This past week I have been thinking about the idea of triage…ranking injuries according to severity, to determine which ones take priority in terms of attention.
[Sorry for the title, by the way, but Dad always liked a good pun….or even a bad one. I mean really, isn’t “good pun” an oxymoron?]
We had about eight months to focus on tending to the wound my dad’s death inflicted upon us all.
I can’t really bear to go back through the blogs yet, but I remember that August was a turning point for me. My wound was healing. I had come to understand that it would never completely go away, but I didn’t have to expend so much energy tending to it daily.
It was no longer urgent care – it was….maintainance.
Then came the cancer diagnosis. Energy and attention shifted immediately to my mother. Nothing takes attention off of the death of a loved one more than the very visceral fear of losing another.
Chemo has been challenging for mom, strong as she is.
These last four months, I have been more focused on how she is feeling physically, than on how we are all feeling emotionally.
The mother wound usurped the father wound.
It just so happened that my mom finished a twelve week course of chemo last week, so they gave her a week off before starting her next round. This means she will have a full week of feeling human…just in time for Christmas…
Just in time to fully experience the pain of our first Christmas without dad. Just in time for his death-aversary.
And so triage shifts again to the father-wound…busted open and in need of urgent care.