Author Archives: Tim Hughes Living with CML

Welcome to Wal-Mart: Please Scan Your Items… Or Don’t, Apparently

23 Friday Jan 2026

Posted by in Amateur Radio, Retirement

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Winter Field Day kicks off tomorrow and runs through Sunday. For those who aren’t familiar, Winter Field Day is a Ham radio competition where operators try to make as many contacts as possible within a set time. Some of those contacts can be from all over the world — which means a few of us will be huddled around radios, headphones on, pretending we’re way more important than we actually are.

I volunteered to bring a dessert. Since there will only be four of us, I decided not to go all out. If this were a bigger crowd, I’d be firing up one of my Dutch ovens and whipping up something impressive like a cobbler or an upside-down cake. But for a small group? Cookies it is.

Simple. Easy. No problem… until I realized I didn’t have all the ingredients.

So, against my better judgment, I made a trip to Wal-Mart — the one place I did not want to be, on any day of the week, much less on a Friday afternoon.

For those unfamiliar with Wal-Mart (and bless you if you are), it’s basically a small country. Groceries on one side. Clothes, housewares, sporting goods, electronics, car batteries, fishing worms, and possibly a space shuttle on the other. If humanity has ever needed it, Wal-Mart probably has it… somewhere… in aisle 947.

I grab my few missing items and head to the self-checkout. Of course, there’s a line. I remember when self-checkout first came out, and the rule was “10 items or less.” When did that become “one fully stocked fallout shelter per customer”? People in front of me had carts piled so high I half expected a sherpa to come help guide them through.

As I’m standing there, practicing my patience breathing, I start noticing something a little… off.

One lady with a cart loaded down with groceries was pulling items out, dropping them into bags… and never scanning them. Not “oops, missed one.” I mean, confidently bagging groceries like she was playing a game of competitive grocery Jenga.

What made it worse? The Wal-Mart attendant was standing right there watching her… and doing absolutely nothing.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. People ahead of me were quietly making comments to the attendant. Still nothing. The lady continued her little “Scan-less and the Furious” routine like it was perfectly normal. At that point, I’m thinking either this is the boldest shoplifting operation I’ve ever seen… or I accidentally wandered into some kind of undercover training exercise.

Ordinarily, I probably would have said something. But then I hesitated.

Maybe she’s fallen on hard times and genuinely needs the food. Maybe this is one of those situations where you mind your business and let the universe sort it out. After all, an employee was standing there whose job — supposedly — was to prevent exactly this kind of thing.

On the other hand… karma has a funny way of circling back around and biting you right on the rear end when you least expect it.

So I paid for my legally acquired cookie ingredients, headed for the door, and left Wal-Mart exactly the way I found it — confused, slightly concerned, and in need of a shower and a prayer.

If nothing else, the cookies better be good. I risked emotional damage for them.

Cold Enough to Make a Southerner Pray

22 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by in Life, Nature

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I don’t know who offended Mother Nature, but at this point, I’m convinced somebody cut her off in traffic, stole her parking spot, and ate the last donut. Whatever it was, we are all paying for it.

She is currently having a full-blown emotional breakdown in the atmosphere.

Seven days ago, we were told a freeze watch might be issued. Then some warm Gulf air came rolling in and bullied the Arctic air back north like, “Ma’am, this is the South. You’re lost.” For a hot minute, it looked like we’d escaped.

But no. Of course not.

Now, the forecast says temperatures were supposed to start dropping Saturday night and continue their descent into single digits by Tuesday morning. Single digits. That’s not “a little chilly.” That’s “why do I live where the air hurts my face?”

But don’t put away your shorts yet, because Mother Nature is also predicting mid-40s next week. Awesome. A whole three days of false hope.

And now… now they’re saying snow is possible next weekend.

So let me get this straight. We’re doing spring, winter, fake spring, and winter: the sequel all in the same ten-day period?

Mother Nature is not controlling the climate — she’s playing roulette with it.

She really needs to get her act together and make up her mind. People in the South are not equipped for this kind of psychological warfare. We own exactly one coat. It’s decorative. It comes out for Christmas photos and emergency runs to Walmart when the bread aisle looks like it’s been looted.

Down here, extended cold doesn’t just affect the weather — it affects our entire economy. Milk and bread disappear. Churches cancel. Schools close if a snowflake thinks about falling. We start with dripping faucets, opening cabinets, wrapping pipes, and saying things like, “I’m just gonna let it run all night,” as if we’re on some kind of plumbing life support system.

So to whoever angered Mother Nature: own it. Apologize. Send her a fruit basket. Light a candle. Do something. Because the rest of us are out here wearing three layers, questioning our life choices, and checking the forecast like it owes us money.

Mother Nature, if you’re listening — pick a personality and stick with it.

The Phone Call That Changed Everything

17 Saturday Jan 2026

Posted by in Cancer, Depression, Diabetic, Disability, Leukemia, Life, Weather

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It’s hard to believe, but I’m coming up on my 12th anniversary of being diagnosed with CML (Chronic Myeloid Leukemia). My most recent lab work showed my cancer as undetected—which is always good news… with an asterisk. In my case, “undetected” can be a little sneaky. It can be undetected on one visit and pop back out of range on the next. I wish I could tell you why there’s such a swing, but I don’t do anything differently from month to month. Same diet. Same routine. Same bad jokes. The only thing that really changes is what the numbers decide to do.

I will never forget the day I found out. Or the days leading up to it.

I had gone in for a routine six-month checkup when my GP called and asked me to come back in for more lab work because something looked “off.” Then on February 14, 2014—Valentine’s Day—my wife and I were getting ready to meet one of my daughter’s newest boyfriends. He was coming to pick her up for a high school date, and I was in the important stage of fatherhood known as trying to find the right words to mildly terrify a teenage boy.

That’s when my phone rang.

Keep in mind, this was late on a Friday afternoon, when most doctors’ offices are already mentally in their cars. The nurse told me my white blood cell count was extremely high and that they wanted me to see an oncologist.

At that moment, I had never heard the word “oncologist.” I didn’t know what kind of doctor that was.

During the phone call, my wife quietly looked it up and said, “Tim… that’s a cancer doctor.”

Needless to say, my carefully rehearsed intimidation speech for my daughter’s boyfriend completely left the building.

My appointment was scheduled for the following Tuesday at 10 a.m., which made that weekend the longest weekend of my life. A thousand scenarios ran through my head. I didn’t sleep much. I just wanted Tuesday to get there so I could talk to someone who actually knew what was going on.

Tuesday morning arrived with snow and ice. I kept calling the office. No answer. The hospital sat on top of a steep hill, and the road was iced over. No one was going up it, including me.

Later that day, the temperatures rose, someone finally answered, and my appointment was moved to 2 p.m.

I’ll never forget meeting my oncologist. He made a lasting impression. My wife decided that day she didn’t like him from the start.

I had a thousand questions loaded and ready. I opened my mouth to ask the first one. He held up a finger and said, “I’m talking. When I’m done, I’ll answer your questions.”

And just like that, I realized I was not in charge anymore.

He’s an older doctor, and sometimes I worry that one day I’ll walk in and find out he’s retiring. I’ve been with him nearly the whole time—nearly because there was one stretch when he tried to pawn me off on another doctor at another hospital because my numbers wouldn’t behave. But that’s a story for another time.

The time after my diagnosis was one of the darkest periods of my life. I slipped into a depression I had never known before. I truly thought CML was a death sentence. I was afraid to buy anything because I figured it would just have to be sold or given away. There were days I stayed home—not because I was sick, but because I didn’t want anyone to see me fall apart.

And honestly… at that time, I didn’t care.

Through some very serious conversations with my wife, my parents, and my oncologist, I slowly crawled my way out of that hole. It didn’t happen quickly. It didn’t happen neatly. But it happened.

They say laughter is the best medicine, and while my insurance company may disagree, I’ve found it to be pretty true. If you go back and read some of my early posts, you’ll notice they don’t carry the same humor as the ones I write now. There’s a reason for that.

I still have days when the weight hits harder than others. I still have moments of fear, frustration, and fatigue. But I’ve learned that sometimes it’s better to laugh at life’s situations than to let them crush you. Humor didn’t remove cancer from my life—but it did give me a way to live with it.

So here I am, almost twelve years in. Still showing up. Still rolling the dice on lab work. Still grateful for “undetected,” even when it comes with an asterisk. Still learning. Still stumbling. Still here. And still trying to laugh whenever possible… because some days, laughter is the only thing in the room that reminds you you’re still alive.

If you’re reading this and you’re walking through cancer, or any other terminal or life-altering diagnosis, let me tell you something I had to learn the hard way: don’t give up. Don’t give up on tomorrow. Don’t give up on joy. Don’t give up on the people who love you. And don’t give up on yourself.

There will be dark days. There will be scary appointments. There will be lab results that knock the wind out of you. But there will also be days you never thought you’d see. Conversations you didn’t think you’d have. Laughs, you didn’t think you were capable of anymore. Life doesn’t end when a diagnosis begins. It just changes.

Hold on. Ask questions. Lean on the people God has put in your life. Celebrate the good days. Endure the hard ones. And if all you can do on some days is get out of bed and breathe, then that is more than enough for that day.

Almost twelve years ago, I thought my story was coming to an end.

It turns out that it was just the beginning of a very different chapter.

And as long as there’s breath in your lungs, there is still a reason to keep turning the pages.

Confessions of a Closet Radio Nerd

16 Friday Jan 2026

Posted by in Amateur Radio

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In a group discussion today, I was asked to tell something about myself that no one else knew. I had to think for a few minutes because I’m basically an open book. There’s not much left to reveal unless we start talking about my snack habits. After a minute or two, I finally said, “HAM radio.”

Instantly, I was rewarded with the same looks people give when you say words like “cryptocurrency” or “CrossFit.” Blank. Confused. Slight concern. Not surprisingly, several people in the room had no idea what HAM radio was, which was perfect because it gave me a chance to climb onto my invisible soapbox and explain.

For those who are unfamiliar, amateur radio operators utilize radios and antennas to communicate with individuals locally, across the country, and occasionally around the world—without relying on cell towers, Wi-Fi, or satellites. Just radios, airwaves, and a little bit of nerdy wizardry. You can talk to someone down the street, or someone on the other side of the planet, assuming the atmosphere is in a good mood that day.

Some people collect stamps. Some people golf. Some people run marathons. Apparently, I sit in my house and talk to strangers through invisible waves in the sky. We all need hobbies.

What originally pulled me into HAM radio was the emergency side of it. When storms hit, and the power goes out, phones stop working, and the internet disappears, amateur radio is often still standing. Hams pass emergency traffic, help with search and rescue, and provide communication when nothing else will. It’s fun and practical. Like a Swiss Army knife… that talks.

And honestly, with the Verizon cell phone outage the other day, it kind of proved that point. We like to think our phones are indestructible… right up until we’re standing in the kitchen holding a useless glowing rectangle, whispering, “Why have you forsaken me?” That’s when old-school radio suddenly doesn’t seem so old.

I also told them about something I do pretty much daily called Parks on the Air. It’s an activity where people with portable HAM radio stations go out to qualified parks and try to “activate” the park by making contacts with “hunters” like me.

Let me be clear: they pack up radios, antennas, batteries, tables, chairs, snacks, and probably a small generator. They drive to a park, hike to a spot, and set up in the elements.

I sit in the comfort of my home, coffee in hand, climate control working beautifully, talking to them while they’re sitting in weather conditions not suitable for man, beast, or common sense. They’re battling wind, heat, cold, bugs, and curious squirrels. I’m battling whether my coffee needs more cream. It’s a dangerous hobby, but I manage.

Of course, there’s also something kind of amazing about bouncing your voice off the atmosphere and having it land in someone else’s living room hundreds or thousands of miles away. No apps. No passwords. No updates. No, “your call cannot be completed as dialed.” Just you, a radio, and a whole lot of invisible stuff you barely passed in science class.

As I was explaining all this, I realized how funny it is that in an age of FaceTime, group texts, and social media, the most surprising thing about me involves equipment that looks like it should be mounted in a WWII submarine. But honestly, that’s part of the charm. Something is refreshing about a form of communication that doesn’t require a monthly bill, a software update, or your first pet’s name.

If I sparked your interest and you want to learn more about HAM radio, I’d genuinely love to talk to you about it and try to answer any questions you may have. Fair warning: this offer may come with diagrams.

So yes… apparently I’m a closet radio nerd. And I’m okay with that.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see if anyone in Antarctica wants to hear about the weather in my backyard.

Can You Hear Me Now?

15 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by in Family, Life

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For many Americans today, the answer was a resounding “No!” Verizon Wireless went down, and just like that, millions of us were spiritually transported back to 1983. Society wobbled. Productivity plummeted. Somewhere, a teenager had to actually talk to someone.

With our phones suddenly reduced to very expensive paperweights, many of us were forced to resort to smoke signals, carrier pigeons, and aggressively refreshing the screen like that was going to fix anything.

I was sitting in a doctor’s waiting room when it happened, and it was better than cable. People kept picking up their phones… staring at them… turning them sideways… tapping them harder… then setting them back down. Five seconds later? Same ritual. Over and over. It looked like a support group for the technologically dependent.
Full disclosure: I was absolutely one of them.

We’ve grown so accustomed to grabbing our phones to check Facebook, watch a YouTube video, text a friend or spouse, or occasionally even make an actual phone call. When that little pocket computer doesn’t work, it feels like someone unplugged part of our brain. I half expected a nurse to walk in and say, “Sir, you seem confused… do you know what year it is?”

We’ve lost the art of voice communication. Kids will sit around the breakfast table and text their friends instead of talking to the rest of the family. You can have four people in the same room, all on their phones, silently sharing videos with people who aren’t there. These little glowing rectangles have become idols that we worship. We can’t seem to live without them — not even for a couple of hours. If the Wi-Fi hiccups, we act like we’re auditioning for a survival show.

I’m old enough to remember the dark ages — before pocket computers ruled our lives. Back when a “dead zone” meant the phone cord wouldn’t reach the couch. If you were bored in a waiting room, you didn’t scroll… you committed. You read a six-year-old magazine about kitchen remodeling. You memorized a poster about heartburn. You judged people quietly.
And somehow… we lived to tell the tale.

Granted, there was a moment today when I really wished I could call or text my wife to let her know I’d be making a few stops on the way home. Instead, I found myself longing for the return of phone booths — the kind where you could pull over, squeeze inside, dig a quarter out of the cup holder, and make an honest-to-goodness phone call.

No apps.
No passwords.
No updates.
No, “your call is very important to us.”

Just a dial tone, the smell of warm plastic, and the unsettling feeling that the last person in there may have been a superhero… or a criminal.

Maybe today’s outage was a good reminder that the world won’t end if our phones stop working. Conversations still exist. Eye contact is still legal. And boredom, while uncomfortable, won’t actually kill us — though judging by that waiting room, several people were close.

So if you need me, I’ll be over here practicing my smoke signals, teaching kids how to communicate using actual words, and checking my cup holder… just in case phone booths ever make a comeback.

Please Hold…My Brain is Loading

11 Sunday Jan 2026

Posted by in bariatric-surgery, Cancer, Family, Leukemia, Weight Loss

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When I started this blog some years ago, it was mainly meant to be a diary of sorts — a place to vent and to voice my opinions. Gaining an audience was never part of the plan. This was more “Dear Diary” than “Dear Internet.” It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with CML that I decided to use this platform to write about my experiences with cancer and maybe, just maybe, help some other poor soul going through the same thing.

As with most things in life, plans change. Sometimes gently. Sometimes with a two-by-four.

Not only was I dealing with CML, but I also decided to write about my experiences with gastric bypass surgery. When I was doing my research, I noticed there really wasn’t much content out there. And what I did find often ended shortly after surgery, for whatever reason — almost like everyone vanished once the anesthesia wore off and nobody ever came back to update the internet.

There’s something else that’s been going on for quite some time, and I’ve finally decided to put it down on paper. I’ve been experiencing brain fog for several years, and over time, it has gotten worse. “Brain fog” is a term used to describe symptoms such as difficulty concentrating, memory problems, mental cloudiness, confusion, and trouble finding words — essentially, feeling like your brain is running Windows 95 in a world that expects fiber internet.

I notice it most when I’m trying to carry on a conversation and, right in the middle of it, my mind just… leaves. Names vanish. Phone numbers disappear. Sometimes I forget what I was saying while I’m still saying it. Short-term or long-term, it doesn’t matter. It’s there… then it’s not, kind of like my car keys.

What makes this so difficult isn’t just the symptoms themselves, but how they sneak into everyday life. I’ll walk into a room and forget why I’m there. I’ll open my phone to look something up and immediately forget what I was looking for. I’ll stand in the kitchen staring into the fridge like it’s going to explain my life choices to me.

Conversations that should be easy sometimes turn into mental obstacle courses as I search for words I’ve used my entire life. It affects my confidence more than I care to admit. When you can’t trust your own memory, you start second-guessing yourself. You hesitate before speaking. You rely more on notes, reminders, and the people around you. I’m grateful for their patience, but it’s a strange feeling when your own brain doesn’t always show up prepared.

Some days are better than others. There are moments when everything feels clear and normal, and I start to think maybe I’ve turned a corner. Then there are days when my thoughts feel like they’re moving through mud, and even simple tasks take extra effort. Those are the days that wear on you — not with fireworks, but with a steady drip of “Seriously? Again?”

If you Google the term “brain fog,” you’ll find a long list of possible causes: lack of sleep, medications, chemotherapy, B12 deficiency, and even anemia. I’ve spoken to my doctor about it, and while some over-the-counter options might help, with my anemia and the chemotherapy drugs I’m on, they may not make much difference. In other words, this may just be part of my user agreement for now.

I don’t share any of this for sympathy. I share it because this blog has always been about honesty — the good, the bad, and the occasionally forget-why-I-walked-in-here. Brain fog may be part of my story right now, but it’s not the whole story. I still laugh, I still enjoy life, and I still manage to function… even if I need a few more sticky notes than the average person.

I’ve learned to adapt. I write more things down. I set reminders. I give myself a little more grace than I used to. And when I lose my train of thought mid-sentence, I’ve decided it’s perfectly acceptable to blame the fog, shrug, and move on. If nothing else, it gives the people around me a chuckle — and honestly, some days I’m laughing right along with them.

And if you ever see me standing in a room staring off into space like I’m waiting on divine revelation, don’t worry. I’m probably just buffering.

Unwelcomed Alarm

10 Saturday Jan 2026

Posted by in Weather

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I wrote in my last post about how crazy our weather has been. Apparently, the weather department took that as a challenge.

Last night, it decided to toss in another curveball — a cold front pushing through, dragging thunderstorms along with it. We spent most of the day and evening under a tornado watch. By bedtime, we had already picked up nearly three inches of rain, and the storms were still rolling in. The thunder wasn’t rumbling anymore; it was auditioning for a demolition crew.

Before going to sleep, I set my phone alarm for 5:30 a.m. so I could get up and get ready for men’s Bible study at 8. Responsible. Mature. Clearly overconfident.

Sometime later, I heard an alarm and woke up. I didn’t question it. I just accepted my fate. I took a long, hot shower, shaved, got dressed, and headed to the kitchen. I started the coffee and even remember thinking, “Tracy should be getting up soon. It’s got to be around six.”

The first pod finished, and I glanced at the stove clock.

4:10 a.m.

I stared at it, waiting for it to blink and say “Just kidding.”

It didn’t.

I checked my watch. Same time. That’s when it hit me — I hadn’t been woken up by my phone alarm. I’d been summoned by the weather radio.

I sat down in my recliner with my coffee and pulled up the radar. Sure enough, the National Weather Service had issued a flash flood warning at 3:45 a.m. That alert was the “alarm” that launched me into full morning-person cosplay.

So there I was — clean, dressed, caffeinated, and absolutely betrayed — living in a time slot meant only for bakers, farmers, and people who lost a bet.

There was no going back to bed. And even if I tried, I’d probably sleep right through the real 5:30 alarm just to complete the joke.

Moral of the story: I don’t need an alarm clock. I need a personal meteorologist who knows when to mind his business.

Happy New Year Everyone!

09 Friday Jan 2026

Posted by in Fishing, Kayaking, Photography

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I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I’m really looking forward to seeing what this new year will bring. Last year was challenging… but if you’ve read any of my posts, you already know when I say that, I mean “I’ve survived worse, and I’m still standing… mostly.”

The weather around here lately has been acting like one of my twin daughters staring at a menu she’s seen a hundred times. Same menu. Same choices. Still no decision. We haven’t seen the sun for any meaningful amount of time since New Year’s. The past couple of days, we’ve been under a heavy fog advisory with a misty rain added in, just in case anyone was feeling too cheerful.

And then there are the temperatures. Not long ago, we had lows in the teens and highs in the forties. Then, suddenly, the last two days decided to identify as spring — mid-seventies during the day and fifties at night. At this point, I don’t dress for the weather anymore. I just step outside and let it emotionally surprise me.

My friend and I decided to take advantage of this identity-crisis weather and go fishing.

I’ll admit, I was a little apprehensive. After my accidental plunge a few months back, my brain now treats water like it’s part of a criminal organization. Sure, the air was in the 70s, but the water temperature was still in the low 50s. Just imagine taking a dip in fifty-degree water. That’s not swimming — that’s a full-body system reboot.

We got to the creek around 8 a.m., and I didn’t catch my first fish until a little after 1. For five solid hours, I was throwing a lure another friend swears by. He told me he caught six fish on it last week. By noon, I was starting to think he either lied… or I’m not his favorite person. So I switched back to my old, reliable lure and, shockingly, the fish remembered who I was.

I hooked four fish and managed to get two of them into the kayak. Both were good ones, though. One was just under two pounds, and the other nearly three. Not bad, considering the fish and I had both been ignoring each other most of the day.

The last few times I’ve gone fishing, the wind has been absolutely brutal. And remember — I’m in a kayak. Wind in a kayak isn’t weather. It’s an unpaid CrossFit class. Yesterday, though, the wind never showed up. From about 8 a.m. until nearly 5 p.m., it was calm, quiet, and surprisingly peaceful.

No sun. No wind. A couple of decent fish. And I stayed in the boat the whole time.

I’m calling that a win.

I really hope and pray that everyone has a blessed year.

No Joy for Christmas

28 Sunday Dec 2025

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I want to start by apologizing for this rant. My poor wife has listened to me wrestle with this for the past week, and I still don’t feel settled. I’m honestly at the point where I’m ready to say I’m done celebrating Christmas—and maybe even Thanksgiving—with my parents and siblings altogether.

At the center of it all are my parents, my mom and dad. They’re both in their eighties now and won’t be with us forever. That fact matters, and it weighs on me more than I probably let on. Then there’s my wife and I, and our three kids—all grown, all adults, all working and living their own lives. That still feels strange to say sometimes.

I have two brothers and a sister. One brother is married with kids, two of whom are now adults with their own jobs. Watching the next generation step into adulthood really drives home how quickly time passes. My youngest brother is also married, but his family is in a completely different season—three young kids, full of noise, energy, and chaos. I recognize that life because I’ve lived it.

Then there’s my baby sister. She’s married and has a son in his twenties who is autistic. While his age says “adult,” his needs and world often look more like those of a teenager. He’s special—everyone knows it, including him—and I think he’s figured out just how wrapped around his finger the family really is.

The real issue, though, isn’t any one person. It’s the expectation that everyone must be present at every family function. My mom believes that if something is planned, everyone has to be there—no exceptions. For years, Christmas has been pure hell because of this mindset.

If someone couldn’t make it, she would get upset and cry. As the oldest, I’ve tried to talk to her calmly, suggesting she pick a date and let people work around it. But there are two things she refuses to accept. First, our family has grown, and people now have other obligations—spouses, in-laws, jobs, kids, and schedules that don’t revolve around one household. Second, if Christmas falls on a weekend, many people still have to return to work on Monday. She cannot understand why they can’t “just ask off.”

Here’s the part that still stings the most. I’ve been married since 1991, and from day one, my wife and I always gone to my parents’ house for Christmas lunch. Always. My wife’s parents also had lunch every year, but we never went there first. We would eat at my parents’ house, open gifts, then rush out and head to either her parents’ house or her brother’s—arriving late every single time. They would be waiting on us.

Year after year, this happened. And not once did my wife complain, because she understood exactly how my mom would react if she didn’t get her way.

Now things have changed. My wife’s parents have both passed away, and her family now gathers at her sister’s house. That house is in the opposite direction from where my family meets. Trying to fit both sides of the family into one day is no longer just stressful—it’s impractical. What used to be exhausting is now simply unreasonable.

About five years ago, something finally changed for the better. My mom told me she and my sister had talked and decided that the Saturday after Christmas would be our official family Christmas. It felt like a miracle. Everyone could make it. No tears. No drama. No guilt. It worked.

Until yesterday.

My youngest brother’s wife, who works as a prenatal nurse, had to work late. My mom went hysterical. Suddenly, Saturday “won’t work anymore.” According to her, the solution is that we’ll all meet the day after Christmas because she’s convinced a future executive order will make it a federal holiday.

I tried explaining—calmly—that even if something like that ever happened, it wouldn’t affect healthcare workers, and many employers wouldn’t observe it anyway. Changes like that take years, if they happen at all. None of that mattered.

And just like that, we’re back to square one.

What makes this so hard is knowing that my parents are aging. Time is limited. I don’t want resentment to be what I remember. I don’t want the holidays to feel like obligations instead of moments. Honoring our parents shouldn’t require everyone else to bend themselves into knots, sacrificing peace and fairness to avoid tears.

Wanting boundaries doesn’t mean I love them any less. It means I’m trying to protect my wife, my kids, and myself from decades of emotional strain that always seems to fall on the same shoulders.

I don’t have all the answers yet. I just know I’m exhausted. And for the first time, I’m seriously questioning whether continuing these holiday traditions—exactly as they’ve always been—is worth the emotional cost.

With time being what it is, I want whatever holidays we have left to be filled with meaning, not tension. Maybe stepping back isn’t giving up at all. Maybe it’s the only way to find peace while there’s still time to appreciate one another.

Holiday Doldrums

17 Wednesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Depression, Family, Pets

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Christmas is a little over a week away and as usual I’m struggling to get everything bought. This year I’ve decided to make several of my gives to my friends and family. I may end up being that person that no one wants a gift from next year but it is what it is. I made my wife and kids Christmas ornaments honoring my cat that just recently passed. I’m really hoping that everyone likes them.

My wife and I are still dealing with the loss. We’ve also noticed that our other cat, Sophie, has started acting differently. I think it’s her way of dealing with his absence and the solitude she experiences when we’re not here. We’ve talked and I’d like to go ahead and get another little kitten but we’re not sure how Sophie will respond. She “tolerated” Clyde and was not really the best of friends but they got along for the most part. I think my wife will eventually agree but it will take some time for her to come around.

This will be Clyde’s marker for his resting place. I’ve been real busy and haven’t took the time time to get the marker done. If the truth is known, every time I sat down to work on it I got upset and couldn’t bare to think about it. There is currently a little wooden cross that my wife placed there until I could get this made. Once I have the marker in place I think this will be the closure that I will need. I will place the marker tomorrow after I get home from my oncologist appointment tomorrow afternoon. Maybe the rains will have moved out by then.

I’m sure I’ll post again but in case I don’t, I hope everyone has a happy holiday and a Merry Christmas.