Well, Sugar Honey Iced Tea!

Yes, I said it...Sugar Honey Iced Tea!!

We are having a rough time here at Casa de Crazy. Actually, we aren't having a bad time at all but the people in our lives are certainly enjoying their share of challenges, and we're feeling it.

First there was Skidmarks. I know he was just a cat, but love anyone or anything long enough, and their sudden absence in your life will sting whether they had two or four feet.

Then Mum found out that someone we know has lung cancer - not a surprise given his chain-smoking habit, but still a bit of a blow.

Then there was our young friend who took his own life because he just couldn't see any other way to end his hurting.

Then, while we were in Ohio, T had to call and tell us that Mum's other cat was in congestive heart failure and the vet wanted to know if they should keep trying to save her or let her go. Mum let go - we have long agreed, we wouldn't keep a human on life support, so why would we torture a pet (OK, fine, animal companion, geeze) that way?? When she got home, Mum had to retrieve the husk for burial. Whee.

We just found out that another friend is in the ICU and has been for several weeks now...seems he has pancreatitis, kidney failure, and some side dishes to go along with that. They can't get his blood sugars down, and that's dangerous, so he's in for the long haul until they sort his innards out and everything starts behaving again.

And now this. I was looking forward to August - we had a family trip planned wherein all of us were going up to one of those Carolinas for a party...a birthday party. Mum's brother is turning even older, and we were all going to party on the beach and let all the new cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings, and general weirdoes meet and greet. It would have been fun...a weekend at the beach with family we haven't seen in years. Look out, whichever Carolina it was in, the L family's comin'!! Or...not.

The trip's been canceled. My uncle's wife, my Aunt D, has cancer. Inoperable pancreatic cancer. Chemo, radiation, whatever...it won't matter. She can get treatment, but it's incurable...so die sooner but not ravaged by treatment or die later but have a really crappy time of it. Whee. Double whee.

I hurt for my Uncle, right now. His wife is funny, occasionally outrageous, a tigress for her children, thoughtful, and just a touch nuts...which makes her a perfect fit for our family. She loves to send cards to her family - Bird has received Valentines, Easter cards, Hallowe'en cards, and I think there's even been one or two for President's Day, Groundhog Day, and Talk Like a Pirate Week, too. The cards always, always have holiday themed confetti in them - we've learned to open mail from Aunt D and Uncle T with caution and a broom handy. But we always smile, and Bird lives to play with the confetti. Various holidays are scattered all over the house, under cushions, under chairs and beds, in his closet, in books - we'll be finding it for years. Aunt D had to put up with Mimi, too. She brought Pepsi and potato chips into a house that was usually stocked with fruit, vegetables, cheese, and water...or the occasional natural soda. I haven't seen her since before my wedding. I can't remember when I last saw her, actually. We talk via e-mail sometimes, but that's about it.

Now, I am hoping to see her one last time before she dies. I'd really like her to meet my son. Heck, to meet my husband, since she never has. August was going to be that time - the time for T to meet the woman who sends us e-cards regularly, never misses a birthday or holiday, and often sends patriotic, troop-supportive e-mails our way because she know T likes them.

So, shit. Shit, shit, shit, and more shit.

I really like Aunt D, and this sucks. I know, I know, she was going to die eventually from something, but I would prefer it was another twenty years from now from, say...an overdose of laughter. Not pancreatic cancer.

I really would like her to meet my son, who is so much like my grandfather, like her husband and son, like all of us. I would like her to see his jug-handle ears, blue eyes, evil genius. I'd like her to meet my husband, a man who has tolerated more crazy than Bedlam and is still here to tell about it.

OK, enough of the downers. She's still alive, still well enough to enjoy that...she's seen her kids married and having children and she has all summer to tan to her heart's content without worrying about wrinkles or skin cancer. We will find a way to go see her (whether she wants us to or not, I suspect) while she's well enough to enjoy it.

We get knocked down, but we get up again...

Later, I'll write about Ohio, and Bird's bee sting, and the cats on my back stairs. For now...I am going to finish mopping the floors and try to change the order of the Universe so that my Aunt doesn't have cancer and I am a lottery winner. I'm not asking for much...