Upon reading over my words of the past two weeks I realize how resounding the sadness is in my posts. While I believe it's understandable and the blog has given me an outlet for a lot of the things I can't quite say out loud, it leaves something to be desired. I have spent the last couple of years of my life working very hard to be a positive person. Being of the stubborn sort I like to fancy that nothing can get me down. You can throw bad days and bad luck at me, but I'll be damned if I don't just bounce back. Not only that but I believe in positivity on a molecular level. I hold to this belief like a life raft of science in the sea of spirituality, and desperately, feverishly apply it to my son's future. I will never let him sink into his disease and let it take hold of him, I will battle the damn thing with sweetness and light and beat it into submission.
Needless to say my self-perceived invincible optimism has taken quite a beating. I'm surprised at the depth of grieving one can go through without actually suffering a death. And I'm surprised at the outpouring of empathy the world seems to offer us in this moment.
While I freely admit I've stumbled upon real, enduring sadness, I refuse to allow it to gain any kind of real hold on my outlook. I may worry and cry and fret sleepless hours away, but I will not succumb to it. If my son and my family didn't bring me such abiding joy, I wouldn't feel so intensely the threat of their loss. And that underlying joy will continue to be my great motivator, through all of the things I anticipate and all of the things I fear.
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