Good news with a side of (my) reality…

I didn’t know what to write this week. Honestly, I still don’t.

I usually try to find a thread—some small moment or reflection to wrap my feelings around. But this week? I’m just sad. There’s no storyline. No tidy way to say it. Just sadness. Grief for something that hasn’t happened, fear for something I hope never comes, and exhaustion from living inside so many unknowns.

We got good news. Cassidy’s numbers are going down—his cancer markers are trending in the right direction. And I’m grateful, truly. That news is everything. It means the chemo is working. It means progress. It means hope.

But even in the middle of that good news, I feel stuck in this emotional limbo. Because numbers on a chart don’t erase the weight of what we’re living through. They don’t remove the fact that every day I still ask myself: What happens next? How much time do we have? How do I make the most of it without constantly bracing for the worst?

I’ve noticed I’m having a hard time doing anything. The things that used to feel simple—cleaning the house, texting a friend back, making plans for the weekend—now feel enormous. I keep telling myself to go for a walk, to make that dinner reservation, to start the laundry. But the sadness makes me slow. The fear makes everything feel heavier than it is. I’m here, but I’m also somewhere else—constantly thinking, calculating, worrying. It's like my body is in survival mode, and all the normal rhythms of life feel… paused.

I don’t write this to be dramatic or dark. I write it because it’s honest. Because this is what caregiving often looks like—holding both the joy and the fear in the same heart. Smiling when you’re scared. Celebrating milestones with a knot in your stomach. Feeling relief that the numbers are good… and still crying in the car because what if it’s not enough?

I miss normal. I miss the version of life where my biggest worry was what we were having for dinner or whose turn it was to take the dogs out. Now, my thoughts are louder, messier, and always interrupted by the reality that our life has changed. Forever.

But here’s the thing: I’m still showing up and choosing love. I’m still trying to be present, even when my heart feels like it’s breaking in slow motion. Because as hard as it is, I’m not giving up on joy. I’m not giving up on us. And I know Cassidy isn’t either.

Maybe that’s the post. Maybe this week isn’t about what I should or shouldn’t write. Maybe it’s just about telling the truth.

And the truth is: I’m sad, scared, and tired. But I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.