I'm Fine But I'm Not Ok

I'm scared... I know it's been a long, long, long time since I've written. I'm sorry about that. Mostly sorry to myself because apparently I need it more than I thought. So here we go. I don't like when Josh takes double shifts because then I don't get to have that talk at night. That connection, that wind down time after the kids go to bed and when the house is quiet, that few moments people need to rehash their day and let the small stuff go, focus on the bigger picture before bed. Just have someone who cares to listen and say 'hey, I appreciate how hard you're working and I know everything is in the air and in your face, but you're handling it and I've got your back'. I'm not saying Josh doesn't do that when we talk on the phone but let's be honest here, 10 minutes of FaceTime or a phone conversation isn't always the same thing. This blog is called "Life As A Firefighter Wife" so I'm not sugar-coating it. I'm a fire wife and I'm here to say it's hard. Double shifts are hard. I don't know if you know this, but firefighters don't just sit at the station waiting for calls to come out. They are ALWAYS moving. Training, classes, drills, fueling/fixing/servicing the truck, cleaning the station...You get it. 48 hours without touching your significant other is hard enough, but barely speaking to them puts a bigger strain on the vast space that is a firefighter/fire wife relationship. Being the one to stay home with the kids, (and for those with a child and especially more than one, knows that means you don't sit down ALL day) you get into this grove of being a single parent. Because you are. For that 24 or 48 hour shift, you're alone to handle it all, whatever all entails that day/s. And it is exhausting to do no matter how rewarding it is. It's worth it, yes; it's a million reasons to smile and wonderful lifetime memories, and seeing them learn and relate to the world and relate to you, but it's a 24 hour responsibility. And it's lonely sometimes. I need that wind down "it's all going to be ok" time with my spouse. I need that connect. And Josh is on his second double this week, so tonight, I'm talking to you...

I'm scared. I don't say it out loud often and even now it's hard to type. My mom is sick. She's pretty open about having breast cancer and what's happening with her surgeries and medications, but there's one thing we haven't said. THE THING. The one thing no kid ever wants to think about when it comes to their parent's health... My mom has always been the sweet, kind of shy, quiet, caring, family-loving type of person. She's also extremely sarcastic, quick-minded and funny. She's too hard on herself but she has a smile that lights up a whole room. When she meets someone who is having a rough day, she will just hug them and listen. And more, she'll remember if she sees them again, ask how they are and do that look that moms know where they kind of see into you and whether or not you're lying. She has always thought of others first, most importantly, her children. Growing up, everything I can remember she has done for me. Playing with my and my siblings, helping me with homework, teaching me to cook/to drive/to balance a check book, yelling at me about boys, helping me move into my dorm room, helping me plan my wedding... She taught me how to love others and be a good person inside and out. How to put family first. My mom taught me how to BE a mom. A great mom like she is.

And now she's sick and even though she says she's fine most days, I know her better. She's my best friend and I can tell when she's hurting physically or emotionally. She is the strong silent type like Josh is and she would rather hear about someone else's bad day than admit she's had one, but I can tell. Because I know her. And her cancer has made us even closer than we were. There is no shame in her receiving help from me. I can look at her scars and see her silent pain and unasked questions and not ask my own questions of her. If she wants to answer "I'm fine" because she wants to believe it's true, I'm not going to shove my doubt on her...But I worry. It's a trait you pick up and hone well as a firefighter's wife. I worry that she feels useless because she is a do-er unable to do. I worry that she thinks the new scars on her body will define her more than her heart does. I worry about that thing we haven't talked about. That thing we can't talk, or even think, about. I worry about the future. I worry she doesn't truly know how much I love her and appreciate her and everything she's ever done for me. Because I do. I really do.

I can keep going forever but I have to stop. I had to just have this moment and acknowledge it and now I can pack it away again. I know God has a plan and I know she's going to be ok. That doesn't mean I'm not entitled to a moment of fear. My mom will be a breast cancer survivor. We will rock the pink ribbon together. Pink has always been her favorite color anyway. I'm scared, but she's strong. I'm scared, but she's not done teaching me yet.