When time first stood still.

My mind is racing yet I blankly stare at nothing. So many thoughts are swirling around in my mind, like why, yet when I say it out loud I can’t even finish a sentence without crying. A terminal illness is a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing because you have time with the loved one that you wouldn’t normally get when someone passes away like in a car accident or heart attack. You can talk with them; having those difficult conversations that may give you closure that you wouldn’t have normally received. You can talk with them about what it will be like when they are gone; how you will live on without them, funeral arrangements. Which, when you have those conversations it’s so bizarre. The mind can’t seem to put the pieces together; that the person you are talking about those things with will soon be gone. It’s a curse. A curse because the process is prolonged. The pain and agony is with you everyday; it’s my reality. Morning is the worst time because for a brief moment, my mind is clear. The reprieve is so cruel. And then I remember. I remember that I wake up to the same routine/nightmare over and over. I never know when I will get off this hamster wheel and will be able to “live my life” again. But at the same time, I don’t want the next step to come either. I guess that’s what it feels like when you really love someone. Sure, I’ve had grandparents pass away, but they were just old, ya know. It’s like you expect them to die. A terminal illness comes like a thief in the night. The days were happy and full of future potential. But those happy times slowly drifted away into the distance of the unknown. Now, the days are long and full of sadness. Agonizingly long. I hear the clock ticking as I sit and stare. I look back at so many pictures and happy memories. A life that was once so active; more active than the average person has now come to a screeching halt. I look back at those years and can’t help that I wish we could just go back. Go back to those times where he would have some ridiculous idea of a good time, and somehow would get everyone to participate. And the best part was how we always looked back and said that was so fun. It’s hard because Mason wasn’t a part of those times. So if I went back, I wouldn’t have the joy of being with Mason. It’s a tough world we live in. I guess I can’t have both. I had always envisioned Papa holding a little boy’s hand, walking down the driveway at the cabin; getting into trouble as I’m sure they would. But now that dream is drifting away, further and further from reality. And now I am left with emptiness. “Everything is a trade off.” he says.

And for now,

Xoxo