesn't say what she thinks, but I know her. I know she is in limbo too. And while they will see the doctor and draw the blood today, it will be more limbo as we wait to see what the ca125 says now.

We will wait, in limbo, to see if the cancer is still gone.

My therapist said that I am to think about "now." I am to try and reign in the planning ahead, charting out every possible scenario and how I will handle them. Live now.

This week, I think I know why I am supposed to do that. You cannot be close to people while you are in limbo. If you don't live in the present, there isn't any way you can connect with the people around you.

Every night, Guy falls asleep before me because I just can't sleep lately. As his breath evens out and his muscles relax starting with his neck, then his shoulders, and on down to his very heavy legs, one of which is usually thrown across mine, I feel him slipping away. He feels further and further away, and I lay there, with my arm across his chest and my cheek on his shoulder, wondering where he is.

He is in limbo.

And at my mother's house over the holidays, she and I never talked. She did not come in my room to see about me after the miscarriage. She did not hover. She did not try and talk to me. She stayed away. And I lay in the bed, wondering where she was.

She was in limbo.

I cancelled my students today. I do have a sinus headache, but for the most part, I am just severely anxious and unable to focus. I have taught like that one day and it wasted everybody's time and probably didn't make my students feel very good about themselves because I wasn't really there.

I was in limbo.

We are waiting for these answers as if once we have them, we can finally move on. I think what we have to do is learn to live without them. Because there will always be questions. There will always be uncertainty.

I want to learn to live now. I just don't know how.