My parents just began their trek back to their home in Pennsylvania. They were staying with us these past two months to help out and be with the kids. Instead of crawling back into bed, I'm finding myself wide awake, feeling a simultaneous emptiness and relief by them going home.
I haven't really talked about them being here all that much on this blog; they kinda melted into everyday life. But I think that what kind of support, as I mentioned before, one has during cancer treatments plays a big role in the quality of life. As an example, last night I was snug as a bug in a rug when Dude sat beside me in bed, reading up on some of my breast cancer books. I felt warm that he was becoming informed about what we're going through, and even though I had a splitting headache, I managed to fall asleep as he rubbed my back while reading.
My parents, especially my mom, are understandably big worriers. My mom sometimes takes it to a whole new level all her own, where she talks herself into a chaotic frenzy; it's no surprise she has high blood pressure. So while she was cleaning and keeping care of the kids, she filled the air with, let's say, musicality and colour.
It's nice to have my house back to myself. That's honestly what I was looking forward to for some time. Of course, that means having the cleaning all to myself; the changing poop diapers all to myself; etc. But I miss having control over how my house is maintained, even though my mom always does an impeccable job. After all, she did raise me, and I got a lot of my anality for cleanliness from her. So my internal fight for the vacuum was an issue.
They want to come back right away. I want them to stay away for a little while. I want to reclaim my space and see how I'm able to live my life without my parents taking care of me. I want to be a grown-up for a bit again.
Having three generations under one roof is both wonderfully supportive and sometimes suffocating. At the moment, this very moment, I'm not sure which way to breathe.