Our First Normal(?) Week

This past week felt… normal? And that alone was strange.

Since April 11th, our lives have been defined by urgency—doctor’s appointments, scans, surgery, hospital stays, medications, and chemo. Every day had a purpose. Every hour had weight. Every conversation felt like it mattered too much or not enough.

But this week? This week, we only had one appointment. No big updates. No new side effects. No unexpected calls. Just Cassidy and me—and a quiet, unfamiliar rhythm.

For the first time since this all began, I had moments where I almost forgot he has cancer. He cracked a joke. I rolled my eyes and laughed. We watched something silly on TV. I caught myself just being with him—not hovering, not checking in every five minutes, not planning ahead for the next medical moment—just sitting beside my husband, feeling more like ourselves again.

And then, of course, I remembered. Because it’s always there. Even in the quiet.

I’ve been trying to find time for myself again, which is harder than I ever expected. Not logistically—but emotionally. The truth is, I don’t want to be away from him. Our ongoing joke lately has been, “If you go to the bathroom, so do I.” And it’s funny because it’s kind of true. We’ve been glued to each other for weeks—and stepping away now feels unnatural. Every time I try, the thoughts come:

Is this really worth not spending time with Cassidy? What if something happens while I’m gone? What if I miss something? What if he needs me?

Even when I try to take a walk or see a friend, I feel a tug in my chest—like I’ve left something behind. And the guilt? It’s heavy. Not just guilt for leaving, but guilt for being healthy. For having the energy to move when he’s tired. For eating normally when his appetite is off. For waking up without wondering what my body is about to go through. That guilt doesn’t come from him—he’s never once made me feel bad. It’s just… there. Sitting with me. Watching me try to take care of myself and whispering, shouldn’t you be doing more for him instead?

But I know—deep down—that taking care of myself is taking care of him. If I burn out, I can’t be who he needs. I know I need to give myself permission to breathe, to rest, to laugh with a friend, to have a moment alone without falling into a spiral of guilt. I’m working on it. Slowly.

We have a long weekend ahead, and I want to soak up every second of it. No alarms. No appointments. No chemo bags. I want to go slow. To sit in the sun with him. To have quiet mornings and cozy nights. Cassidy’s heading to the Rockies vs. Yankees game—a chance for him to do something just for him, surrounded by friends and something familiar. I’m playing some pickleball (a little movement, a little laughter), and then we’ll spend the rest of the weekend just being together. Slow walks, deep breaths, and time with our girls who have stayed glued to us through every twist and turn. I want to hold onto the way things feel right now before we restart the cycle again on Tuesday.

Because chemo begins again next week. And I know what that brings—the unknowns, the waiting, the watching, the strength it takes for him to keep going, and for me to keep standing beside him.

This week was quiet. And kind. And hard. If I’ve learned anything through this, it’s that every part of this journey can hold more than one emotion at once.

Relief and dread….Peace and fear…Love and grief…Joy and guilt…Hope and exhaustion.

We’re still learning how to hold all of it—and still finding tiny ways to honor the light when it shows up.