Hurt

Betty is sick again. I allowed myself to wonder, just the other day, how she was really doing and how much time she might have. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Just one of those nasties that creep in when I'm not watching the door closely enough. When I was wondering about it, I started crying. Crying for the loss, for the limits of time, for what our lives will be without her in them. But also, crying in thankfulness for the blessing of having had her in my life; for having her be my "other mother." It was stupid, of course. I blame PMS, or some random song on the radio or some cheesy commerical I accidentally saw. Whatever. She's alive. She's with Dad. They're at home.

Still...

We have to face facts.

We had planned to take friends out to Dad and Betty's place tomorro for a cookout and fireworks. I bought all of the groceries last night and all of the (too many, actually) fireworks today and Dad called. Whether it was bad cell reception or the fact that he was so upset, I'm not sure, but there were these huge pauses between his words. In fact, I sat down hard on the sofa, expecting the very, very worst. He sounded almost like he did when called to tell me Grandpa or Grandma were dead, but, somehow worse.

Betty's illness, and her hospitalization in December/January brought them closer together. It gave them a new appreciation for each other and for the fragility of life. When we recently visited for Father's Day, they sat together on the sofa, holding hands. Married 25 years and holding hands, talking with their kids, watching Isaac play...they don't seem to waste a chance to touch or to check on each other in some way.

Betty having to go into the hospital again will be very hard on Dad. It will be hard on Betty, as well, don't get me wrong, but he knows what it could be like this time. The hurt I heard in my dad's voice tonight? It made me cry. The love of his life is dying and he can't stop it. I don't want him to worry about us. We'll be fine. I hope and pray that she can stay out of the hospital. The steroids just aren't working like they should. I think Dad believes if she goes into the hospital again, she'll never come home. When I got off the phone, I called and apologized to our friends, who are amazing and without missing a beat, offered to host the celebration at their house. Then I told Isaac that Grandma was sick again and needed our prayers. So we linked arms, folded our hands, bowed our heads and prayed. Isaac prayed that Grandma would be better by tomorrow so we could still go to their house. I tried to tell him that we weren't going to their house, but we would still celebrate, but he still kept asking God. I let him. He's innocent. I just prayed that she would get better and not have to go to the hospital.

I don't even know why I'm writing all of this, except to help myself process. Betty always worries about each one of us so much. But we're doing really well right now. We're at a good place. We're healthy, we have jobs, we have a strong support system of family and friends around us. Our kids are healthy and strong, growing and learning and enjoying their summers. I don't want her to worry. I just want her to stay as healthy as she can - for as long as she can.