I want someone to tell me, “Tomorrow it will be better.”
I’ve been my mom’s cheerleader from the beginning. Right when she was first diagnosed with uterine cancer. Through the surgery. Through the doctors’ appointments. The tests. Now the infusions…the chemo. I’m here to lift her up and to remind her that no matter what is happening today, right now, tomorrow will be a better day. Today she’s tired and her back hurts. Tomorrow she’ll be less tired and her back won’t be as bad. Today her mouth has a terrible taste, but tomorrow it will be less so. Today she’s not feeling so energetic. Tomorrow will be better. (And I don’t regret one day I’ve been that cheerleader…not one day and not one minute.)
I’ve been sick since 2000. I’m not sure anyone has ever said to me, “Tomorrow will be better.”
They say they’re sorry I am not feeling well. They’re sorry I’m tired, or that I can’t go out today. Or that my body hurts. Or that my knee is acting up. They’re sorry that I am hot. Or can’t eat that piece of bread. Or can’t get up off the chair without yelping in pain.
I know they’re sorry. I know they support me. They go with me (and always did) to my doctors’ appointments. They help me ask questions and help me remember the answers. They buy me anything I need. They ran errands for me when I couldn’t. Bought food when I couldn’t shop. Cooked when I couldn’t cook. Took care of my dog when I couldn’t get down the stairs to let her out. They did for me. They helped me. They loved me. I know they don’t want me to be in this place that I’m in. But I’m in it, and I live it every day. So who is my cheerleader? Who is going to tell me, “Tomorrow it will be better.”
It’s a little thing. And I don’t want that patronizing, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” kind of thing. I want someone to understand and remind me that there is always tomorrow, and that possibility–that hope–that it might just be a better day.