Sandwiched

My dad recently mentioned a phrase I hadn't heard before, the Sandwich generation. That is, being sandwiched between caring for your young kids and ailing parents. While it primarily refers to financial burden, it's an emotional challenge more than anything else.

I haven't posted much in this last year since my mom passed and as the anniversary of her death approaches, I find myself faced with my father's mortality as well. Recently diagnosed with lymphoma, he began his chemo story yesterday. I have not been able to be as supportive as I would like, but I am trying my best. Aren't we all?

He is surprisingly chipper; he's prepared in a way most people aren't. After all, he walked this road for seven years with my mom. He knows it all, the ins and outs of nausea, hair loss and fatigue. He got a smart buzz cut earlier this week, dropped by with gifts for my daughter's third birthday before his treatment, stocked up on soft, palatable foods. He is admirably rational and practical about the whole thing. It's a task, just like any other. In some ways I think he feels closer to my mom now that he is sharing an experience with her. He doesn't pity himself. He is just standing tall and marching on. 

I am sitting in the dark, considering my own pity party, and after a brisk GET OVER IT moment, I am thinking about what it means to be a parent, a wife and a daughter. I should probably be asleep but as is typical for me, a bit of font on the page is soothing and cathartic. I'm sandwiched but life is meaningful in a way that feels good and tense at the same time. 

The meat of life. The push of blood through my arteries, it matters. I wanted to collapse from the emotional burden of it all, but I look instead and see opportunity. To do this well. To be the best thirty six-year old me that I can be.

How many people face adversity and crumble, how many rise and learn to be better?

I saw it with my mom. My how cancer transformed her and made her more graceful and kind. I see the same with my father. I don't want my children and family to remember these times as fraught with illness and loss. There are so many fresh wonderful experiences to be had, made that much sweeter by a gentle reminder of our mortality and how fleeting and precious this gift of life is.

My daughter's new school has a lovely quote by the Dalai Lama in the entranceway, "We are visitors on this planet. We are here for one hundred years at the very most. During that period we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives. if you contribute to other people's happiness, you will find the true meaning of life."

It is so poignant to me now. Worrying about fitting into my old jeans, whether I can still be interesting in suburbia (I can!) or how rude some stranger was to me on the train. It's all such a waste of time...all that worrying over minutiae. THROW IT ALL AWAY! That worry, it means nothing. Doing this well now is all that matters and handling the gritty pulp of life with grace and optimism is everything.

I am sandwich'd. And it's good. I am wedged between people who I love and who love me. I have a chance to be useful. I shan't waste it.

Xo,

M 

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