Loving you means never having to say you're sorry
I am always amazed at the number of people who take the time to read my blog postings. We are truly honored that there are so many who care. We can sense your warmth and dedication. Toda raba.
Weather wise, a cold and rainy front moved in during the night. We were obviously not the only ones who decided to leave; we had traffic up to the gazoo, and it wore Gilly out. Our travel time more than doubled in length; Gilly was exhausted and I was frazzled; I hate driving in inclement weather.
We arrived home safely. Gilly is fast asleep on the couch and Liylah has nestled in beside him. He had his last dose of chemo last night, so he’s understandably tired. I managed to complete some work today, but I will have to buckle down tomorrow and work feverishly to compensate for the time I’ll spend attending medical appointments on Tuesday (MAB) and on Wednesday (psychologist and CNR clinic – monthly visit). Some appointments are crucial and cannot be missed. I have given up attending physio at this point because it is no longer as necessary (well, not top on the priority list if I have to give something up at this point – I think I need a clone or two).
Thankfully, my sweet friend Sheryl still drives a van. It was impossible to carry home Yaron’s camp gear, Tamara and Max and their stuff, our paraphernalia, ourselves and Liylah in my Jeep. We were spoiled for years with Gilly’s pick up truck. Everything and anything would fit back there. We have to learn to downsize. Sheryl did ‘pick and deliver’ and saved the day!
Gilly couldn’t eat dinner this evening. It’s hard for me to distinguish if it’s a matter of ‘lunch bag let down’ having to eat alone with me, or a case of motion sickness. I’m beginning to suspect the latter, since there seems to be a pattern. I dashed out to get some fresh groceries as soon as we arrived home, and then prepared a delicious dinner, but there were no takers other than me (and of course Liylah; she’s always keen to eat the scraps).
One thing boggles my mind; how come I do not lose my appetite when Gilly turns up his nose at the dinners I prepare night after night? I just send him off to get comfortable, and proceed to eat my and some of his portion. I’m well aware of the ridiculousness of what it is I’m doing, but I cannot seem to control the impulse.
This evening he apologized to me for not eating, and expressed how badly he feels about what it’s doing to me. I tried to tell him that I am not upset with him. I admitted that it is hard for me to watch him weakening due to lack of appetite, but I assured him that I am well aware it is not his fault. He wants to please me, especially when he notices my cheerful demeanor break down. We have always been open with one another, but allowing him to see how much his pain is killing me is counterproductive. I’m only human, though; I slip now and again and my emotions are displayed unconsciously, through body language. It’s easier when there are others around, because we are both somewhat distracted and not as focused on the problem which keeps perpetuating itself, but this is not always the case, nor can it be.
It reminds me of doing homework with Yaron when he was little. He had a lot of trouble concentrating, and I had to constantly bring him back to task. It was exhausting to monitor his progress through the smallest of tasks. One day, he must have been in grade 2, he followed my gaze and innocently asked, “Are you angry?” I felt awful that this was his impression. “No, I’m not angry, Yaron. Sometimes I feel tired and I become frustrated, but I know it’s not your fault.” I felt the same way this evening.
Once, I did get angry with Yaron, and a little girl taught me a lesson that day. There was a table full of children eating spaghetti for lunch at our house. Yaron, about 3 years old at the time, was being silly, giggling and thoroughly enjoying the party-like atmosphere. Suddenly, he dropped his bowl on the floor; it broke and you can well imagine where the spaghetti landed up. I scolded him as I bent down to clean the floor. I looked up and caught his eye. He seemed devastated. I apologized, explaining that there are many children to serve and lots of noise, and the mess got me all upset. I assured him that accidents happen, and it is just spaghetti. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Tamara’s friend (7 years old) stared at me with wide eyes and gasped. I was sure that social services would be at my door any minute. I looked at her and asked, “Does your mommy get a little angry sometimes?” “Oh yes,” she gulped, “but she never says she’s sorry.”
Well, I think I’ll go down and see how Gilly is doing. No need to say sorry, though. He knows in his heart how deeply I care, and why I want him to eat.
Weather wise, a cold and rainy front moved in during the night. We were obviously not the only ones who decided to leave; we had traffic up to the gazoo, and it wore Gilly out. Our travel time more than doubled in length; Gilly was exhausted and I was frazzled; I hate driving in inclement weather.
We arrived home safely. Gilly is fast asleep on the couch and Liylah has nestled in beside him. He had his last dose of chemo last night, so he’s understandably tired. I managed to complete some work today, but I will have to buckle down tomorrow and work feverishly to compensate for the time I’ll spend attending medical appointments on Tuesday (MAB) and on Wednesday (psychologist and CNR clinic – monthly visit). Some appointments are crucial and cannot be missed. I have given up attending physio at this point because it is no longer as necessary (well, not top on the priority list if I have to give something up at this point – I think I need a clone or two).
Thankfully, my sweet friend Sheryl still drives a van. It was impossible to carry home Yaron’s camp gear, Tamara and Max and their stuff, our paraphernalia, ourselves and Liylah in my Jeep. We were spoiled for years with Gilly’s pick up truck. Everything and anything would fit back there. We have to learn to downsize. Sheryl did ‘pick and deliver’ and saved the day!
Gilly couldn’t eat dinner this evening. It’s hard for me to distinguish if it’s a matter of ‘lunch bag let down’ having to eat alone with me, or a case of motion sickness. I’m beginning to suspect the latter, since there seems to be a pattern. I dashed out to get some fresh groceries as soon as we arrived home, and then prepared a delicious dinner, but there were no takers other than me (and of course Liylah; she’s always keen to eat the scraps).
One thing boggles my mind; how come I do not lose my appetite when Gilly turns up his nose at the dinners I prepare night after night? I just send him off to get comfortable, and proceed to eat my and some of his portion. I’m well aware of the ridiculousness of what it is I’m doing, but I cannot seem to control the impulse.
This evening he apologized to me for not eating, and expressed how badly he feels about what it’s doing to me. I tried to tell him that I am not upset with him. I admitted that it is hard for me to watch him weakening due to lack of appetite, but I assured him that I am well aware it is not his fault. He wants to please me, especially when he notices my cheerful demeanor break down. We have always been open with one another, but allowing him to see how much his pain is killing me is counterproductive. I’m only human, though; I slip now and again and my emotions are displayed unconsciously, through body language. It’s easier when there are others around, because we are both somewhat distracted and not as focused on the problem which keeps perpetuating itself, but this is not always the case, nor can it be.
It reminds me of doing homework with Yaron when he was little. He had a lot of trouble concentrating, and I had to constantly bring him back to task. It was exhausting to monitor his progress through the smallest of tasks. One day, he must have been in grade 2, he followed my gaze and innocently asked, “Are you angry?” I felt awful that this was his impression. “No, I’m not angry, Yaron. Sometimes I feel tired and I become frustrated, but I know it’s not your fault.” I felt the same way this evening.
Once, I did get angry with Yaron, and a little girl taught me a lesson that day. There was a table full of children eating spaghetti for lunch at our house. Yaron, about 3 years old at the time, was being silly, giggling and thoroughly enjoying the party-like atmosphere. Suddenly, he dropped his bowl on the floor; it broke and you can well imagine where the spaghetti landed up. I scolded him as I bent down to clean the floor. I looked up and caught his eye. He seemed devastated. I apologized, explaining that there are many children to serve and lots of noise, and the mess got me all upset. I assured him that accidents happen, and it is just spaghetti. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Tamara’s friend (7 years old) stared at me with wide eyes and gasped. I was sure that social services would be at my door any minute. I looked at her and asked, “Does your mommy get a little angry sometimes?” “Oh yes,” she gulped, “but she never says she’s sorry.”
Well, I think I’ll go down and see how Gilly is doing. No need to say sorry, though. He knows in his heart how deeply I care, and why I want him to eat.
posted by Gilly at 9:53 PM
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