Courage

 Or something like it... 

Today, for the first time since receiving the news that Dad's cance is Stage 4 and life-threatening, I began to entertain other possibilities. 

I know that we all grieve and process in diffeent ways. And I have accepted that for me to be able to process and move through something, I need to plumb the depth of the worst case scenario. I need to get my mind and heart around what could happen, so that I won't be surprised. So that no matter what happens, I'll have already laid some plans for how to address it. 

In no world could I possibly have wrapped my head around the idea that in 4-6 weeks, my one and only father could be going into hospice. Even as the words come out, they feel impossible. 


But still... 

I have at least been able to say the words outloud multiple times without completely shutting -or breaking- down; I was somehow able to sleep the last couple nights; I managed to laugh a couple times over the weekend. 

It doesn't mean that this reality is any less (or more) real; what it means is that my reality has started to expand to encompass the concept of an impending world-shattering loss. 

Which means that it has also started to expand in other directions as well:

 

What if the treatment is successful? 

...what if the treatment is successful? 

WHAT IF THE TREATMENT IS SUCCESSFUL? 



It's hard to hold all of the possible options at the same time. It's easier to sink into one option - narrow my wildly-searching mind to focus on just one. It's so much easier to feel just one thing at once. 

But today, I was at least able to recognize that there are options. Plural. 

And somehow... being able to engage with the uncertainty - moving away from the storm of grief that insisted I face the probability of total loss - feels like courage. 


...Which stage of grief is that? 




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