Stepping Up to the Plate

It’s been just over a week now since I found out my best friend has cancer, and my fingers still stumbled over that word as though typing it makes it more real or potent and my fingers had some independent resistance to the idea of putting those letters in that particular order in reference to that particular subject.

I don’t know why I’m writing today except that I felt the need to.  It’s been a long time since I could honestly say I felt a need to write, and I should be glad for that fact.  The truth is, I’ve really been struggling the past few days.

When he first went to the hospital I was freaked out and upset, but managed to keep my cool, by sheer force of will when necessary.  I got my work done for the most part, centered myself for a few minutes alone in my car before each hospital visit so I could put on the strongest and most neutral disposition before entering that place which has always so terrified me.  I ate; I slept.  Okay, maybe not as regularly or as healthily as in times past, but that’s to be expected to some degree.

The past week, however, my emotional state has sadly taken a melancholy turn.  While Joey himself has buoyed me up on almost every visit with his positivity, his optimism, the sheer volume of love, caring, strength and well-wishes surrounding him in a whirlwind of protective care, with his sheer normalcy in more ways than I kept expecting… the times between visits seemed to dull and wane in comparison.  Going home, alone, to my empty apartment, which still doesn’t feel like home because I haven’t had the energy to spare to put it in order since the move, became a daunting proposal, and I’ve spent far too many nights on couches, air mattresses and visiting friends and family, Joey’s parents’ house included.  I’ve been putting in far less than my usual effort at work and piling up guilt at missed deadlines and sluggish progress.  Everyone has been understanding, but I feel like nobody has actually understood (not that that makes any sense whatsoever).

Before I fall down into melodrama, let me pull back for a moment.  The support I’ve gained from my own friends and family has been wonderful, but I have not yet felt truly comfortable reaching out for it.  After all, I’m not the one who’s sick.  I’m not the one who *needs* support, right?  And yet, after seven years of always counting on one person in particular for emotional support… that one person is not only the cause of my emotional distress but is unavailable for support at the present time.  I can’t go to him for support, because that would be inappropriate.  And because he’s busy.  And sick.  And tired.  And surrounded by his own ever-growing support network.

I’m lonely.  It has come to my attention that during the years that Joey and I have been nearly exclusively codependent in our social lives, I have sadly grown more and more distant from the rest of my friends, and for this realization I am ashamed.  I miss my friends.  More selfishly and to the point, I realized that without Joey to turn to, who has always been there to turn to, who lived 15 feet from my room and was always THERE, I didn’t know where to turn.

The answer to that became painfully obvious when I stopped to think about it.  I have an amazing and wonderful boyfriend who has proved beyond a shadow of a doubt his willingness to support me through these tough times, to listen and to take care of simple things like my car registration stickers which I just wouldn’t have remembered otherwise.  It’s always been difficult for me to talk to people about my emotional struggles, and after spending years getting to that point in my friendship with Joey where we can talk about absolutely anything, it’s hard for me to allow myself to venture down that road with a newer relationship, one which deep down I may still be afraid of losing if I screw up too badly.

I’ve got great friends waiting in the wings who are all too happy to lend a helping hand, an ear, a couch to crash on, now that I’ve stopped being silly and remembered they were right there all along.  I visited my parents over the weekend for a Mother’s Day surprise evening, and gained comfort from the familiarity of home and puppy and family.  I’ve shared my most recent blog post with a group of about 20 coworkers who I feel familiar enough with that I want them to have the opportunity to be aware of what’s going on in my personal life should they so wish, and have received some really heartfelt reachings-out in kind from several of them over the past day and a half.

I’m sure there’s some saying about how it’s only in crisis that you realize who your true friends are or something like that.  All I know so far is that it’s in crisis that you discover what kind of person you really are.  I’m a person who doesn’t handle crisis very well, at least right away.  But I am stronger by far than I was seven years ago.  Joey and I have changed each other; we’ve made each other stronger, more capable, more mature.  He’s helped me to fashion armor to withstand the tides of adult life, and by his words I’ve softened his brittle edges to be able to accept the comforts of those around him.  We’ve made each other feel less alone, and I know that I am handling this entire situation far better than seven-years-ago-me ever could have imagined possible, because of all those changes and more.

I don’t have this all figured out yet.  I’m still going to screw up.  I’m going to cry at inappropriate times (like in my office when I should be working), I’m going to stay up too late talking until 2am because the conversation is far more important to me than sleep (and then pay for it the next day).  I’m going to feel lost, and alone, and embarrassed, and weak.  But I’m going to get through this, because I know I can.  Because I must.  Because how can I be there, ready and willing to support my friend when the going gets tough or when he can’t be the shining example of positivity and purpose he has shown thus far because he is physically weakened by the poisons coursing through his veins, by the war going on beneath the surface… How can I be ready and waiting to catch him if he should stumble, if I am myself lying in a puddle on the ground?

There is no conclusion, no answer, not yet.  This is just me thinking aloud for the benefit of whoever cares to listen.  I’m here, and I’m learning and working and figuring all this out.  And if that seems right to you, if you support my struggle, if you have suggestions or comments or questions or just want to hear more, please post in the comments before so I know you’re listening.  Thank you for being here with me, for making me less alone.

Please, head on over to Joey's blog to read more.  He wrote a truly eloquent piece yesterday about us and our struggle which had me in tears, and he said so much more in a shorter space than I could have managed. Perspective Odysseum: http://perspectiveodysseum.blogspot.com/.  He truly is a fantastic writer, but go see for yourself and share in his journey.