Heels Dug In

I envision those old-time movies, with the woman on the farmstead, dragging her heels in and refusing to leave, and I feel like her.  There have been many times this past year where I have planted my heels firmly in the ground and the world just drug me on with it; permission or not.

The first time I felt like this was after finding out about Trek.  Fragile X made me stick my cowgirl boots, spears and all, into that Arizona ground and not want to go on, but the funny thing about life is, you just have no choice, rocky desert, desolate ground, and all.  You just have to do it.  You have to live, "this life."

So, I did it.  I gave in.  I read.  I researched.  I learned all about genetics and how I "did this" to him.  I didn't want to, but I did.  And, somewhere along my path, I embraced it.  I embraced Fragile X and everything it had to offer; the love, the companionship, my husband, my sons, and all who were on this journey with me.  I did it reluctantly, but I am so happy I did, because they gave me hope. 

I feel the same way about cancer.  A friend of mine wrote recently that she wants to punch "cancer in the face."  Yep, me, too. But, then what?  Once I get my anger out, where can I possibly go from there?  Sink deeper into this hole, or find the tools to dig my way out?

 I choose digging.  I choose crawling.  I choose making a new road with tools I had no clue existed and ones I may need to invent along the way.  Because, the other option I have, is simply not an option. 

I could let the heaviness of my new heart weigh me down, but for how long?  A minute?  An hour?  Days?  Weeks? Years?  A lifetime?  Nope, not for me. Cancer had its time.  It had two years of my life and my family's life and my father's life.  I will NOT let it write our future. I will not let it taint my father's legacy.  Because, cancer wasn't all he was.  He was love.  He was laughter.  He was hope, and pride, and honesty, and fairness, and faith.  That was him. 

So, tomorrow I must go.  I must face this new world without the comfort of my mother, this farm, his clothes, and sleeping in his bed.  I must go.  I am scared as all-get-out to do this.  I don't know how that little plane can carry my grief, but I guess I must give it a try.  It's a big ol' bag to carry.  It's the weight of the world resting on my little shoulders.  And, it is too heavy. 

People say it gets easier.  I'd like to know when, because everyday to me is harder.  Harder to imagine.  Harder to smile.  Harder to laugh and do the mudane things of life.  Life is hard, I understand this; I just wish it would get a little bit easier.  In time, I'm sure it will. 

Maybe a new perspective is all I need.  One from above.  Close to him. And the next time I set my eyes upon this fertile land, it will be with a different point of view.  One that has time on its side and a little distance from the hurt.