I make every attempt when I’m writing to honor, not only my privacy and anonymity, but that of my friends and family as well. I often exercise restraint for fear of over-sharing, embarrassing, or revealing something that isn’t mine to share…or is mine but something of which I want to remain mine. It’s the same etiquette that we reinforce in our home- that every member of this family is entitled to their privacy and that they should take comfort in knowing that whatever private matter they’re grappling with, respectively, is safe within the confines of these walls. A person’s home is where they should be allowed such a luxury.

I’m not gonna lie, 2011 was a shitty year in many respects. For the most part I haven’t adequately addressed my feelings on certain events that transpired but rather have pushed aside, ignored, or shoved deep down altogether. Because there’s no time to do it and doing it doesn’t change the outcome of the events at. all. And they’re not even my events but are matters that people extremely close to me have to bear. For me to lament, to them, MY feelings seems the epitome of selfishness. But as I sit here in this quiet house, with the children finally back to school after their long winter break, my mind reels. It races with constant “what ifs?” and “why” and only reinforces that my feelings matter little in the grand scheme of things and still nothing changes.

A good friend of mine is fighting cancer. Still. It will not go away. My heart breaks when she’s told, “just one more chemo treatment” only to be told again after the next PET scan that another is needed. It was supposed to be “simple”. They caught it early. And I don’t know how to act around her. I try to keep her spirits up then worry after that I’ve been to flip. My stomach sinks when I think back to her early diagnosis and my cheerleader-like response of, “you’re gonna kick this cancer’s ass and make it your bitch!” …because, initially, learning this news about someone so relatively young, of course I think they’re going to do exactly that. But I have to keep a positive attitude, for her. Because this is not about me.

Remaining vague but still getting things off my chest: The long-term marriage of a couple very close to me ended which resulted in one of the party moving a greeeaat distance away. Birthdays were celebrated last year without this person. Thanksgiving was missing someone at the dinner table. Christmas was minus one. Christmas was the hardest. Christmas Eve afternoon it all hit me; however, I didn’t realize it at the time, and I broke down completely. Mr. Farklepants, puzzled by my spontaneous bad mood, asked what was the matter. And because I didn’t know what was wrong I could only choke out what I was feeling, which was that I felt something in my gut was telling me that my life was about to go horribly horribly wrong and that when it happens I should have seen it coming.

To which he wondered if I was PMSing. It’s okay. Normally that would be an accurate observation because usually when I just bust out crying that is the reason (even though I won’t admit it at the time, dammit!). It wasn’t until later that I realized my outburst was because I hadn’t dealt with my feelings about the events of 2011. Because the kids still needed my love and attention. They needed to go to school and do their homework. The meals still needed to be prepared. The groceries still needed to be bought. The laundry still needed to be done. The house still needed to be cleaned. The car still needed gas. Birthdays still needed celebrating. Dog poop still needed picking up…

Life still had to go on.

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