It's my son's 6th birthday. He's systematically working through an age 9-16 Lego Technics present. His father is away and his mother is too guppy brained from the chemo to help him - not that he'd ask. He just gets on with it.
I've been reading over some of my on chemo posts. Editorial eeek! Apologies for not making sense. Stringing a sentence together verbally is a challenge. Words on a page often swim, my guppy brain floats within. I look rough too as you can imagine. I'm vainer than I cared to admit before I started down chemo road. I try to avoid mirrors but they catch me at inopportune moments. Thanks to my guppy brain (sorry guppies) I quickly forget the startling images, but they come back to haunt me as I walk down the street. But these are minor issues. The child on the floor concentrating on Technics; the other child making a Pinata for her brother's birthday and still another drawing detailed hamsters and cages. The big one is recording. He has a funny haircut shaped for the new Hugh Laurie spaceship film he's in as a 'featured extra'.' I've forgotten the funnyman director - the Stalin film one.
Yesterday my eldest skipped hand in hand with his siblings across emerald grass in the bright sun towards the local tennis courts singing Time for Tubby Tennis - the lawn looked like the one on Teletubbies. We all, even me managed a cack handed games of sorts, the kids scurrying around being ball boys and girl when the big one and me were careening around - I did wallop a few sets, before being whacked later, but it was worth it. Not sure if my chemo nurse would have deemed this restful enough, but by gad it rested my soul.
I'm enjoying just being with these children. I might be unable to concentrate on a book, I feel rough but observing these little beings - and the one big being - is about all that I am capable of doing, but all I want to do. Life becomes very simple when it's threatened. It's fragility is no longer questioned. The beauty in it's fragility becomes a frightening but fascinating reality. We're all on borrowed time. Make it count. I'm off to bounce balloons with the 6 year old who has just completed his Technics project - 57 pages. Hats off kid. Sorry for the mistakes. Hopefully my ability to write will come back. If it doesn't I don't care. All my cares are right here.