Like A Thief In The Night...

Well, last night completely sucked.

No matter what I do, it's always there.  This... waiting grief.  It's so frustrating, and so.... time wasting.

I mean, he's here.  He's alive.  He's fighting.  He's actually doing pretty well on the treatment front.

But every once in a while, it sneaks up on me and sucker-punches me when I least expect it.  I can hear my mother's voice.  Don't borrow grief.  Well, I'm not borrowing it.  But it's very hard to live in the moment when your husband's having a rough chemo treatment, when he's cramping and going through diarrhea and spending hours in the tub, completely miserable, and you find yourself wondering how much he can take before it's too much?

Please let that day be far, far away.  Please.

I can't bear the thought of him not being here.

I can't bear the thought of him suffering.

I'm so... torn up and ... last night, I couldn't stop crying.

I hate this.  I hate what he's going through.  And I hate being so selfish.

Last night was full of dreams I only half remember, but I would wake up crying.  Not sobbing, just, I'd wake up with in tears, my face and pillow soaked.

Today is going to totally suck.  I hate letting him see how much this upsets me.  But I can't... I can't let him see this... I mean, I'm trying to be strong, dammit, not a child!

How do I do this?

Whaaaaa??

Add this to the file of Things I Am Not Ready For:

*ahem*

The Impossible Son... has fuzz on his upper lip.

*flail flail flail*

No, it's not cat hair, it's not chocolate syrup on his upper lip... it's hair. Stiff little hairs.

*meep!*

I'd noticed this a few weeks ago, actually, but tucked it away neatly in my Denial Drawer. Nice big roomy thing, my Denial Drawer. Lots of room for stuff I'd Rather Not Think About™

Anyhow, I'd noticed this... subtle shading on the corners of his upper lip. It was really apparent when we were at the beach, and I had actually pretended at one point to be rubbing sand off his chin so I could take a better look in bright sunlight and... promptly shoved what I'd seen in my Denial Drawer. But I couldn't help noticing it again, and again, and again.

Finally, tonight, in our poorly lit bedroom (we had the lights low to encourage sleepiness), it was unmistakable, and I got the flashlight and put on my glasses and took a really good look... then got the Husbandly One for corroboration, and... yeah. Fuzzy Lip Syndrome.

*weeps*

Where did my baby go????

And while I'm going through this emotional toss up of my Denial Drawer, the Husbandly One says, "Oh, yeah, I started shaving when I was TWELVE."

*jaw-drop*

Don't mind me, I'll just go curl up in the corner with a paper bag over my head, rearranging the contents of my Denial Drawer. While singing. Loudly. And NOT thinking about the hair on my son's upper lip. And his legs.

*sticking her fingers in her ears and singing "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-I-CAN'T-HEAR-YOU!" loudly*