If I'm made up in your head, erika, why didn't you make me hotter?

Maria, everyone's been so wise. I just want to offer hugs, and a single piece of practical advice. Whenever you can, relinquish the caretaker role. Let someone else be strong for the others, at least just for a little while. Give yourself permission to just--let go of the responsibility for others' wellbeing. Someone else--cousin, sister, son, will step forward to shoulder that need while you're off-duty. And it will be seamless.

Collectively, you support each other. Individually, you permit others the honor of supporting you.

And yes, this community is what saved me. Twice. Lean on us. We're here.

I agree. Buffistas have saved my sanity too many times for me to tell of it.

Collectively, you support each other. Individually, you permit others the honor of supporting you.

If I still cross-stitched, I'd totally put this on a sampler.

Given that it's the Buffistas, better, perhaps, to just have it embroidered on corsets.

Maria, you are in my thoughts. I've been there far too recently, though I suspect I had more of an emotional remove. If you do need to run away for a bit, you know where I am. And I'll do my best you have that breathing space so that you can go home again.

{{{{{Maria}}}}}}}

I wish I knew what else to say, other than I will be keeping you and your family in my thoughts.

I'm scared that if I can't bear this pain now and it's just my uncle, what's going to happen when it's my father, or mother, or sister, or husband? I will break, and I won't be able to put myself together again.

Several other, wise people said very smart things. I'll also add, in all seriousness, that sometimes drugs help, too. I got through my dad's last days and the following ceremonies and organization and whatnot with the help of friends, family, screaming into a pillow, and Xanax. While not everyone needs all of these, I think each can have a place. Drugs didn't stop me from feeling, but they helped me keep it together while I needed to do other things, and then fall apart in a safe, private place.

I am sorry about your uncle's prognosis.

When my dad was dying in the ICU, we were all frayed to bits. I was staying with my mom, and I would tell her I was going to bed around 8pm every night, but it was just that I REALLY needed to get away from everyone by the end of the day. I laid in bed every night and read Notes From a Small Island. Bill Bryson saved my sanity during that last stretch. I lived in that book like it was a desert island in the ocean.

There's something in Erin's post that reminds me of an Emily Dickinson poem, one of my favorites, and one I think of often when life gets hard. Number 419 (I hope I get the breaks right):

We grow accustomed to the Dark--
When Light is put awway--
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To withness her Goodbye--

A Moment--We uncertain step
For newness of the night--
Then--fit our Vision to the Dark--
And meet the Road --erect--

And so of larger --Darknesses--
Those Evenings of the Brain--
When not a Moon disclose a sign--
Or Star--come out--within--

The Bravest--grope a little--
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead--
But as they learn to see--

Either the Darkness alters--
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight--
And Life steps almost straight.

{{{Maria}}} Thinking of you.

~ma to all who need it. Sadly, I barely keep up around here anymore. My newly walking boy takes all of my time! [link] [link]