Being the killjoy

 It's an awful thing really, to think that you've ruined everyone's life around you.

I know what you're thinking, but Amy, don't feel like that. You're wonderful. You're amazing. You're this. You're that. 

Yes, I'm sure I am. To you. On the outside. 

But for these three people who live in the house with me -- I am the ruiner of the life we could have had. The life they should have had. We should have weekends with friends. We should be able to make weekend plans, to go places and see things.

He asked me what I was going to do this weekend. I told him I didn't know, probably nothing.

Today my sisters came over. It was nice to see them. I suspect they're worried, like everyone else, about my current swift decline in health. While they were here, Robert sent a text letting me know that a new calf had been born next door and the boys should go check it out. They didn't go. They could have gone, and would have gone, if I could have just put my shoes on and walked over there with them. It's hard to be motivated when your mom shuffles and whimpers when she moves wrong.

When we finished eating today, I just left my plate there on the table and sat, waiting to take it to the kitchen. When Bo finished, he got up and asked if I was done, I told him yes and he said I might as well as do everything and take your plate too.

The burden of stress and anger is so heavy for Bo and I don't know how to lessen it. 

Bo and I are 39. I'm supposed to be able to work make a good income, so we can have a good life with places to go and things to buy. I'm supposed to add to our stability, to allow us to save for the boys futures. I'm supposed to be able to drink a glass of wine or beer. I'm supposed to able to not be embarrassing when I walk beside him.  

Will my boys remember the real me? The one who could jump on the trampoline with them, who would run and race them, who played. The one who could get down on the floor and then get back up again? Will they remember me as anything but defective?

I know good things come out of the worst situations, that people can reflect on the course of their lives and pinpoint when they knew they wanted to be different or when they figured out what their life's purpose was and that usually those times are pinpointed within a seriously crummy part of their life. I know that there are so many wonderful, well-adjusted adults out there who watched their parents suffer and go through terrible things as the children grew up. I don't think that my plight is an automatic cancellation of their chance at a wonderful adulthood. In fact, I have hope that my boys will come out of this better people, kinder, more understanding and supportive men. But it sucks that you have to have a sick mom as your catalyst for greatness. 

I hope Enhertu works, and that I get back to being "normal" but I have this worrying thought in the back of my mind that this will eventually become the norm. That one day, I will look back on how I feel now, and actually miss it. What a depressing thought.

I told you I was a killjoy.