Crisis

 

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger... unless it's cancer treatment, which just makes you weaker. 

When people hear my story, they often tell me that I am strong or that they would never be strong enough to live my life. I don't feel strong. I don't think I was any stronger than anyone else was or would have been. You just keep waking up because you don't stay asleep. That doesn't mean you are strong.  Maybe I appeared strong because it seemed from the outside like my primary problem-solving techninques were effective. In reality, the phases of development of crisis took years to get to a breaking point. 

Here's what happened (in a nutshell):

Phase I: It was September. My husband  of 7 years was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He went through 2 rounds of chemo, total body irradiation and a bone marrow transplant. The transplant engrafted but within a few months, he had blasts in his blood again, meaning the cancer had overwhelmed the transplant. Mike turned 30. We celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary and he was gone by the end of July, before Wade turned 2.  I was 26, a widow and single mom of 2 living sons (we lost our first son in a car crash when he was 3 months old). 

Still Phase I: I got a cute haircut and a pretty dress(not black) for the funeral. I smiled a lot and hugged everyone. I might have even cried a little, but who had time for that? I had things to do. People to meet, volunteering to sign up for. I didn't want to be alone forever. I started dating within a month. No more crying. For ten years. Maybe this looked like strength to people?  Got married again. had a couple more kids. 

Phase II: I think things had been dark for a while but i didn't really notice it because I was still in my previous problem-solving state. I was able to recognize the disabling depression with the help of my sisters and some close friends.

Phase III: I know "crisis" is supposed to be "acute" as in short-lived, but I disagree. The coping mechanisms we employ and our unintentional craziness have long-lasting effects on our lives and the lives of those around us. The ripple is unending and can be devastating. It has taken me the last 16 years to dig out of the hole and sometimes I still feel like I am grasping for the edges and drowning just a little. I have had to use all available resources: friends, sisters, parents, doctors, therapists, books, pets, God. Yes, I finally started to talking to God again. In 1998, I told him that it was ok to take Mike. I knew--for sure--that was the right thing. I was happy that Mike wouldn't suffer any more. That feeling lasted like 20 minutes. And then I was piiiiisssed. Anyway, as part of phase III, I finally began to feel God's love for me again. And I guess I loved him back. And he has become a strength and a resource to me. I'm not the strong one, here. 

Phase IV: Maybe all that time I was in phase iv. There were moments of panic, but I held it together on the outside enough that no one ever hospitalized me. 

My big brother is a retired Army Veteran. He gets annoyed and upset whenever someone calls him a hero. "I was just doing my job. That I got paid to do. I got up and I did my job, same as you." So maybe he's not strong. Maybe he's not a hero. Or maybe all of us who open our eyes the next morning are strong. Maybe we's all heroes. 

Thank you.