The toilet paper holder in our master bathroom is possessed. When it gets to the point of having a quarter of the toilet paper left on the roll, it starts unraveling on its own. Turning and unrolling until the toilet paper is hanging by the glue that keeps it on the cardboard tube.
Adam and I were hanging in our bathroom recently, doing the things that we do, when we noticed, once again, our possessed toilet paper holder take action. We both watched it, and at about the same time commented on how this unraveling is quite a good metaphor for our lives. Though we got a good laugh about our coinciding thought, and even commented that this would make a good blog post, I didn't give it much more thought until yesterday.
Our lives are possessed by ALS and seem to be unraveling before our eyes. Sometimes we are just observers to the unraveling and there is nothing we can do but watch. Sometimes we can roll the paper back up on our own through laughter and love. Sometimes we need others to help us roll the paper up with friendship and camaraderie. Sometimes we need the help of strangers.
It's the little things that happen in our lives that help me roll the paper back up and I am not sure that the people involved know or understand how much they help. Like when...
~all my kids are home for dinner and we spend time just hanging out talking at the table.
~I go out to dinner with friends and the restaurant is loud but my friends lean in to hear my participation in the conversation, and patiently wait for me to get my words out.
~Adam reminds people through subtle comments that I make decisions for myself, that he doesn't make them for me.
~a retail company stretches the rules to accommodate our different needs.
This week I feel like I am unraveling due to my upcoming feeding tube surgery. And though I logically understand the need for such, and I welcome the assistance with nutrition (eating is taking so much effort), I don't look forward to having a second hole in my abdomen. One hole for nutrition to go in, the other for waste to go out. Honestly it creeps me out. And...do I dare say it out loud? But the feeding tube represents (to me) one step closer to the end of my life.
So we move forward. Feeding tube. Having a new normal. And somehow the toilet paper will get rolled back up. It won't be even or straight, but we will make it work.