"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.