The Apparent Doppleganger of Maximus Decimus Meridius

"You have an obligation to them. You can't just stop writing. You started it and you have to finish it." Carmelo said it matter-of-factly.
No sugar coating. That is usually the start of many of our arguments. I need an inflection of sweetness to stop me from feeling offended. As a man, he doesn't usually get that. He is a Virgo who leans more toward Libra-like Jason; everything needs to remain balanced and fair.


I just stared ahead - watching the sleet and rain hit the windshield and get swiped away quickly by the wipers on the maniacal setting. Cubby and whatever that other girl's name is were talking about Justin Beiber on the radio and I was sitting there sensitive to Carmelo's words trying to drown them out by paying attention to anything else. I heard him. And I know. And I wanted to tell him why I haven't written on the blog - but the words got in the way. They lined up in front of my emotions and like a Black Friday Sale they just smashed and jumbled and cascaded through each other to the point where they couldn't come and so I just cried. I cried so much I could barely see and I just focused on the fact that the RFK is a straight bridge and if I just pay attention to 10 and 2 I wont kill us both. The words are locked up. I finally understand what Jason meant. They are in my head, running around and chasing each other and tumbling over each other but they won't come to my lips or drop from my fingertips. I know I have obligations - but I can't force what doesn't want to come. Everyone with their healthy kids, and their normal lives and their curiosity and genuine concern, like me, has to wait - and know that something will come - eventually, you just have to be patient.


Jason has made progress. So much so that the doctors are happy and the therapist speak to me enthusiastically and in very hurried tones. Their eyes bright with promise and their voices gleefully expressive as they explained what they expected and what he has surpassed. Although they are so excited - I am selfish. What excites them - excited me when Jason was months old. To muster up the enthusiasm to be excited again 18 years later is difficult for me. And I am afraid. I am afraid to say that out loud because I don't want God to hear that and snatch back what he has healed because I am being ungrateful. I am so very grateful. But I am also selfish - I want more. I want dialogue, I want full coherency - I want the boy I raised the last 18 years.


I go everyday. No longer with the luxury to live there with him where he is. It kills me. Slowly every day a piece of me dies that won't come back and that is one of the ways this whole situation will leave me in the end. Forever changed and never the same. The worry chips away at me with the crackle of lead paint chips. Every day I fight with myself and time concerned for what happens if someone misses something? What happens if something I could of picked up on but haven't because I am not there makes all the difference in the world?  I'm a pretty seasoned gladiator apparently - because I am called to arms for other things even in this time of crisis. I have obligations, and situations and my real life came barreling at me like a freight train. There are utilities to pay, and other kids with medical needs, and baby mama drama to deal with. There are bi-polar grandparents and hoarding grandmothers and ailments that need attention as well. 


"You have to find balance, and you have to take care of you." Dr. Silverman said, as kindly as she could, meaning every word. I heard her. Like I heard Carmelo. I just can't listen.


The essence of "me" is laying in a hospital bed, making progress in therapy that everyone is willing to slow time for and accept in a slow pace while this shell of a person I have become is being forced to function in real time. How do you find that balance and MEAN it? I faked it. I went through my script of sedatives like M&M's and now I am au natural again and I can't "fake it" anymore. Now everyone anticipates that I function. Normally. Getting over what has already happened and accepting what is to come. Now I have to put on my armor and do what everyone has known me to do best. I have to keep on keeping on because that is what I do.


I wonder if it is somehow like Gladiator. If God gives me a number of tools and watches what I do with them. Feeling pride when I succeed, amusement in some of the ways I go about things and disappointment when I fail. I wonder if the testing is done, or if I am still gearing up for some huge final. I don't like thinking that much. I don't like imagining my life is playing out in a huge arena for eyes to watch and judge - but in a way through this blog that is exactly what is happening.


Maybe in a small way - this is sort of like gladiator? Where I have had all these little battles and victories to season me and keep me agile. I have shown I am an amazingly convincing Commander under crisis. I am the General you want on the battlefield as now I am sought out for medical advice. I'm not done yet. I know that. I need to put back on my armor - there are apparently even more battles to come.


I feel like Maximus; being forced into battle when all I want to do is go home, and live a simple life with my family.

The Road

The cherub look has always been associated with me. Chubby cheeks that made my face lie about my age making people think I am younger than I am without having to open my mouth. My face isn't cherub looking anymore. My body not so big. Lines have replaced the once soft mounds of my cheeks. Grooves have dug into the lines of my jaw. I have aged to show the full extent of my 39 years over the last several weeks. I don't always recognize the person I see in the mirror or the person Carmelo sneakily takes pictures of.  The lines on her face tell a story I know just never actually saw written. Each vein, each line, each wrinkle, crevice and groove have a story to tell about the sleepless nights, the anxiety riddled days and the mind numbing madness this disease gives you. I have seen things I will never unsee and heard things I wish I had never heard. I am force to drone out and function because I am a wife and I am still a mother to two other children. I have responsibility and I have no choice but to function because there is an obligation I must keep to all of my kids not just one. I need Vitamin Sea. I wish I could go on vacation with all my kids completely healthy and jump in the ocean to wash away the nonsense I have been going through. I guess I will one day. One day when the lines are permanent and the anxiety has left a more lasting impression I'll bath my new face and body in sunlight and take the battlescars of anxiety on vacation with me. It will be my trophy for having survived this ordeal with some semblance of my sanity and in one piece. At least, I hope that is how it will be.