This journey is new territory for us; it's incredibly traumatic and full of surprising twists and turns, but in some ways it establishes a new sense of what is "normal" for us. We grow into it, changing our perceptions and our feelings about what we are experiencing. I think of it as settling onto a new plane on the landscape, where things that were once strange - or even scary - can become almost mundane. By this I don't mean that we become numb or unfeeling, though that is certainly possible. I mean that we become familiar with sights, sounds and smells that once might have caused us to recoil in fright or embarrassment, and might have left us uncertain about how to respond.
Just as I wrote yesterday that I hadn't thought much about the impact of Joshua's cancer on his friends, I also haven't thought much about the struggle adults face in knowing what to say or do. As our friend Antoinette wrote this week, when you are not on the entire journey, but only joining for bits along the way, it can be a real challenge to grasp what is happening - not only to our family, but to everyone around us. The landscape has changed, and we can find ourselves occupying different hills and valleys. We want to be on the same plane, to connect and see everything clearly, but that's not always possible. And it's ok.
I was touched by Antoinette's honesty in writing about her struggle to deal with all of this, and I think this might help others:
What do you say to support people you care about on a journey where you cannot begin to imagine the daily struggles and challenges and emotional roller coaster ride? You know it must be difficult every day in a myriad of ways but cannot really "know" and so how to provide support?
I want to echo what was posted yesterday on Joshua Tree by a fellow parent re how much you three are in our thoughts: Gabriela and Hannah are constantly thinking about or asking about Joshua, Gabriela goes within and asks silently with concern in her eyes, searching, searching, wanting me to give positive updates and Hannah asks questions verbally and expresses concern almost daily. I wonder silently how you, as parents, as a couple get through each day. I send silent supportive good wishes to you both almost all the time. Gabriela says she prays for Joshua almost every night since she visited him in hospital. As a parent I avoid the hospital, not wanting to bring any germs to Joshua, not wanting to get Hannah more freaked out than she already is, not wanting Gabriela to get more introverted, busy with the incomprehension of it all. I have avoided visiting, thinking to stay away while your family have been visiting, not knowing what to talk about, everything seems so inconsequential compared to this enormous daily challenge you all face. I think I have numbed out trying to be so positive in my thinking that I have only truly felt the enormity of the situation when I read the blog for the first time earlier this week.
We are here quietly in the background sending supportive wishes and love. It may not be much, it certainly feels like too little, but it is a daily sending of loving support, sending all three of you strength to face each daily challenge.
I am slowly beginning, as part of being on the fringes of your journey, to really grasp the importance of stopping to take stock of what is really important and to notice how often I say/think, "I am too busy to visit, to phone, to play with my children, to give good attention. There is too little time. I have work I have to finish. I have chores to do."
I am learning to try to stay in the moment and enjoy it, to remain "present", and yes I have known all about the need to spend time doing what really matters, having fun with people we care about, but it is being on the fringes of this journey that has somehow brought the message a little closer. I still struggle with it because the world keeps turning too fast and we are all trying to just stay on like frantic hamsters on an eternally moving wheel (only I find that I often cannot find the place to stop and get off).
The journey is not Joshua's alone. It is not our family's alone. It is part of a network of journeys criss-crossing rugged terrain. Each of you who has some connection with Joshua face your own fears and anxieties. Nothing is too little or inconsequential, and I don't believe anyone should feel guilty about voicing their own challenges. I encourage you to do so here, on this blog, even if you prefer to do so anonymously. I have already benefited enormously from the past ten days of dialogue, and I hope that others will too.
