This Is My Life

About a month after dad passed away and I stopped incessantly crying at everything that reminded me of him (which was everything), I started to feel guilty. Like a bad daughter for not falling into hours of crier's dementia. I eventually went back to work, concentrating on my project and executing it like a champ. Was something wrong with me? Was I hiding my feelings? Why wasn't I broken into a million irreparable pieces?
I knew I was strong, but this just wasn't reflective of the 'good daughter' role I've always played (well, to the best of my God-given abilities.) So why was I like this? Why was normalcy so easily embedded into my days? And so soon?
Three days ago, as I sat in my office, conference call after monotonous conference call, I saw my cell phone ringing as "Mom" displayed on my Treo. "Mom at lunchtime is normal. I'll call her back." But just as the last vibration was about to cease, something inside of me said to pick it up. Her voice was silent...if a voice can be silent...but just about as silent as someone who speaks in the softest of tones can get. Barely audible, I strained to hear the news she'd just gotten from her doctor.
I listened to mamma break the news of the last two weeks of blood tests, CAT scans and PET scans lead up to words I didn't think I would hear. She had been diagnosed with Lymphoma. Cancer of the lymph nodes. Preliminary, but it was 90% confirmed.
Cancer? But...dad just passed away 8 months, 1 day, 17 hours and 45 minutes ago. Immediately, I began asking her a thousand questions as I rushed away from the office just in case I turned back into Wilma Waterworks again. I told her it couldn't be, they were wrong, the doctors are idiots, we need to confirm. As I did everything in my power to coax the positivity, or...as much confusion as I could cause to diffuse the prominence of truth...I knew at that moment, why I hadn't fallen prey to depression, anxiety, stress-induced breakdowns and the hundreds of illnesses people have when they lose a parent. I needed to remain level-headed for this trial.
The road ahead is a bit blurred. Ransacked with the thought of chemo-therapies and not having the positive attitude and words of the man who taught me to be strong all my life...I'm lost most of the time. Not lost in words or locationally, but just a general feeling of displacement. I went home and called up the doctor myself to make sure nothing had gotten lost in between the Urdu to English translation and, much to my dismay, it hadn't. I wept in a way that made my body shake. In the arms of an angel-like friend, I filled a box of tissues with tears. Not because of the sadness. Who has time for sadness? But because my insides felt as if they hadn't had time to rest and heal yet. Because of the plans I'd made for myself. Because of those 8 chunky children I want so badly and can't seem to find a way to bring them into this world because Allah needs me to do something else. Oh yeah, I have to find a husband first too, but you that part shouldn't be too hard right? Who doesn't want to marry the world's most occupied champion multi-tasker who chalks up her daily strength to rose colored lip gloss, Kinerase eye cream, a damn good blow-dryer and a few swigs of Green Goodness Nutrient Drink?
I know now that there wasn't anything wrong with me when I found normalcy in my life so soon. Allah kept me sane because he knew that life ahead would require my superwoman skills again. Ne'er a day goes by when I don't see how the puzzle fits together so perfectly. And imperfectly all at the same time. In the grand scheme of things, "why me???" I yell to the heavens above. A question which never receives a reply. "Why more sorrow, more work, more sickness and sadness?" I know there's an answer there somewhere. I know He'll reveal it to me when I'm ready. Right now, I just need to make sure I pack my quiet hospital shoes and read up on Lymphoma. More words I never knew the meaning to nor cared to understand. I can do this. These are my cards. These are my lemons and we're going to be making many a batch of raspberry tea with them. From douchebag ex's made of empty promises, A-hole tendencies and the inability to reach outside of their own self-serving lives to the omnicient feeling deep down that one day there'll be light again. For now, I lay my laptop to rest. I may start writing more often, so apologies in advance of any quasi-morose posts in the months to come. But it is what it is folks. This is my life.