We aren’t who we used to be. I’m not sure when it happened. But now, we aren’t who we once were.
We aren’t who we used to be. I’m not sure when it happened. But now, we aren’t who we once were. Some wouldn’t have ever wanted to be who we were before. It wasn’t easy then either. But it was us. We knew our pits an downfalls. We knew when a storm was brewing, when to pull the car over, and when to not even leave the house.
Back then we left the house. We were brave. Traversed new territory now and again. Oh, we found plenty of anxiety outside of the house. But we were out.
This new life we live is still. Some days it’s downright boring. If you search in a thesaurus for synonyms of ‘home’ it will give all nicey-nice things like ‘familiar,’ ‘ at ease,’ ‘family.’ There’s nothing in the thesaurus comparing home to ‘driving each other crazy,’ ‘same walls day after day,’ ‘only seen each other for days on end.’ This homebound life is a place where we are thankful to be, yet tiring of quickly.
Since the new diagnosis we are changed. Going out is more than difficult. The world isn’t ready for us and our pink hospital puke bucket. You see, chemo kills the good with the bad. And now we deal with the shift into this new land in which it has forced us.
Right now this place can feel like no-man’s land, a wilderness. We are often alone at home without the visitors we had in the beginning of this new diagnosis. We have the sense we are waiting on something; the other shoe to drop, more bad news, that sinking feeling at all times; a wasteland. But look what comes when I go to God and ask about ‘the wasteland’ and ‘the wilderness.’