The Life-Line

Today I stayed in bed for a long time.  I wasn't feeling particularly depressed, no more than usual anyway, I just couldn't find a reason to get up.  My boy was happily playing in his room and I had Netflix playing on my TV, but I wasn't really watching.  I dozed off a few times--lay there wishing I could just sleep, sleep, sleep, but sleep wouldn't really overtake me.  I was left with the sound of the TV, my thoughts drowning out the dialogue, making me wish for a panacea, a comfort of some kind that seemed unattainable.

I sat in my bed staring at the spot where the tube comes out of my abdomen.  It seemed unreal to me, that I was looking at my own body.  My eyes followed from where the tube exits my skin, across my abdomen to where it is taped to my other side to keep it up and out of the way.  I thought about the machine sitting by my bed, the clicking and ticking, the beeping of it all night long while I try to sleep, and I suddenly remembered:  This is how my life is supposed to be.

I spent a year of my life mourning what I came to understand I would never have again, but somewhere along the way, after spending so much time with him, I forgot how unreasonable it is of me to expect anyone to ever sign up  to join me in the struggle that is my life. I got so used to having his companionship that I came to depend on it, but I never should have.  It is unfair of me to ask anyone to be my companion, unfair to ask anyone to look at this tube in my belly every day or lie beside me at night while the machine hums at my bedside and I curl up in a ball of pain each time it empties my belly.  It is unreasonable of me to expect anyone to want me, with all the troubles I bring.

I know I'm not a bad person.  I know there are many who love me and show me their love at every opportunity.  I know that without my disease my life would be easier.  I know that if I had no children, I would be more appealing as a partner.  I'm not saying I would ever change the fact that I am a mom--in fact, my children are all I have.  I must believe that they are also all I need, since God gave them to me and made them a part of who I am.  I wish it weren't too much to ask that someone give me the kind of friendship I crave, but the truth is, it is too much to ask and it is selfish of me to expect it from anyone.

 It seemed so cruel to me the other day, when he said my illness didn't "earn me any points" with him.  It made me so hurt, so sad to hear those words from him--from someone whom I wanted to believe cared about me and understood that this disease is something over which I have no control.  I didn't abuse my body and cause this problem, it just is.  I've had it since long before I even knew it was ravaging my kidneys. It seemed so unfair of him to judge me so harshly for something I cannot change and would never wish upon myself in the first place.  When I put myself in his shoes though, I can understand his point of view.  When I look at me from where he stands, I see a terribly selfish person and I feel ashamed of myself for expecting anyone to take the kind of risk it would take to love me.  Who wants to sign up for a life of watching the person they love suffer through such an illness--always fearing that I'm about to die?  Who wants to go from not being responsible for anyone but himself, to feeling responsible for me and my child--even though in my eyes, I alone will always be responsible for caring for my family, even if I were in a relationship.

The way I see it, my kids are my joy, my responsibility, my pleasure to care for.  They are a joy and a responsibility which I never want to pass on to someone else.  However, I'm a sick person and someday, maybe sooner than I realize, I may not even be here to carry out my duty to them.

I'll never lie about it:  I do miss the friendship.  I miss the affection, the opportunity to call and have him answer.  I miss the laughter, someone to do things with, even the fact that we get on each other's nerves sometimes.  I miss it all, but I know it was never mine and I know that I am not meant to have it, not with him and not with anyone else.  This is just the way it is.  This is the life that was chosen for me, and this is yet another thing over which I have no control.

I don't know if I'm supposed to have another chance at life.  Maybe a transplant is in my future, maybe it isn't.  Maybe, just maybe, my life has already been lived and all there is left for me now is the waiting to die. It really seems that way right now, and not just because I'll never have a partner again.

I'm on the verge of losing my home.  I'm on my last week of Unemployment.  I have NO income after this week--last I checked, you can't really make it in this world without money.  I don't even have anything to offer my children besides my love, and love is frequently not enough to meet the needs of a growing child who needs clothing, food and shelter.

I am alone in this: and I am where I am supposed to be.  For me, it is merely a matter of acceptance at this point.  Maybe lying in bed all day is what I need for now.  Perhaps lying there, letting it all soak in, is the best thing for me.  I really don't know anymore, but it seems so pointless to do anything else when the only thing it seems there is left for me is waiting for this all to end.  

My gratefulness for those who truly love me is overwhelming.  I know people care, but no one will ever walk this path with me.  It is a harsh reality for me to accept.  It is a heart breaking realization to let my alone-ness sink-in.  I want to fight it, but I know that by fighting what I cannot change, I merely succeed in frustrating and hurting myself more.

So I am working hard on letting go of my hopes and dreams.  I am working hard to accept what God gives me with a grateful heart; working to release my hold on what I think I need and instead reach only for what God puts within my grasp.  I am praying that He will help me love others as they need to be loved, instead of seeking to have them love me the way I want to be loved.  I am trying to love without letting my own ego--my own agenda--get in the way.  I want to learn to love others in a way that brings them joy, even if doing so leaves me without the love I crave in return.  I'm trying to constantly remind myself that loving is a self-less act, not a thing I should do for someone else in order to get something in return.  I have decided to set my desires aside, set this man aside, and love him from a distance.  This is a true test of my own ability to love without concern for myself and it is not easy.  I can only accomplish this kind of love through prayer, for I have no strength of my own on which to stand for this task.  It is by God's grace alone that I can learn to love in this way.  It is only He who can heal my heart from this brokenness; only He who can rebuild my spirit into the kind of being that is able to reach out to others with love that is truly altruistic.  I want to give my heart without regard to self, while still doing what is right for me.  It is a lot like walking a tightrope strung from the highest mountain over a raging river filled with sharp rocks.  It is so frightening at times that I can't look down--only straight ahead, and keep putting one foot in front of another.  It is a balancing act consisting of holding on and letting go at the same time and at the end of this terrifying trip, I still have no idea where I will end up.

Just as this tube from my belly is the life-line for my Earthly being, this tightrope of self-less love is the life-line for my soul.  It is the only thing that keeps me moving forward, even in times when I am without hope.  It gives me something to reach for; it is my only path to renewal, it is my only chance at finding peace in this life.

"...The reason for living was to get ready to stay dead for a long time." -- Addie Bundren in Faulkner's As I Lay Dying.