This blog is for Jim Marventano's family and friends to review his status and updates while he goes through treatment for Stage IV Colon Cancer. We can beat it together!

Saturday, September 19, 2009

The day came and went

September 17 was a good day. It was an emotional day. It was an exhausting day.

Two years ago, September 17 was a much worse day than it was this year. Last year wasn't as good as this year. But the sadness is like a flood that suddenly gushes into my life. I'd been really not doing well a couple of days before the 17th. In fact, I never once cried on the 17th. But I cried like a baby two days before.

I am managing everything at home fairly well. But you know what this life is? It's like when you live in a town that you aren't meant to be in. It never really feels like home. That's how Jim always felt about Atlanta. He didn't mind it - he knew how to get around and he enjoyed some of the things about living in the city. But overall, it never felt right to him.

That's how my life feels. Like I'm just waiting. Waiting until I get home. Waiting until home comes back to me. Waiting until I'm living the life that feels right. I'm performing the functions of every day life. I know all the roads and the places I want to go. But there's that nagging feeling in the back of my brain all the dang time.

I wake up, he's not here. I'm still on my side of the bed. I still secretly hope I'll wake up one morning and he'll be there.
I get downstairs - no coffee. Coffee in the morning meant "Jim" to me. I'm not much of a coffee drinker. No point in making it now.
I get both kids ready so I can drop Rachel at school. If he was here, he'd be walking her to school and then walking to work from there. Jake could sleep in as late as he wanted and I'd just stay here with him.
I go to SportsCore and check in. I don't see the point of my checking in, really. They don't need to track how often I'm exercising. Employees of the Kohler Company get a major discount if they exercise 3 times a week. Oh yeah, Jim isn't there anymore.
I clean up a bit. No point in that. He's not here. Who cares?

And so goes my day. I'm just living the life that's wrong for me. This isn't what I planned. This isn't what feels like home.

Each day I try and remind myself that I'm just building my new normal. But of course, what made my life "normal" was Jim. And new normal just doesn't seem as nice and loving and whole and full as the normal I had before.

No matter how much volunteer work I do, no matter how much I go out, no matter how many classes I take, no matter who I spend my time with, Jim isn't there. Jim isn't at home waiting for me. Jim is home to me. Jim looked like home, smelled like home, acted like home - he was home. This life is just a house I happen to be in while I manage our lives. I don't know. Maybe one day I'll wake up and realize that this feels like home again. But even then, it won't be the home I had with Jim. Our home.

Cancer ruined my everyday life. It ruined my family. It ruined my home.