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|Wed, 01-08-2014 - 12:50pm|
It's been a difficult year and a half. My 29 year old daughter committed suicide in July of 2012 after a 6 year battle with mental illness, and my husband died in August of this year. He was only 59. December 16th I was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. I'm overwhelmed with grief, anger, disbelief. I've had so much to do since my husband's death, but I've managed to get a majority of the tasks completed.
I start chemo on Jan. 20th and I'm going to try to work 8 days out of every 10. I'm an 8th grade science teacher, so I'm a little worried that I will have trouble keeping my energy level up enough to do a good job. Still, if I don't go back, my students will have an endless succession of substitutes. My principal said half of me was better than a whole sub.
I also learned in November of this year that my dad molested my sister when we were teens. She is 51 and I am 52. I was completely horrified and saddened by her confession. He was physically abusive to me and I still have many longterm effects from his abuse, but I had no idea that he was molesting my sister while he was beating me up. She and I were estranged for 10 years until my daughter's death. She is villified by mom in our family, and I didn't trust her even after we began talking again. I don't think she trusted me either. But now I understand the dynamic that was going on and just how sick our family was. My mom still refuses to believe it happened, and though my brother is close to my sister (within certain limits), he also denies that any of it could have happened. I no longer trust my mom, but she has been very supportive during since my diagnosis. Really, she's been supportive of me my whole life. It's my sister that she dislikes. I hate the whole mess. And I especially despise my father.
Since my husband's death, I've been unbearably lonely. He was semi-retired and worked from home, so I saw him everyday as soon as I got home. Before he became ill, he always made me tea in the morning, walked me to my car and hugged and kissed me no matter where I was going, and cooked dinner for me at night. He was wonderfully during my daughter's illness and suicide. I need him now, and he's gone. I need to be held and kissed and spoken sweetly to. I need his love and encouragement.
I do have friends, four good ones, in fact. And my fellow teachers have been supportive and kind during this year and a half. My life has become like a bad novel or soap opera. I'm terrified I'm going to lose my son or someone else close to me or some other tragedy is going to befall me. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and try to find little joys where ever I can, but it's hard.