Yesterday I woke up to Derrick's alarm clock, going off every five minutes from six o'clock until seven when he actually decided to get up. I laid there in the dark awake, and I could feel myself becoming increasing unhappy. Yes, I know there are reasons for my sadness at this particular juncture in the month, but that doesn't make it any easier to take, month after month after month.
I laid there thinking, "I really wish we could go to the Clumsy Lovers in Spokane this Friday with everyone, then go to the big wedding in Yakima on Saturday, and then have the big finale of skiing on Sunday with all my pals." The only problem with this is that all of the people going to do all of the fun stuff are either single, just dating, or married without kids. They have asked us a hundred times to go hang with them this weekend, and even though I would absolutely LOVE to, it is not going to happen.
Even though I love being a mom and having a family, these are the times I wish I was 21 again, free to come and go at will. I still have as strong of a desire to go to fun things as I did then, only now any sort of fun has to be managed. A babysitter for a three-day weekend only comes once a year for us (during our anniversary), and I know that is more than most parents get.
That is what kills me. I sit around and get sad and weepy (although I will blame hormones too), over something as stupid as not getting to do what I want to do for the weekend. Why can't I choose something more vital and noble to cry about, like the fact my mom is sick, or how horrible the world condition is? There are people who have so much more to be sad about.
When Derrick woke up I told him he should go with everyone to Washington, and I would stay home so at least one of us could go. I didn't say it with a pure heart. My heart was aching with self-pity when I spoke the words. He didn't get too excited. I don't even know if he is going to take me up on my offer. He just said, "K, I'll think about it", and got ready to go to work.
I still couldn't sleep so I logged on to myspace and saw Shannon was there. We chatted just long enough for me to grumble about the general unfairness of life. Then I got into the shower and allowed myself to really wallow in some self-pity. I shook my fist at the shower walls and gently plummeled them in anger. I wept at the unkindness of life. When my eyes were good and puffy (but the rest of me was clean), I got out, put on my robe, went to the kitchen and made coffee. Today was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, whether I was hormonal or not, and I needed to get going.
When the puffiness receded, I put on some makeup, got dressed, dressed the kids, and drove them to the daycare facility I use sometimes. Then I drove to the hospital and parked in the special area reserved for cancer patients, and went up the elevator to where my mom was, in the common chemo room. They were just putting the two chemo drips in her port when I arrived.
Mom was in a good mood, as always. She doesn't ever seem to feel too sorry for herself. She sat there and told me about all of the family and friends who are helping her. She pointed out a couple different people in the room that she knew. There was a woman named Jo that my mom wanted me to go say "hi" too. I didn't want to. I knew Jo had worked at my high school when I was a kid, but I didn't remember ever actually talking to her. I was letting myself off the polite hook because I was still feeling a little weepy, and I just didn't want to extend myself.
I looked around the room at different times while Mom and I chatted, and I noticed an older gentleman sitting behind me receiving chemo too. He didn't look like he felt too good. I glanced at him a couple of times, just kind of seeing how he was doing.
Eventually Jo came over to say goodbye. Mom gave her a hug (even though I know she doesn't hardly know her either), and wished her well. I watched Jo go over to the older guy and help him up. As I watched them walk out the door, I finally understood who he was. He had been my algebra teacher in 8th grade. He was a nice man. He was sitting there, fighting his cancer with chemo, the same as my mom is, and I didn't even go to say hi to him. My mom, sitting there, getting her first chemo treatment, had kindness and politeness to spare but I had let myself off of the hook because I had pms. My heart still hurts when I think about it now. I hope they are there next Wednesday so I can at least go over and acknowledge him.
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