My grandfather is dying.
In the last few years he has battled different cancers. At first it was prostate cancer. He would get sick, and then start to do better. Get sick and then start to do better. And then it was bone cancer.
When sweet husband and I found out we would be leaving Texas, we made plans. We would take a month of leave, and road trip to Idaho to visit our grandparents and show off the new baby.
But, plans change. Our baby stayed inside a little longer than we expected, and instead of a eight-ish week old, we had a four week old. I managed to come down with mastitis the week after his birth, and then struggled to stay healthy enough to move. We spent four weeks visiting my parents, where I battled exhaustion, sinus problems, and general malaise.
We never made it to Idaho.
This is the type of crisis where you lean on your friends and family that are nearby. I had just left all of mine.
The first time my mom called to let me know what was going on, I spent the day on the floor. I had cried all I could. I didn't have the energy to get up. I just laid on the carpet in my messy messy room and nursed the baby.
I'm not going to lie. Some days are just hard. It's hard for me to be so far away. To think of how I could have driven up so easily just a few months ago, and now it's just not an option.
I find myself crying for my boys. They will never get to go finishing on grandpa's boat again, or drive in the truck with him. My heart aches for all the things that they will never be able to share with him.
I don't have the same circle of friends that I had in Texas. I don't have a support system here yet. We're still looking for a church. We're still learning the area. We're still coming out of transition. It's a lot to handle all at once.
I'm mourning. I'm mourning for me. I'm mourning for my family.
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