Lay of the Land

I've remembered my way around.

Driving is no longer a squinting game or guess and check. Sleep comes faster (especially when drugged). The clickity-clack of Chienne on the wood floor and the padding of Sir Sprout have grown familiar, as have the demands of two little girls who are always stealing my iPad.

We are mostly well.

After a brilliant recovery from chemotherapy, Dad crashed a bit on Saturday. While Thursday and Friday saw him happy and hopeful, his mood subsequently dipped and has become grumpy and unwell. He watches the clock so he can take his next pill for nausea or pain. He complains about the oddest of things - why the front door was locked or if the shower curtain didn't get closed properly or the car door being closed too hard. This is, however, typical Dad-like behavior so to this I've re-adapted as well.

"Don't go home," Mom said after I'd called her surgeon's office and understood the upcoming appointments before I planned to leave yesterday.

"Right," I replied absently, still writing things down - I type notes with bullet points for easy reference and to make me feel more in control. I like notes with bullet points. "You go straight from pre-surgical testing to the radiation folks."

"No, you," she said, and I looked up into panicked eyes. "You don't go home. You stay here with me."

"Oh," I said gently, taking my fingers from my laptop to reach for her hand. "Of course I won't leave. I'll be right here." And by the time she'd recovered control enough to say I could go home and be back at work, I'd called Adam and arranged to stay another week.

I've been to more appointments and taken additional notes. I've run errands and now recall how Kroger's is organized. I've done more sinks of dishes in the past 2 days than all year at my house - Dad doesn't like it when we use the dishwasher. I fetch pills and note times so we don't overdose. I've supervised the naming of Webkinz for Easter (Lambie - guess what animal she is...) and helped fill plastic eggs. I put together cheesy potatoes and bit back a sigh when Brother worked his way through a 12 pack of beer and most of a bottle of vodka with his girlfriend. He is a good, loving person. And I'm really proud of him. Mostly.

It feels routine. And easy. Which is such a blessing, honestly, as the awful thing at work has turned into an Awful Thing and I basically dread returning.

But it will work out. It tends to, anyway. And in the meantime, there are lilacs blooming right at the eastern edge of the house - right where they're supposed to be.