Under Its Roof

Jenny here.

I love quotes but, lately, I haven't changed my quote board at work.  Not since Wil went into the hospital.

There will always be dates I never forget.  November 11, 2013.  The last day I ate at home with Wil, woke up next to him, fussed about housework, listened to him laugh at podcasts, and so many other things.  When I woke up that day, 3 days after his diagnosis, I had no idea that night we would be in the ER, looking at admit.  Earlier that day I had talked to another oncologist who was a friend of a friend, since we had not been happy with the one we had at the time.  He said "if he were my patient, I would want your husband admitted right away.  Don't wait too long with this diagnosis."  6 hours later Wil would be unable to safely walk up the stairs at UTA for class, 8 hours later he would be in the ER.  3 days later he would be on BMT unit.  For several weeks the dogs would pace the floors looking for him.  I would forget to take out the trash on the right days, the leaves would fall and not be raked, and I would spend only sleeping hours at home.

Now, 2 months later, he has not stepped back into our house.  When he left there were still Halloween decs everywhere.  The dogs have stopped looking for him, although I still leave a sweatshirt of his on the bed they like to lay on.  I have had to come to a place of new normal, even with the quiet at the house I have not come to embrace yet.  I expect he may not be home for another few months if he is admitted back for chemo.

The last few days, his progress has continued at a steady pace.  Eating, talking, sitting up longer.  It's interesting to me that when I am in the valley I don't cry much.  It's head first into the wind.  Yesterday, with the wind to my back, tears flow again.  Increases in hope can let the reality of the real diagnosis come back in.  He has aggressive cancer and he did not tolerate treatment well.

I had this idea, B.C., that hope was a place that was a warm and cozy house, with a fireplace, soup, and  a sense of calm.

On my quote board at work, this is the quote that has remained:

"The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for.  And the most you can do is live inside that hope.  Not admire it from a distance, but live right in it, under its roof."  Barbara Kingsolver

I think I have kept it, wishing and wondering what I needed to do to feel hope in the way I had imagined it--calm, safe, warm, positive.  Don't get me wrong, there have been moments when I felt that.  Today, he ate great again.  He sat on the edge of the bed with me for the 20 minutes I had in between jobs to see him, put his hand on my knee, and for the first time almost a month said "I love you" clearly.  I know he has tried to say before, I have seen it in his face at times.  Today anyone could have understood it.  Today hope felt warm.

When I look at how hope, as a word, is defined, there are no words like warm, safe, and cozy.  The words that pop up are want, wish, desire, chance, likelihood, confidence.  Knowing this makes me feel more secure because I know my darker posts are harder for me to post, harder for people to comment on, and that people want to make sure I am still hopeful..in turn I sometimes edit out the extent of the darkness some days bring so people don't worry.

Hope.  Hope can be and I can feel an array of feelings.  Even on the darkest days, I still have a want and desire for Wil to recover.  I feel sad, scared, mad, and crazy sometimes and it doesn't erase the chance...the possibility that we will beat this thing.  It's that up close hope that keeps me going, even when the walls of my dream hope house seem to crumble or the porch light goes out for a few days.  It shelters me even though a draft may come through.  I'm living under hope's roof every day that I get up, every time I cry, laugh, scream, feel defeated, or relish in success.

I promise to post some pictures tomorrow of my guy.  Amazing what a few days can do...