The waiting game

I hurt tonight.  More than what has become normal.  (and even normal sucked)  I must write a negative post, or someone might think I'm a positive person.  I'm negative because I hurt.  Or maybe you think talking about pain is negative.  Either way, Mark really sums up what I'm feeling in this photo:

Like my husband.  Whom always answers, "we're hanging in there, we're getting by, we're keeping it together" when asked "how are you guys?".   

Sometimes the rule "if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all"  ruins a family.   Because if you say something nice instead of reality, you might be left alone, at home, hurting. 

And you might think that people are chosing to leave you at home, alone, hurting.

Instead they just might have no idea that your are hurting, alone, and that they can do something to help.

April 17 can't come fast enough some days.  And other days it seems too soon.

Once again,  I will really be hurting, again, when I don't think I can take another hour of anesthetic, or have another stitch removed.  Or see the clutter gather up, with no one to save the family from it.    Today we'll use my bedroom dresser as the sample of clutter in my house.

(Jan 13)

We just consider it a good day if everyone has food to eat and clothes to wear.   Clean dishes and clothes are the next priority.  Clean tables and clean floors are the next.   And that makes clutter duty the first thing to be let go.

This is how my dresser looked a few months  ago. 

  (Dec 5)

Sadly, it wasn't because I cleaned it.  I was missing my drivers license.  And my dresser was covered with post-operative instructions, medication info pamplets, extra scissors, food, my kids good school papers to save, lotions, candy, pretty things, letters, safety pins, coupons.

   (Dec 5)

So took every piece of clutter off my dresser, one by one, and put in a laundry basket.  And when laundry day came, it moved into a costco size 3 diaper box.    And for a few days, my dresser looked great.  until new medical papers, school papers, library CD's and kids toys covered it up.

  (Feb 16)

And where is the costco size 3 diaper box?  For three months it was at the foot of my bed, alone.   Then for two months it had a roommate.   Then I wanted my room back.  I was too tired to sort the boxes.   I did have some energy, but I wanted to spend it laying in the sun, playing with my kids.  I want them to remember that I, not Nanny Julie, am their mother. 

So I took the 5 or 6 boxes of clutter, and put them between Alex's bed and Mark's crib.  And I covered it with a sheet. 

  (Feb 16)

And already more clutter has migrated on top.  And diapers (clean, ready to use) have cluttered in front.

And someday, someone will go thru it.    If you tell me what year it will be opened, I can probably guess who did the work.

That is the waiting game I'm playing.

I'm waiting to feel better.

I'm waiting not to feel worse.

I'm waiting for help.

I'm waiting to feel safe when I drive.

I'm waiting to lower my expectations even more

I'm waiting for surgery to start.

I'm waiting to be healed from surgery.

I'm waiting for a friend, a sister, a stranger, to help sick Rachel's household look and feel more like healthy Rachel's household.  

Waiting to be grateful for the things that have happened.  Tammy R. who spent the day with me and took down all of Chirstmas at our house.  Our nanny who repeatedly takes on on new things.    A bishop and Relief Society and School Conselor who keep asking, "what can we do?"  

What do you think Rachel could be waiting for?  

What are you waiting for?