A friend of mine is going through a similar experience these days: her husband also has terminal cancer, although a different kind. We were comparing experiences one day and one commonality is that some days, unpredictably, we are single parents. When I buy groceries I have to assume that it will be up to me to get my toddler and all those bags safely up the steep stairs and through the baby gate. I hesitate to buy large items, like the futon couch I considered at Walmart, because I can’t depend on having an able-bodied helper to move it from my minivan into the house.

On days when Brock is tired, he’s not really present. If he’s in the living room watching the news and Isaac is in there with him, I still need to do the mom thing and check in on our kid to make sure he isn’t eating the crayons or tearing apart our living room: Brock sometimes just doesn’t have the energy to parent.

I realize that this is a normal struggle for true single parents, and for parents who have a lame ass partner who doesn’t do their share. I’m lucky that Brock is a great dad and does his best for me and Isaac when he’s feeling well, which is the majority of the time.

It’s the randomness of his ability to help out and be involved that’s confusing. If Brock is with Isaac in the living room, do I check in on them? Or does that make me a helicoptering mama who doesn’t leave her husband alone to parent? If I ask a friend to come over to help me move furniture around, does that make my husband seem weak and useless?

Limbo. We’re living in limbo. I’m grateful for the good days.