Last night, I stopped treading water. Rather than sinking down slowly and gracefully, I flipped over with a loud splash and dove for the deep.
I read the last chapter.
It was time. I needed to. After everyone had gone to bed, I sat up against my pillow, The Husband snoozing next to me, LW asleep in her inflatable bed by ours, and read the chapter on Death and Bereavement.
February 2006, as we were going through this the first time, the good people at Candlelighters sent the book to us. It is exhaustive and frank and has been very helpful. But I never read the last chapter. Not while she was on treatment. Not while she was in remission.
Not when we were told it was back.
It was time. I have been treading, treading, afraid of what lay beneath the waters. It was time to dive deep.
It was not peaceful. It was not reassuring. My eyes are so puffy from crying last night, it would take a field of cucumbers to repair the damage. I went to sleep mouth-breathing, my nose completely stopped-up.
But it was necessary. And now, perhaps, I can move forward and do what needs to be done, not afraid of slipping beneath the waves.