It's been a jam packed, exhausting day and she's so excited to finish work, get home and collapse from exhaustion.
I mean that's not what will actually happen.
When she gets home we're so excited she's home that we demand everything at the same time as soon as she walks in the door.
We need her so.
But there's dinner to prepare (hopefully something I'll eat) and Che has to finish her homework, the laundry's not done, and she still has to meet a work deadline before midnight.
At the moment though, Sarah can't wait to get there.
Just to be home.
And with us.
Where the love is.
"He has only been here for a few weeks," the Group Home staff person says to Sarah as she finishes her last work visit.
“Does he have any family?” Sarah asks.
The staff person leans in as if telling a secret and replies, “Yes, but his brother has cancer and couldn’t take care of him, so he had to move here.”
I don't know how she does it.
But she does.
"He's got cancer" the worker said and Sarah's heart cracks at the words, but she maintains her professionalism, and she finishes the job.
Then she rushes home to cancer.
I don't know how she does it.
She really is a Wonder of a Woman.
But she's not immune.
"Trauma survivors often get in the habit of spending a lot of time alone, because alone is safe, relatively, anyway. Alone is controllable. We understand alone. We don't have to stress about alone."
Every woman wonders sometime, especially those surviving cancer in real time.
Sarah stands there, hiding these things behind her smile.
Cancer is trauma she's lived with a long time now.
At home, she dives back into the blessed routines of the three of us, and somehow, though I don't know how, we find great joy together.
"I'm a caregiver until he dies," I've heard her say, and I'm always taken aback at the reminder because it's coming sooner rather later.
And there's no real rest in caregiving.
It's 24/7 tangible expressions of love without ceasing until, suddenly one day it's over, I'm gone and Sarah has a whole other life to put together for her and Che.
Her caregiver days come to an abrupt halt, she's suddenly a window with a young daughter, living alone, starting over, late in life.
It's very much part of her thinking, because you have to have a plan, and Sarah is definitely a planner.
Cancer is infused in every aspect of our lives, but when I go, I'm taking it with me, and then Sarah and Che will be free of its daily raping of our time, energy, money and opportunities.
All of these things simultaneously rush through Sarah's mind, hearing the staff confide that his "brother has cancer and couldn’t take care of him ..."
She goes on, discussing the client's sad situation, and Sarah stands there smiling.
But that's everything going on behind Sarah's smile.
_______________
I'm dying as happily as I can, but I think I can to better.
See how by clicking the link
https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b
Thank you!
