There are fine lines between optimism, realism, and pessimism. I wrestle with which lines I will live within all the time.
I am aiming for optimism with a few toes over the line in realism.
It works most of the time. Sometimes it lets me down. Like when Kevin and I were first looking at houses. I was insistent that we needed a guest bed and bath on the first floor for when my parents came to visit us. I didn't want them climbing stairs all the time during their visits.
They aren't coming to visit anymore. They cannot.
My dancing around in optimism land had made me not realize that. It didn't dawn on me that their visit in June was their last visit here.
Now that Momma has started chemo again, I find myself trying so desperately hard to remain optimistic. One thing that has helped that is that I know that the better I am at handling it, the easier it is on her. I didn't understand that until I was a mother. But I understand now that one of the hardest parts of her illness is knowing how much her children hurt for her, and for ourselves.
So I keep my foot, at least one at all times, across the line of optimism. It is all I can do some days to plant it there, but I want to be hopeful.
Hopeful for one more birthday.
One more Christmas.
One more New Year.
Little Bird's first birthday.
And as we pass each milestone, I'll dig my heels in a little more to hope for another.
Because like Andrea, the late Punk Rock Mommy said, "I am not “dying”. I am living with a terminal illness that eventually I will die from." Momma knows this statement well.
Momma is still living. I know it is hard, or rather I can only imagine how hard, to take the chemo again and again. But I'm so grateful for every extra day it gives us with you.
And I am hopeful that we are talking about many many many extra days.
I am so grateful for our trip to BlogHer this year, and for pictures like this.Little Bird and his Nana.
