I’m trying to be strong with all that’s going on with me. It’s important to me that I stay real. That I accept what’s happening, and what’s going to happen, and I think one of my main missions now is to make sure that those I love accept it. I am trying to step back a little and watch them interact together. A mother is often the glue that keeps everything together. I need to have peace in my mind that when I am no longer here, the close family unit we have won’t fall apart – that they will be there for each other. I need to see them making decisions that won’t include me, to encourage them to reach out for their dreams whether I am there or not.
It sounds so good. So enlightened. “Oh Katie is handling this well.” To a certain extent this is true, but do you know what? It hurts. I know it’s the right thing but that doesn’t stop it hurting. A current example of this: we moved into our “forever” dream house two years ago. Mikael is starting to sort out the basement rooms, one of which will be the rec room. We already have a pool table down there and had an idea of it being a bit modern meets retro, complete with a pinball machine (I’m a pinball queen) and jukebox. That’s not going to happen now because I know that Mikael wouldn’t get the use or fun out of it that we would have had there together. Now I am watching as he designs something completely different for the area. I’m trying to stand back and not be too involved because this has to be a space he loves and wants to use, not one that reflects me, and this creates a lot of emotion within me. I need him to do this on his own, but then I think about what should have been and it saddens me.
This morning I was watching something about Pink on Facebook, and her song “Broken Happy Ever Afters” was mentioned. Those words immediately resonated in my heart because they sum up exactly what has happened to us. The décor for the rec room may not sound that important in the grand scheme of things, but the original plan – like rocking chairs out on the deck – was part of our happy ever after plan for our old age, and it’s been unexpectedly shattered.
I feel conflicted about having this little pity party, because it isn’t who I am. I still firmly believe in living in reality, in acceptance of what can’t be changed, in seeing the positive in all things, but at the same time, I have to be honest, and acknowledge and mourn the broken happy ever afters that we live with.
If you got this far, thanks for listening. I do appreciate it.
Hej vännen! Vad jag uppskattar att du delar med dig av dina tankar och funderingar, det är både modigt och generöst av dig! Jag förstår att det måste vara en berg-och dalbana när det gäller humör och dagsform, både för dig och för dina killar. Även om vi inte hörs så ofta, ska du veta att jag tänker på dig. Massor av kramar/ Åsa
Oh, my dear, this doesn’t sound like pity to me. Not at all. It sounds like someone facing her exit from the party before it’s over. She knows the party — and her family — will go on without her, and she wants the party to be joyful and the family strong.
My living lord, but I love you. You’re in my prayers and in my thoughts constantly.
Much love.
Mary Ann
Hi Katie,
Everything you just wrote makes complete sense, and I’m sure everyone following you will support your right to a ‘titchy, tiny pity party’ as you call it – and you are right it’s not like you – but you are entitled to it. You have given your family the strength to work through this, the love to hold them together, trust in their love of you and each other to work everything out. You humble me in your handling of all that has befallen you, keep strong my dear friend. Fondest love Kay.