Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Monday, May 28, 2018
"Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel, May the winds take your troubles away"
One week ago Jordan and I celebrated our thirteenth wedding anniversary. We kicked things off with breakfast in bed. Then we loaded up the van with the kiddos/Jordan's parents and headed to the coast for three days. Jordan has been asking to see the ocean for the last six weeks and I've dreaded the thought of making that trek with everything that has been going on. But I gave in and made the most untraditional anniversary excursion a reality. It took the full cooperation of everyone involved. All hands on deck for three days. We fed the seals at the aquarium, went to the arcade and had ice cream. Jordan and I shared the pull out sofa in our hotel room. So for the first time in a few months, I got to fall asleep next to my wife. A nice bonus I hadn't even considered in the chaos of planning the trip. We rented a special wheelchair and got Jordan down to the beach. The kids splashed in the water (shivering) and ran away from dead crabs (shrieking).
I took Jordan's shoe off of her right foot (the one that she still has feeling in) and I rubbed cold wet sand all over it. I smeared it between her toes. I made a wet little pile on top of her foot and let the weight of it linger. I rolled her to the edge of the lazy small waves. I kneeled and washed the sand off of her foot. I made sure to take the time to rub the sand lightly into her skin one more time. I poured water from my hands onto her feet until Jordan gave me a small grimace.
I did this for several reasons (only one being that I'm an annoying ass). I wanted there to be the connection. I wanted her to feel the cold and the grit. It can't be described fully and it can't be dreamt up. It has to be experienced. You are thinking about it right now and it isn't doing this simple act the justice it deserves. Cancer and a stupid beach wheelchair weren't going to steal that from Jordan. We shared that moment. It is ours forever (piss off Cancer).
Getting ready to head back I couldn't help but gaze off into the water. If you haven't stared at the seemingly endless and always changing waters of the ocean and felt completely insignificant I sincerely question your humanity. There was tension tied to that moment. The tension of the present focus of what a single grain of sand feels like being rubbed onto your foot vs. the reality that life seems like nothing more than a few uncontrollable moments in time. Holy run-on sentence and existential crisis Batman! We wrapped up our beach trip and retreated back to our wonderful home in Parkdale. As we were unloading Jordan I couldn't help but think that might have been the last time we would leave our neighborhood as a family (existential crisis back on).
Just a couple of days later we celebrated Jordan's birthday. We had homemade chocolate cake (in bed), visits from a few friends, well wishes/cards from near/far and Jordan received an incredibly generous gift from our school co-workers. Most importantly we celebrated life. It was weird and it was a little chaotic. But we did all that we could. Continuing to lean into what we have before Cancer can take it away.
The day after Jordan's birthday we cooked out with friends and roasted marshmallows. We drug Jordan to the backyard and made a huge mess eating smores and laughing. As Jordan went to bed she had trouble breathing. She coughed, snored and gargled her way through the night. This continued through breakfast the next day so I called hospice. A nurse came out, pumped her full of strong medicine and her breathing got better. She also shared that Jordan should not eat or drink anything for the rest of the day as there is a danger of aspiration. Little did the nurse know Jordan spent ten minutes trying to tell her that she wanted a Coke. I acted like I didn't know what she was saying and the nurse never caught on (I snuck her a sip of Coke when she left).
As the nurse was leaving she gave me one of those "this is what death looks like" pamphlets and opened it to a section on breathing for me to read at my leisure. She shared that Jordan could be moving into the next stages and that could mean days or hours instead of months or weeks. The timeline continues to shrink. Cancer continues to take.
This set our lazy Sunday ablaze. We called the kids back from the impromptu slip n' slide party going on up the street, closed the doors and tried to process. Jordan slipped in and out of sleep and moments of clarity. Singing along to songs, smiling at stupid stories and weeping. Pretty much a normal day in that regard. I spent lots of the day staring out our bedroom window. I watched a spider make a brave journey from the edge of our house to a nearby tree. It danced along its thin invisible string as the wind blew. I found myself rooting for the spider. I felt invested even though I won't hesitate to smash that thing into oblivion if it makes it inside our home (I hate spiders!!!). I also watched a cottonwood tree (I learned what a cottonwood tree was yesterday) create what appeared to be snow in May. This huge tree in our neighborhood was quickly shedding its seeds inside this white, fluffy cotton like snow. It flowed down in slow motion all day long. It was blown in circles by the wind and accumulated at the edge of the yard. I even got some in my mouth when I was running (not as pleasant as catching a real snowflake by the way). The "snow" was a very real anchor in the present moment. It kept pulling me back from the uncontrollable worry-filled thoughts of what could be next. It was a welcome reminder to remain in the present moment even if it was one filled with pain.
Jordan slept well through the night thanks to tons of medication. We will spend our day staring at the Cottonwood snow and waiting for our next visit from hospice.
I took Jordan's shoe off of her right foot (the one that she still has feeling in) and I rubbed cold wet sand all over it. I smeared it between her toes. I made a wet little pile on top of her foot and let the weight of it linger. I rolled her to the edge of the lazy small waves. I kneeled and washed the sand off of her foot. I made sure to take the time to rub the sand lightly into her skin one more time. I poured water from my hands onto her feet until Jordan gave me a small grimace.
I did this for several reasons (only one being that I'm an annoying ass). I wanted there to be the connection. I wanted her to feel the cold and the grit. It can't be described fully and it can't be dreamt up. It has to be experienced. You are thinking about it right now and it isn't doing this simple act the justice it deserves. Cancer and a stupid beach wheelchair weren't going to steal that from Jordan. We shared that moment. It is ours forever (piss off Cancer).
Getting ready to head back I couldn't help but gaze off into the water. If you haven't stared at the seemingly endless and always changing waters of the ocean and felt completely insignificant I sincerely question your humanity. There was tension tied to that moment. The tension of the present focus of what a single grain of sand feels like being rubbed onto your foot vs. the reality that life seems like nothing more than a few uncontrollable moments in time. Holy run-on sentence and existential crisis Batman! We wrapped up our beach trip and retreated back to our wonderful home in Parkdale. As we were unloading Jordan I couldn't help but think that might have been the last time we would leave our neighborhood as a family (existential crisis back on).
Just a couple of days later we celebrated Jordan's birthday. We had homemade chocolate cake (in bed), visits from a few friends, well wishes/cards from near/far and Jordan received an incredibly generous gift from our school co-workers. Most importantly we celebrated life. It was weird and it was a little chaotic. But we did all that we could. Continuing to lean into what we have before Cancer can take it away.
The day after Jordan's birthday we cooked out with friends and roasted marshmallows. We drug Jordan to the backyard and made a huge mess eating smores and laughing. As Jordan went to bed she had trouble breathing. She coughed, snored and gargled her way through the night. This continued through breakfast the next day so I called hospice. A nurse came out, pumped her full of strong medicine and her breathing got better. She also shared that Jordan should not eat or drink anything for the rest of the day as there is a danger of aspiration. Little did the nurse know Jordan spent ten minutes trying to tell her that she wanted a Coke. I acted like I didn't know what she was saying and the nurse never caught on (I snuck her a sip of Coke when she left).
As the nurse was leaving she gave me one of those "this is what death looks like" pamphlets and opened it to a section on breathing for me to read at my leisure. She shared that Jordan could be moving into the next stages and that could mean days or hours instead of months or weeks. The timeline continues to shrink. Cancer continues to take.
This set our lazy Sunday ablaze. We called the kids back from the impromptu slip n' slide party going on up the street, closed the doors and tried to process. Jordan slipped in and out of sleep and moments of clarity. Singing along to songs, smiling at stupid stories and weeping. Pretty much a normal day in that regard. I spent lots of the day staring out our bedroom window. I watched a spider make a brave journey from the edge of our house to a nearby tree. It danced along its thin invisible string as the wind blew. I found myself rooting for the spider. I felt invested even though I won't hesitate to smash that thing into oblivion if it makes it inside our home (I hate spiders!!!). I also watched a cottonwood tree (I learned what a cottonwood tree was yesterday) create what appeared to be snow in May. This huge tree in our neighborhood was quickly shedding its seeds inside this white, fluffy cotton like snow. It flowed down in slow motion all day long. It was blown in circles by the wind and accumulated at the edge of the yard. I even got some in my mouth when I was running (not as pleasant as catching a real snowflake by the way). The "snow" was a very real anchor in the present moment. It kept pulling me back from the uncontrollable worry-filled thoughts of what could be next. It was a welcome reminder to remain in the present moment even if it was one filled with pain.
Jordan slept well through the night thanks to tons of medication. We will spend our day staring at the Cottonwood snow and waiting for our next visit from hospice.
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| The kids love the hot tub! |
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| Parker quietly plotting a way to steal a seal from the aquarium. |
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| Do all kids love digging holes or are we secretly raising dogs? |
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| Seaside, Oregon. Right behind a statue commemorating the turnaround point of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Not in the right place by the way... |
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| Jackets and long sleeves on the beach. |
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| Getting that foot sandy and wet! |
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| The mountain remains the focus around here. Even with two studs in the foreground. |
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| Birthday pedicure and drinks! |
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| Happy anniversary from the pull out. |
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| Jordan is still finding a reason to smile every day. |
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| Smores and a campfire! |
Monday, May 14, 2018
"He was me, from a dimension torn free"
The last two weeks or so have been odd for the Hassell family. I've been at home. I've temporarily stepped away from teaching to take better care of myself so that I can take better care of my family. The last few months have found me burning the candle at both ends and it has taken a toll. Trying to be a great husband, a great caretaker, a great dad and a great teacher have just not been sustainable. I gave it my best college try though. As a result, I was left a little worse for the wear. Recently knowing that my school year could be coming to an end I found myself feeling torn between home and work. Work wasn't the place of solace and safety that it once was. The overwhelming wave of emotions from home were beginning to spill into my work (Who knew watching your daughter juggle scarves could be so damn emotional?). I found myself leaving Jordan in tears every morning as she begged me not to go. It was time for me to step away. In all honesty, it was probably two weeks past time.
The school district has been in our corner since day one and they have been so gracious in working with us. Both of my principals (because working for one principal just isn't enough) have been great and have only shown me support. A truly fortunate situation for me to be able to take a step back in order to fight for my own mental/physical health and to try and be there one hundred percent for my family.
Jordan's condition has stabilized somewhat over the last few weeks. Lots of days spent sleeping, watching American Idol and not leaving the bedroom. Still no pain to the astonishment of every medical professional involved. She is eating normally and trying her damndest to be in the middle of everything. We have pulled back our travel some and find ourselves loading up the wheelchair and hitting all the local spots that we can walk/roll to for bbq, ice cream, poutine (Jordan's favorite from an awesome food truck in our neighborhood) and beer as the weather continues to improve around here. Jordan has begun to experience focal seizures in her body. They are small, brief and she is fully conscious. The hospice team has prescribed a small dosage of a medication to try and help treat them. We are holding onto hope that they don't worsen. Jordan's speech hasn't improved but I've found that being around more this week has improved my ability to catch on quicker.
So I've found myself in a new space the last two weeks. With a break from school comes the responsibility of some of the things that I handed off to Jordan's parents for the last five months. This has given them a chance to slow down and breathe a bit. Stepping into the chaotic life of a loved one that has a terminal illness is overwhelming. Doing it day in and day out for five months is almost too much to ask of anyone. So I am happy that this new space will allow for some balance to return for everyone involved.
My balance looks a little like Mr. Mom/Uncle Buck. I've enjoyed getting the kids up in the mornings for school with piggyback rides down the stairs included. After dropping them off I have been watering my flowers/garden, drinking coffee and waving at my coworkers as they pass my house like a grumpy old man. Then I come in the house and make breakfast. Sitting quietly in our bedroom Jordan and I share a meal. We also share laughter, kisses, smiles, silence and tears that have been missing. The time is so valuable. It also happens to be the time when Jordan's speech is at its best. From there the day takes all sorts of twists and turns just like normal. Just at a slightly slower pace.
With the slower pace, I've had some time to try and grapple with all the things swirling around in my skull. I haven't made much progress, to be honest. The swirling is pretty intense at this point. Things haven't gotten easier. As the days pass the hard moments become harder, more urgent, heavier and more consuming. Some moments seem to stop time and bring me to my knees.
Today was mother's day. We have a standing tradition in our family that I grill a steak (sometimes poorly) and fix all sorts of fattening sides for Jordan's special day. We also started a tradition five years ago to give Jordan the same simple gift every year. It is a little black notebook with the year written above a picture of the two kids and a note from the kids/me to Jordan. Simple, cheap and hard to screw up! I read the notebook to Jordan today. Pretty predictable messages from the kids: we like you because you are nice, you are pretty, you make good mac n cheese, etc... You know the things kids notice. Last year I wrote "I can't wait to see what the future holds__________
This naive thought was written roughly five weeks before our whole world was turned upside down. Not exactly the future I was thinking about last year with a majority of the notebook still blank.
We both wept as I read the words. I almost skipped them all together but at that moment it felt wrong to do so. During that good cry session, I realized something that has been tugging at my heart for the last few weeks. As Jordan spends more time stuck in our house and specifically our bedroom the world moves on at blazing speeds just outside our door. Each day you can hear the students at our school during recess from our bedroom window. Squeels, laughter and exclamations of youth float through the air. The valley here has exploded with life. Every organic space is covered in green and flowers. The mountain is out earlier each day. Even at night, it juts out over the horizon and just screams to be looked at. The main street in our tiny little town is starting to fill up with those dopey looking out of towners in their clean outdoor gear and shiny cars. The breeze and warmth each day beg you to come outside. Familiar faces are starting to tan and get the glow of spring. Days spent taking in all of this glory are ones that end in a satisfied exhaustion. When your head hits the pillow you can feel that your muscles and skin have been stretched by the season.
These feelings carry a richness that can't be understood unless experienced. Jordan doesn't get to experience them in the same way anymore. We try. We load her up and go for walks. We get her face into the warming sun. We eat dinner on the back porch. We bring her flowers. But it isn't the same. It is lacking a fullness. That breaks my heart. We moved here to recapture that fullness. This time a year ago we were looking forward to drinking in the richness together for a long long time.
Now we just hope for one more day, one more moment, one more chance. We hope while cancer diligently chips away at our fullness.
The school district has been in our corner since day one and they have been so gracious in working with us. Both of my principals (because working for one principal just isn't enough) have been great and have only shown me support. A truly fortunate situation for me to be able to take a step back in order to fight for my own mental/physical health and to try and be there one hundred percent for my family.
Jordan's condition has stabilized somewhat over the last few weeks. Lots of days spent sleeping, watching American Idol and not leaving the bedroom. Still no pain to the astonishment of every medical professional involved. She is eating normally and trying her damndest to be in the middle of everything. We have pulled back our travel some and find ourselves loading up the wheelchair and hitting all the local spots that we can walk/roll to for bbq, ice cream, poutine (Jordan's favorite from an awesome food truck in our neighborhood) and beer as the weather continues to improve around here. Jordan has begun to experience focal seizures in her body. They are small, brief and she is fully conscious. The hospice team has prescribed a small dosage of a medication to try and help treat them. We are holding onto hope that they don't worsen. Jordan's speech hasn't improved but I've found that being around more this week has improved my ability to catch on quicker.
So I've found myself in a new space the last two weeks. With a break from school comes the responsibility of some of the things that I handed off to Jordan's parents for the last five months. This has given them a chance to slow down and breathe a bit. Stepping into the chaotic life of a loved one that has a terminal illness is overwhelming. Doing it day in and day out for five months is almost too much to ask of anyone. So I am happy that this new space will allow for some balance to return for everyone involved.
My balance looks a little like Mr. Mom/Uncle Buck. I've enjoyed getting the kids up in the mornings for school with piggyback rides down the stairs included. After dropping them off I have been watering my flowers/garden, drinking coffee and waving at my coworkers as they pass my house like a grumpy old man. Then I come in the house and make breakfast. Sitting quietly in our bedroom Jordan and I share a meal. We also share laughter, kisses, smiles, silence and tears that have been missing. The time is so valuable. It also happens to be the time when Jordan's speech is at its best. From there the day takes all sorts of twists and turns just like normal. Just at a slightly slower pace.
With the slower pace, I've had some time to try and grapple with all the things swirling around in my skull. I haven't made much progress, to be honest. The swirling is pretty intense at this point. Things haven't gotten easier. As the days pass the hard moments become harder, more urgent, heavier and more consuming. Some moments seem to stop time and bring me to my knees.
Today was mother's day. We have a standing tradition in our family that I grill a steak (sometimes poorly) and fix all sorts of fattening sides for Jordan's special day. We also started a tradition five years ago to give Jordan the same simple gift every year. It is a little black notebook with the year written above a picture of the two kids and a note from the kids/me to Jordan. Simple, cheap and hard to screw up! I read the notebook to Jordan today. Pretty predictable messages from the kids: we like you because you are nice, you are pretty, you make good mac n cheese, etc... You know the things kids notice. Last year I wrote "I can't wait to see what the future holds__________
This naive thought was written roughly five weeks before our whole world was turned upside down. Not exactly the future I was thinking about last year with a majority of the notebook still blank.
We both wept as I read the words. I almost skipped them all together but at that moment it felt wrong to do so. During that good cry session, I realized something that has been tugging at my heart for the last few weeks. As Jordan spends more time stuck in our house and specifically our bedroom the world moves on at blazing speeds just outside our door. Each day you can hear the students at our school during recess from our bedroom window. Squeels, laughter and exclamations of youth float through the air. The valley here has exploded with life. Every organic space is covered in green and flowers. The mountain is out earlier each day. Even at night, it juts out over the horizon and just screams to be looked at. The main street in our tiny little town is starting to fill up with those dopey looking out of towners in their clean outdoor gear and shiny cars. The breeze and warmth each day beg you to come outside. Familiar faces are starting to tan and get the glow of spring. Days spent taking in all of this glory are ones that end in a satisfied exhaustion. When your head hits the pillow you can feel that your muscles and skin have been stretched by the season.
These feelings carry a richness that can't be understood unless experienced. Jordan doesn't get to experience them in the same way anymore. We try. We load her up and go for walks. We get her face into the warming sun. We eat dinner on the back porch. We bring her flowers. But it isn't the same. It is lacking a fullness. That breaks my heart. We moved here to recapture that fullness. This time a year ago we were looking forward to drinking in the richness together for a long long time.
Now we just hope for one more day, one more moment, one more chance. We hope while cancer diligently chips away at our fullness.