5. Sometimes you have to fall, before you can fly

I don’t remember the drive home from work. I was numb. Pulling up to daycare I wiped my eyes and composed myself behind a stoic mask of feigned okayness. At 3, my son was far too innocent to know about this. As I drove him home my eyes fell on everything in my world sorting them into one of two camps: means everything or means nothing. I struggled to find anything to put in the means everything camp. The reflection of my son in the rearview, singing happily to himself was it, not even my own reflection made the cut.

I continued wearing the mask that evening, auto-piloting through dinner, bathtime, story time and bedtime. I was a shell. As my little boy let go of the grips of the day and fell into sleep, so did I release my facade. I held him as if it were my last chance, sheltering him from my silent tears, dropping like bombs on his bedsheets. My ego ran the familiar scripts of victimhood, powerlessness and defeat.

I eventually pulled myself away from my boy, and wandered out the front door. I was looking for answers. For anyone. All I saw were blurry tail lights. I sat on the stoop ugly crying from the depths of my soul as this feeling of alone-ness permeated my bones.

Somehow a thought made it’s way through the swirling clutter to the surface of my mind, “Good. Thank you cancer for coming to save me. I’m done. Life is too hard. I can’t do this any more. Take me. Because I want out.” It was the first piece of hope I’d felt since the phone call. But it was immediately squashed by the hatred I had for myself as the vision of my son in the rearview resurfaced. How selfish could I be?

THIS was my rock bottom.

Much like the phoenix, you can’t rise again without burning down the former self. This was the fire. My ego’s last stand and surrender. The bombing that finally destroyed the war torn city. I was to sit trapped in this impossible rubble for weeks. Wishing it had just taken me, or still would, before realizing no one was coming to save me. I had to dust myself off, make sense of the mess, and begin building anew.