Day 3 of a Terrible Season

A season. 

That's what this is. It's all temporary. I know that. Whatever happens next, it's not the end of the world. But, God, how I hate that everything else keeps going on. What is the biggest deal to me is just another patient at a hospital, just another life on a tight timeline. 

This is a terrible season.

There's been a lot on my mind, but these are some thoughts I just need to get out. Maybe that way they'll become less a part of me. 

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Living on edge.

I want to say I've learned a lot the last several days, but it's only been two. Two days of trying to silence the chaos that lives inside my brain, in all our brains.

On edge. That's how it feels. No matter how much good news comes our way, even when (or if) he gets out, we'll still be on edge, worrying that it could happen again at any given moment. 

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I remember walking into our bedroom the other day after the whole thing happened. We'd waited in the car outside the church for a good half an hour before the paramedics told us which hospital we were going to. 

We dropped Ma off. We watched as they pulled Pa out of the ambulance on the stretcher. He was looking around, his eyes open, responsive. But who knows how much longer he'll be that way?

Finally. We had a short moment to ourselves to just breathe. My husband and I closed the door behind us and  looked at each other. Up until that point, nothing came out of our mouths that wasn't purely functional.

"Do you know the address?"

"We'll let your sister follow us."

"We'll go get pants for Pa. We'll be back."

Impersonal is maybe how I'd describe our communication up until that point. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't us. It was cold and I can't imagine we could have had it any other way without completely breaking down every time. 

We stood in our bedroom and held each other. What the heck just happened?

I looked around at all our stuff. Shoes. Books. Furniture.

"Nothing else matters. After all that, none of this even matters," I said. 

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It’s so much easier to write. When I write I can focus on making my sentences make sense instead of having to make sense of everything happening. Part of me likes writing hoping that you reading this won't have to ask me how I'm feeling or how he's doing. I don't mean to be rude, I hope you know that. This is just really hard and being short (not my height, with my words, silly) is much easier than being courteous and polite. But please know that I'm doing my best to be respectful.

After I dropped Ma off at the hospital, we ran errands at the mall. I tried really hard not to be bitchy with the  sales associate, but my husband confronted me after telling me I need to watch my tone. I couldn't even look the associate in the face. I wanted to just get the transaction over with. I didn't have the energy to connect with another human being because all morning I was grasping to connect with someone I feel like I'm about to lose.

Another day, another arrest. 

“She was arrest,” Ma texted. 

“Who was arrested?” my husband half-joked. 

There are no gender pronouns in Tagalog so Filipinos mix "he" and "she" up all the time in English.

I’m so tired. Of crying. Of checking my phone. I usually don’t have lock screen notifications on but I enabled them on Sunday and I can’t help but keep glancing over my phone. 

Anxiety is my closest and worst enemy. 

I also don't know why I assigned myself the role of "Updater". We have a church WhatsApp group and ever since I gave a couple of updates yesterday, I'm self-inflicting pressure to be the spokesperson for the family. 

That's not my job.

"So, what is your job?" I can hear my therapist saying. She's so good at challenging my thoughts. I can't wait to meet with her in a few weeks. 

If you even have a few weeks.

Here's what I'm slowly digesting myself as I write this: Pa's life ending will not end my life. That's a hard truth that I'm not ready to say aloud. As much as it already feels like the world is crashing down on us, my life will go on as long as God wants it to. And so will Pa's. 

God, this suuuuucks. I would love for this to be over. I don't want to have to worry. But the goal of your plans are not to make me not worry. You want to change lives. You want people to know your power and love. Me, I want to know your power and love. I need it, God. We need it. We're so tired. But we'll wait on you. It's all we can do.