Back to Work, January Blues

I'm not going to lie, the past week has sucked.  We are all healthy so nothing major has happened but adjusting to our new quarters while trying to get ready to be at work and be gone for two weeks has been more difficult than I expected.  

I will be moving again in the next few months to a location yet to be determined.  C and I decided to end this dismal relationship and he's basically kicked me out of the new apartment.  In a way, it comes as a relief to finally close the door on this chapter of my life and move on.  There's just one catch I've been pretty quiet about--I'm 23 weeks pregnant.  

Yes, I hadn't mentioned it because of my past history of failed pregnancies and my general lack of enthusiasm as the pregnancy progressed due to the aforementioned dismal relationship.  C and I are miserable together so why'd I have to be so stupid as to get knocked up again?  Now I'm going to be a homeless, unemployed single mother with two kids.  

Eliza is excited so I've tried to share in her excitement.  I enjoy feeling the baby kick and grow inside me and I'm sure once I see her, I'll  realize that this must have happened for a reason.  But for now, I'm simply terrified and feel completely inadequate and unable to care for two children.  I guess even people from stable families feel terrified by the prospect of two kids.  I am grateful that so far the pregnancy has progressed smoothly and all test results (CVS, anatomy scan) indicate a healthy little girl.  And when you have health, you have everything.

On Christmas Eve, my little cousin Bobby had a heart attack.  He's 38, I think.  His mother died of a heart attack at age 40, he has the same heart problem that she has and due to the fact that he's been in and out of jail for the past ten years, he problem hasn't taken care of himself.  Bobby's the family black sheep and I can't say I particularly like the person he became but when I found out he'd suffered a heart attack, all the bitter feelings went away and I remembered the time he called on my birthday and did a surprisingly good imitation of my grandmother.  Or the Christmases we spent at my grandmother's house and the time he moved me out of one of my college apartments.  That's my little cousin--he shouldn't be having a heart attack.  They expect he'll make a full recovery and I'd love to say maybe he'll take this time to clean up his act but I doubt it.  So I not only mourn his poor health but the mess he's made of his life.

Two days later, my grandfather had a stroke.  He's 102, yes I know he can't live forever but that doesn't make this any easier.  He is out of the hospital and not paralyzed but can no longer walk on his own.  I so wish he lived closer so I could see him more often.

Now that I have you thoroughly depressed, let me hit you with the kicker.  I also found out last week that one of Eliza's little playmates has cancer.  He's three, we were all at his birthday party in December and all was well.  It turns out he has a tumor on his kidney that burst and he had to have emergency surgery on December 26th.  His cancer is stage three and as with any of these things, there are no answers at the moment, only treatment and hope.  I am devastated and disgusted that a three-year-old kid has to go through this, not to mention the hell his parents are living.  He has to be well, he must get better; I can not imagine a world without him in it.  I can't say that I'm close to his mother but I've known them since he was a baby, happily watched him take his first steps at only eight months, I've been to his birthday parties and he's been to all of Eliza's.  I feel like I've been walking around in a daze since I found out, a bundle of anger and fire and helplessness, trying to imagine some way I could make him better.  

I remember the second time I found out my mother had cancer, some one told me that at moments like this, I had to surrender to a higher power.  I'm more or less agnostic so I took no comfort in the idea of my mother's fate being out of my hands.  My mother's cancer turned out to be stage one--both times.  We were lucky in that regard.  

I keep thinking about the children's story "The Snow Queen."  To summarize; a little boy is kidnapped and taken to the North Pole by the Snow Queen.  His best friend Gerta travels a perilous journey to find her friend.  When she discovers him in a palace made of snow, he does not recognize or want her because the Snow Queen has frozen his heart with ice.  Gerta collapses at his feet weeping and her tears melt the ice around his heart and bring him back.  She saves him not just with ingenuity and fortitude but with love.  

I long to throw my arms around this little boy and cry tears that could magically erase the evil that lurks quietly inside his little body.