Where to Begin...

It's been quite a while since I have posted anything here. It's not for lack of things to say or a desire to say it; it's more exhaustion and anxiety.

I ran a friend's campaign for school committee here in town during mid February into late March. It was pretty well all consuming. My friend won in the end - and it was a fairly significant victory I think, given the nastiness of the campaign (that's a whole long post itself). But I never want to do such a thing again. I managed to find my breaking point, and it wasn't pretty. But two decent candidates were elected, and that was good.

In the middle of that, I flew out west for a day and a half to do some video stuff for the book. It was probably good to get away and get a break from the campaign stuff, but it was still just a crazy trip. While I was out there, I saw my sister (who is becoming a total caricature), my mom (almost didn't see her - even though it's been 2 1/2 years since I've seen her, she initially said she was too busy), and a friend from high school I reconnected with on Facebook (that part was great).

I think I thought that getting busy with the campaign would distract me from the time of year, it being the time of year that C got sick, and the PTSD symptoms that often well up around this time. I was wrong. It likely made it worse. Add in a very busy husband and clueless inlaws....let's just say things feel pretty sucky. It's not the doldrums I experienced in December; it's different from that, but it's sometimes hard to explain how.

It's been seven years since C was sick. Half his lifetime. He is fine. I know he is. But still I have this fear that he will get sick like that again, that it could happen again, knowing how lucky he is to be alive. I can still see his little body hooked up to those machines and all the tubes going in and out and the alarms. I have flashes of going into his room immediately after the code when there were two of the most experienced nurses working on him and the towels on the floor because all the blood hadn't been cleaned up. A few weeks ago, someone said to me, about C's illness, "Well, just get over it." I wish I could.

Half his lifetime. We've long told him that his life will grow around his illness, that his body will grow around the scars. The scars stay the same size while he grows. That is exactly what is happening, both physically and metaphorically for him. It's a significant milestone for him, I think, this half a lifetime mark - he remembers more of his life since his illness than from before it. But it's not half my lifetime; I'm still trying to sort it out, figure out where it fits in my life experiences. It's still big for me.

C is more prone to lung issues now. A few weeks ago C was sick. A virus went straight to his lungs (as it often does) and he was on steroids and breathing treatments and missed several days of school. A couple times I almost took him to the ER. He didn't want to go (he still has issues around his illness whether he admits it or not) and DH's cooler head prevailed, but it scared me. And I don't think I acknowledged how much it scared me. I expected everything to just stop for a while as we dealt with that, but it didn't. I know, duh.

C is a typical teenager, and for that I am grateful - though I still have moments of anger and irritation with him. He is, as I said, a typical teenager, and all that entails. It all makes for some confusing emotions this time of year.

I really want to curl up under the covers for a while, but that isn't happening. Hubby is on a bad schedule at work, kids have school and sports demands, science fair is coming up for M and S, S's birthday party is Saturday...and on and on. I just keep trying to plug ahead. This time of year it seems to be all I can do.

Yesterday was Easter, and I tried to make it a nice day. There was little cooperation from the kids or others on that, though. I ended up walking three of the five miles home from the beach alone in flip-flops.