November 16, 2011

So today is my mom's second post-death birthday.  I'm in a much different place than I was at this time last year.  This time, I kept forgetting the day was coming instead of having it looming over me.  I look at this as a good sign - like my grief program really has helped me bring the emotional & logical pieces of my mom's death together.  I've thought of my mom today, but it's not a very sad thing.  I feel a lot lighter today.  And even though my kids were not on their best behavior at dinner, it was still good to see my dad out at a restaurant tonight and mark the day in a little way.  I didn't go to the cemetary today and that felt ok, too.  I do hope that wherever Mom is, her day was great.  I still miss her, but I feel better.

October 25, 2011

I had my last motherless daughter group session tonight.  While I'm sad the meetings are over because I really like the women that were in that room with me, I feel like I accomplished what I needed from the work we did during the past 6 weeks.  I have this image & feeling like I'm at the ending scene of a movie where the main character has come through a horrible ordeal, and while they're not all better, they're getting there and you know they will be.  I'm that figure walking away with happy music playing and I jump in the air for a celebratory kick of my heels.  The sadness of Mom being gone will come again (and again and again and again), but I just feel so much better equipped to let it come and go now.

October 18, 2011

So two weeks ago during my motherless daughter support group, I feel like I had my a-ha moment.  I went to this women's weekend thing years ago where they told you at some point during the weekend, you'd jump up and shout, "I got my money's worth!" (you had to pay to go there, of course).  I never had my shout out during that weekend, but in the middle of my grief support session, I wanted to jump up and shout it out.  It's like the logic & the emotions finally came to the middle and found a way to coexist.  I really feel like I can let the moments of sadness flow through me now and just let them come and go.  I don't get so mad anymore that I can't just check sadness off my list and be done with it.

For this week's group assignment, we had to write a letter from our moms to ourselves.  Mine was easy to write - my mom wasn't very emotional.  But even my very short thank you from my mom for the letter I had to write to her for last week's assignment felt very real to me for what she would've done if she was still here.  And I'm OK with that - I know from what she did how she felt about me and I love her for who she was.  I'm lucky that I don't have any regrets.  I'm very aware of all my blessings, and I'm very thankful for them.  What I forgot to mention in my group tonight about writing that letter is what I wrote it on.  I know my mom wouldn't have said much on my card, but she would've very carefully chosen what she wrote me on - it wouldn't have been just whatever card she laid her hands on.  So, I went through all my stationery & cards and I found my very last dragonfly note card. 

Shortly before my mom died, my sister told me whenever she sees dragonflies, she feels a special link to my mom.  So when I saw that card, and saw it was my last one, it felt right.  Now, I get to keep it forever and I can smile when I see it.

I've also gotten into this rhthym the past few weeks - I come home from group and I watch episodes of The Big C.  It's kinda like self-torture.  The show is great, but it brings up a lot of what we went through last year while my mom was dying & we were preparing for it the best we could.  I also went to the movies with my husband last week to see 50/50 - the movie about the 27 yr old man who finds out he has cancer and his odds of surviving are 50/50.  My husband said he wanted to see it because it was getting really good reviews.  I knew if I told him I wanted to see that in the comfort of our livingroom, he'd say OK.  But, I decided that since I was feeling so good in my grief progress, I'd see just how strong I was by seeing that movie in a theater with a room full of people. 

I lost it by the scene in the movie where the young cancer patient goes into the hospital for his first chemo treatment.  It just brought back the really crappy parts of my mom's cancer fight and the very brief time she let my sister & I go to the hospital with her for a treatment & doctor appointment (we were pretty much all banned from going with her so we wouldn't pester the doctor and I'm guessing, so she could prevent us and herself from hearing the not so optimistic news her doctor had for us at that point).  It was a great movie, though.  I found that I'm OK crying in a room full of people.  And it made me thankful again for what I have.  I know from what we went through last year with my mom's death that my husband & I really are there for each other good or bad.  I promised him after the movie was over if he ever had cancer or other serious illness (though I still hope to stick to plan A - we both die of old age in our sleep around the age of 120), I'll be his biggest cheerleader and with him every step of the way.  And after going through my mom's sickness & death, I know I have the strength to do it.  I still hope I never have to - I'm the eternal optimist still thinking & knowing the happy ending is still an option. 

October 4, 2011

So I've joined a motherless daughter support group.  I think the name is the saddest one they could've possibly come up with .  I also call it the sucker punch group, because I feel like I've been given one when that name is said, or the kleenex group or the super sad group.  The counselor says dealing with the name is part of our journey.  I guess she's right because I'm slowly using the official name more and my nicknames for it less.

Tonight is our 3rd (of 6) sessions.  I told the counselor on the first night that I'm going there mostly to make myself cry.  I feel like I've only let my emotions out so much and then I stop and do the dishes or something else distracting.  I'm not mad about Mom's death - the only emotion I really have left is sadness.  But I do get mad that I can't just get a bit sad and then cross that off my to-do list and be done with.  My biggest hurdle is accepting that these bits of sadness will come & go for the rest of my life.  Logically, I know this is normal and it meant she really meant that much to me and blah, blah, blah.  I still don't like that there's no end to Mom being gone.  But maybe I'm slowly learning to just let those sad moments in and not get so frustrated with them.

Tonight, we have to make our moms real to the rest of the group.  I'm bringing in the memorial dvd I had made of Mom right after she died and the book of our family I barely finished in time before she died (and was thankfully still able to look at it and enjoy it when I did give it to her).  It should be a very good night for getting out the tears.

Like all things, this 6 week session is starting to feel like it's going by really fast.  There's a great group of women in there and I'm going to miss seeing them once a week when this ends. 

August 30, 2011

So we've now gone through my kids' first birthdays without my mom.  They did fine since they're still so young.  It's so easy for them to just be excited about their special day (as they should).  For me, it was a little harder, especially with the first birthday.  My mom loved to treat all her grandchildren anyway, but especially on birthdays.  I can still hear her voice saying, "Hi, Honey!  Happy Birthday!".  And on the flip side, it also brought back so much of last summer when we were almost at the end of mom's battle.  I remember praying that she lived long enough for my kids' birthdays & parties to pass.  My birthday is at the end of the summer, after both my kids' & my husband's.  I remember offering up my birthday as a trade - Mom could go before my day, I was old enough and could deal with it, but not my kids. 

That prayer was answered - Mom even lasted another month after my birthday, but it was such a stressful summer.  That other shoe was constantly waiting to drop and I was trying my best to keep everything balanced.  My kids knew their grandmother was sick, and in my son's case (being older and a little more perceptive to what was going on), he knew she wasn't going to get better.  But, I didn't want everything to stop while we waited for the cancer to finally take Mom.  Things still needed to be celebrated, and sometimes that meant putting on a happy face when I didn't fully feel it, but there was still joy, too.

So here I am a day before my birthday, and while I still love my birthday, I'm still happy to let this one quietly pass by.  I have no desire to for a big outing with friends - just some well wishes will be fine.  I just kinda feel like I still don't fully have my act together again (or at least as together as it should be).

My son started his first day of first grade today and it's a very weird experience having him gone for a full day of school for the first time.  I've already made a few calls to my sister & friends to talk about it, and then it hit me that I'd usually call my mom at one of these major milestones and I can't.  I know she'd be excited for my son, too, and maybe tell me how she felt when my sister & I were at this point (or probably just tell me that she remembered when I started full time and not go further into it - she was very Irish after all, and not prone to really talking about her feelings).  I know she'd want me to call her when he got off the bus so she could hear how his day went.

It just still sucks that she's gone.

So here's the other part to my surgery story.  This is the side that's a little deeper, and depending on your own personal philosophies, a little more "hokie".  My first night in the hospital I was lucky enough to have my own room (which is what I had envisioned anyway, but did realize in a hospital with many patients, you get what you get).  In one of those twists of fate, because my surgeon was, as my pre-op nurse put it, "meticulous", his surgeries ran long.  So, since the surgery before mine ended late, mine didn't start til after it should've been over, and this single room didn't open up til just before I was finally ready for it.  I woke up post-surgery with no memory of the precedure (as I had hoped - yay anesthesia!), babbled on happily to my husband about everything that popped in my head (again - hats off to the anesthesia) and I had very nice nurses that chatted with me about articles in my Us Weekly I had packed with me or the tv shows I was watching in my room once visiting hours were over.

Later, when I was trying to sleep, I kept waking up to the sounds of someone in slippers walking around my room.  I thought it must be the nurse coming in to check my vitals, but everytime I heard that sound, I opened my eyes and saw that I was alone in my room.  During this same time, I kept having visions of my mom & my aunt (another cancer victim) sitting side by side in my room.  They were happy to see each other, but also watching over me.  I feel full sure that one of them was the slipper walker, and I'm pretty sure it was my mom.  Since I am her daughter, I see her as being the one slightly more nervous over my hospitalization.  It did get to the point where I told them I was very happy they were there, but was hoping to sleep and would be appreciative of some quiet.  I don't care if you believe in spirits or not, but I do and their presence that I felt in my room was very comforting.  I very much like the idea that they can come and check in on us, and sometimes even let us know fully that they are there with us.

My second day in the hospital (or in my cabana, as I liked to call it) started out well.  My doctor came to check on me, said all looked well and told me I'd have one more night in the hospital to make sure my pain was managed properly.  Being a mom of two small children, this was exactly what I'd hoped he'd say - especially having my own private room where I was able to get lots of rest.  Then, a few hours later, I was told someone needed isolation and I was getting bumped into a two person room.  What could I do?  But, they told me the floor was pretty quiet so I'd probably still be by myself and they'd move me to the prime location by the window & the bathroom in that room. 

Of course, fate stepped in once again and a few hours later, I had a roommate.  And to make things more interesting, she had cancer.  I couldn't just have the roommate with a broken leg, it had to be cancer.  She was a nice lady and during one of our first chats, she had told me that she didn't want to be in the room alone and was a little disappointed that I'd only be there for one more night.  She'd just come out of surgery after having 1/4 of a lung removed due to lung cancer and still had a bit of hospital time ahead of her.  The day went by fine, but the night is where it got tricky.

Due to my roommate's surgery & condition, hospital staff had to come see her at least every 1.5 hours in the night to help clear fluids out of her system through coughing and whatever else they had to do.  While I understood this was necessary, I was woken up everytime they came in and couldn't get a good night's sleep.  (Yes, I understand the seriousness of her condition and the need to do what they did, but I was still recovering from my own surgery and ws hoping for some good rest before I went home to take care of my family again.)  At some point in the middle of the night, I had a breakdown.  My nurse was very kind, but she didn't quite grasp why I was upset.  I told her that my mother had just passed away (at that point 7 months ago) from her own battle with cancer so being in the room with a cancer patiend was very hard.  She thought I was upset because I had lost my mom, so she rattled on about how my mom is always near and I can tell my kids stories about her to keep her memory alive for them, too.  I tried to explain that my problem was that my roommate was going through procedures that were done to my mom through her many hospital stays the previous year and that was the hard part.  Most of last year was wrapped up in hospital stays and the time inbetween those stays.  While my sister was the one that retained all of the nitty gritty of the hospital procedures, I was still familiar with lung fluid being drained, and MRIs, and chest x-rays, etc., etc, so the sounds coming from the other side of the curtain were just too painful. 

I'd like to really emphasize that the hospital staff in general was very nice.  I fully realize there is no way they could've known what my family & I went through with my mom's battle last year.  Although my nurse wasn't quite grasping why I got upset that night, she did still offer to find me another room to stay in - which is all she could do in that situation and I fully appreciate the offer.  Had my roommate not expressed her fears with being alone, and had I not cared about potentially offending her with my exit, I would've asked for a new room.  Since I knew I just had to get through that last night, I opted to stay where I was.  If I had to be in the hospital any longer, I probably would've asked to go somewhere else.  I know a single room, especially for a surgery like mine that went so well and needed so little care from the staff probably wouldn't be an option, I could at least at that point have a roommate not battling cancer (and I did notice a big change in the staff after my breakdown with my nurse).  I know I gave my roommate a gift and I know that everything happens for a reason, but it was a very rough night for me emotionally.  I know I'm a strong person, but I'm really tired of cancer testing me on just how strong I am.

June 9, 2011

So a little over a month ago I had minor surgery and spent two nights in the hospital.  Before my surgery, I explained the best that I could to my kids that I was not sick.  I did not have cancer like their grandmother did and I wasn't going to be in and out of the hospital.  This was one stop shopping - one surgery, I'd recover, and there'd be no reason why I should have to go back to the hospital again.  (Again, I've stopped short of any promises - we all know there's always a small chance something could go wrong and I never want my kids to have a reason to not trust my promises, no matter how well intentioned they may be.)

Luckily, my dad was able to stay at my house with my kids while the surgery was happening so my husband could be at the hospital with me and my kids could get that extra love from a family member, especially one they know & love so much.  It made it so much easier for me to just deal with my surgery, but I spent so much time thinking about how to explain this to my kids (and my sister's), I didn't even think that any of us adults would be that affected by my surgery. 

I think all of us had that little fear of what if I was among that small percentage of patients that don't wake up from the anesthesia?  (Obviously, I did - I'm here typing this blog entry.)  But I didn't really think anyone besides me thought about it til my sister told me she had got a bit emotional once she heard I was OK and I realized that my husband had been nervous, too.  There are just more realizations about mortality and how things can go wrong when you've lost a loved one to cancer.  Life really doesn't give promises, and even with safe, non-life threatening situations, sometimes something still goes wrong.  And since it hasn't even been a year since my mom has passed, I think we're all a bit extra sensitive to the fragility of life.

April 29, 2011

So we're now on the other side of our first Easter without Mom.  Like previous holidays, I've learned again that I don't know how I'm actually going to be on that day, but it was overall, a very happy day.  I thought the kids' egg hunt would've been the hardest part because Mom always helped the youngest kids to find eggs.  I didn't break down like I thought I might, but my heartstrings were definitely tugged watching my dad step in and help my daughter (the youngest of the 5 grandchildren) to find some eggs.  He said he heard Mom's voice telling him to help her out, and we all knew she was there in spirit.

I actually felt the twinges of sadness more when Easter was over.  They come and go in little spurts, little reminders that she's really gone.  My brother-in-law very sweetly asked if my sister & I wanted to do anything special for this Mother's Day - our first one without Mom, and neither of us had really put it together that we'd have a first for that holiday, too.  We'd only thought of the bigger holidays.  We agreed we still wanted to do our usual ritual for the past few years.  I felt fine until today's local paper came.  There was a small article on Mother's Day trivia and one of the tidbits said that white carnations are worn for mothers that have passed.  And the first tear fell.  Then, the obituaries listed a woman in her late 50s that just passed after a long battle with cancer, and more tears fell.  That feeling of what is lost just got to me again.

But then, a friend showed up and our kids were laughing & playing, and I was reminded of the good things that are still will with me, too.

March 28, 2011

I went with my cousin to the cemetary last Saturday.  I didn't really put much thought into the visit - I've been there a few times now and I like going there.  It's a peaceful place and I like looking at the other stones, too, and what people do for those loved ones. 

We had a really good visit, but it was rather emotional.  We exchanged Mom stories and talked again about the night she died.  It was such a powerful & magical night in so many ways and I'm still so glad it all worked out the way it did.  But going over it again and talking with someone about what we've lost just stirred up everything again. 

That night, my husband & I went out to celebrate my brother-in-law receiving a special award.  At the reception, the DJ played Anne Murray's "Can I Have This Dance".  My sister, father & I all sang along, and that brought up even more memories - my aunt sang it at another aunt's wedding to my uncle.  The singing aunt and that uncle have also passed away to cancer, as did one of my grandmothers.  It all just made me miss all of them so much - we've lost so much with their passings. 

I was sad off & on through much of the weekend, and because of that, easily irritated & offended until I finally gave myself some quiet time to let it all out.  After journaling about it, a visit from my husband to give me hugs & love, and a phone call from my sister to talk about it yet again (and then move on to lighter topics), I finally felt I had let everything I had out.  My eyes were very dry for the rest of the night, but I felt at peace again.

I'm glad Mom isn't suffering, but I'm still having those moments of wanting to stomp my feet and demand her back - completely healthy & cancer-free (and never to battle cancer again, of course - I try to cover all my bases with this demand.  I've read Pet Sematary - I don't want some twisted version back - I want my healthy, happy, goofy mom back).  I'm so glad for all the memories & time with her that we had, but so sad that there won't be any new memories with her.  Easter is coming up and for the first time, the youngest grandchildren won't have her there to help find the Easter eggs.  St. Patty's Day just passed and since Mom came from the Land of the Leprechauns, that day was a bit tough, too.  She was so very proud to be Irish and my kids knew we were visited by a leprechaun because of our connection to her.

In general, I'm still happy.  I still enjoy life and am making the holidays very special still for my kids, but that piece is missing and I want it back.  I do not like that it's gone forever.  For now, though, I'm back to thinking about my mom and smiling instead of crying.

March 14, 2011

I can't help but compare where I am right now to where I was at this point last year.  It was this time (almost exactly to the day) that my mom was hospitalized for the first time.  Six years (that we know of) at stage 4 breast cancer and the beast had finally taken a really big blow to our lives dealing with cancer.  We'd known for awhile that cancer was changing all of our lives (and none more than Mom's), but up until the hospitalization, there was the ability to be aware of taking advantage of every moment and every holiday we still had together, but still being able to live life somewhat "normally". 

I remember Mom was hospitalized on a Monday night because it was my yoga night.  I came home from class and my babysitter hadn't left yet and the phone rang and I saw from the caller id that it was coming from my dad's cell phone.  I knew a call coming at that time of night wasn't going to be good.  And then my dad told me that Mom was in the hospital after collapsing outside their house on her way home from work. 

There are so many miracles and blessings that happened that day.  Mom was seen driving erratically by a neighbor up the road into her driveway, so we can guess she wasn't the best driver on her 45 minute commute home.  Thankfully, she didn't crash on her way home and/or hurt anyone else.  Dad actually wasn't home that night because he was helping another friend of theirs, ironically, get back and forth from his own cancer treatment in the city.  Mom went to go in the house through the front porch instead of the basement entry like she used to.  If that neighbor hadn't been by her window to see the poor driving and then Mom falling down on the porch steps, we would've lost her that night.  Instead, we got about 6 1/2 more months with her and again, a lot of that time was decent.  Mom worked full time till late June.  There were still a good chunk of life she was able to enjoy.  Things definitely got more stressful after that hospitalization, and more real, but she was still lucid. 

Every holiday became even more special, and I was so thankful for each one I had one more with her.  Last Easter, she was still able to go out and help my daughter find eggs.  By the time my daughter's birthday got here last July, Mom had been hospitalized 2 more times and time was getting even more precious.  I changed my prayers from asking Mom to be here long enough for my kids to remember her to just being here long enough to make it through their birthdays.  She made it through my daughter's, and my son's birthday was only a few weeks after that and I started to get nervous that she'd die inbetween the two and my son's birthday would have that dark shadow over it.  My birthday is only a few weeks after my son's and I kept offering up my birthday if my mom would just make it through my son's & his party with his friends.  In the end, she even made it through mine (and died a month afterwards).  She even made it through one more anniversary with my dad (and they got to enjoy a very special day out of the house on a very special trip) before finally letting go.

I'm in a very different place this St.Patty's Day.  Last year, I spent it visiting Mom in the hospital and trying to pep her up the best I could to keep her fighting.  Our annual family party at my sister's was cancelled so we could all go back & forth to the hospital instead.  This year, life isn't on call anymore.  I can make plans again without that little escape clause of "unless something else happens with Mom".  And that part is a relief, but if I could have Mom back healthy, I'd choose that in a heartbeat.  It just wasn't a choice I was given.  At the same point, given what we were, I'm still happy with what I did for Mom.  I did everything I could balancing caring for her, my kids, my husband, myself, Dad, etc. I did what I could and there's nothing I wish I had done better, more, differently, etc.  I love the holidays, but now is when the bittersweet really starts - we're still going through the first rollout of holidays where we can say, "last time, she was still was with us".  And with St. Patty's Day it has that extra tinge to it, because my kids know that Mom came from the Land of the Leprechauns and because of her, we have a leprechaun that visits our house and leaves some chocolate gold coins behind. 

March 4, 2011

So I found myself about to call my mom again this week.  I was thinking it had been a long time since I've talked to her and I should catch up.   Then I did a head shake and remembered she's gone.  I think I have at least one moment everyday where I sigh and tell her I don't like that she's gone.  I have to unlearn all the times I'm used to calling her or telling her about something or complaining to her about something (especially that one since I was pretty much guaranteed to always have her on my side, whether I deserved it or not). 

Through her death, I've gotten closer with some of her good friends, though.  And it's been really neat hearing them talk about her from their perspective as a friend.  It's completely different from being her daughter and just fascinating to me.  I know my mom wasn't perfect, and I know she made mistakes like we all do, but it's so powerful, too, to know & hear from so many people about how she touched their lives in a positive way. 

It's tough, though, too, with each holiday that comes up where it's our first without her.  Valentine's Day was a little tricky (though not nearly as tough as New Year's - I've been able to let go a bit more) because she always made sure my kids had some kind of special treat from her.  Last year, she found a stuffed, fuzzy, purple heart that she gave my daughter because it was their favorite color.  Now, that pillow lies on the floor next to my daughter's bed to catch her in case she falls.  I touch it sometimes and sigh and think of what could've been if Mom never had cancer, but am also thankful that at least my daughter has these gifts from her to hold onto.

I cleaned off my bureau recently and I found the last birthday card my mom was able to sign.  I can't recycly it, even though there's no personal message, just a "love Mom & Dad" message.  It's her handwriting and it was to me - it's a memento that stays.  Everything right now gets compared to where we were at this point last year.  It was right around this time last year that I came home on a Monday night, relaxed from a yoga class, to find out that my mom was in the hospital.  And if a neighbor hadn't seen her collapse outside her house when she came home from work, we would've lost her that night.  Instead, we had about another 6.5 months her.  And since she was able to celebrate one more birthday with each of my children, I'm eternally grateful for that time. 

It's kind of wild to look at the differences between now and then.  This time last year was the beginning of the end - life on call - fearing every phone call was The Call.  Now, I'm no longer the Angel of Death passing on bad information to relatives & friends.  I'm no longer nervous about travelling far away in case I miss something or have to cut my trip short.   There's a bit of freedom that comes with end, mixed in with the sadness of letting go.  If I had the choice of having her back, completely healthy, of course I'd take it.  But being where we were most of last year, that fine balance of trying to fit everything in, what's the best option, how much longer will she last, how to protect & prepare my kids, myself, my husband, was really not a fun year.  I'd do it all again if I had to - she was my mom and for all she gave me growing up and into my own journed into motherhood, I'd give her all I could again.  I have no regrets, and I'm truly thankful for that.  There really were so many gifts we were given on this journey.  But I still have this void where she used to be.  I think of her everytime I have a cup of tea (proper Irish tea, of course), or everytime my kids do something really spectacular or funny, I feel that little pang of missing her and saying it's not fair.   

And I don't know if anything would be different if Mom went to a doctor as soon as she knew something wasn't right with her body, but all I can promise my kids is that I get regular checkups.  If I think something is wrong, I see my doctor or midwife.  If I ever get cancer, my battle would be so much different, but I know I can't guarantee a different outcome.  But I know I take pretty decent care of myself and I do my best to make sure I'm here as long as possible and I can at least give cancer the finger right from the get go.  It can never get me without one helluva battle.  Screw you, cancer, I want to live.  I have kids to raise and future grandchildren to spoil.  I want a long, healthy, happy life and I will do what I can to get it.  So there.

February 24, 2011

I recently realized for the first time, I had no problem writing thenew year on anything.  2010 was so full of stress & loss & strength testing, for the first time, I'm truly happy to say goodbye to a year and look forward.  2010 started off with saying goodbye to my aunt (another cancer victim).  That was quickly followed by one cousin having a serious snowmobile accident and then another being hospitalized after that.  Within another few weeks, my mother was hospitalized for the first time. 

Most of the rest of the year was spent living life on call.  My mother went back and forth between home & hospital until she was finally sent home in September for 10 days of hospice care before the end finally came.  Everywhere I went (or didn't go), I was nervous whenever the phone rang that it was that call - Mom was gone.  We went on vacation in July to a very relaxing spot and I jumped when the phone rang (it wasn't The Call - it was the owner of the cabin we were renting sending someone to fix the clogged toilet). 

My prayers at the beginning of the year started off praying that my mom would live long enough for my kids to be old enough to remember her.  By midyear, they changed for God to finally take her so her suffering would end.  Her memory got addled, her life quality seriously deteriorated, and instead of being the woman who was only happy taking care of others (especially her grandchildren), she became the woman who could only be taken care of. 

I had a minor epiphany today.  When Mom was losing her battle, I had no disillusions about what was coming.  It's the saying goodbye & letting go afterwards that I've had some trouble with.  I've known that I don't like that her death leaves me with a permanent loss.  I've known that I dealt with the time leading up to her death better than the time after her death, but then today I finally figured it out.  When Mom was dying, I knew there'd be an end.  I felt like I was a horse with blinders on, not able (or wanting) to look around or up for fear of not seeing just how far the end might be), but if I kept my head down and focused on just this day, I'd be OK, and someday, the end would come.  Now that death has come, there's no end to the loss.  She's permanently gone, and she's never coming back (nor is my aunt).

I've had irrational thoughts while we were going through her things and giving away her clothes.  What if she suddenly came back and all her clothes gone?  She'd be so hurt that we didn't believe she'd be back and now she had nothing to wear.  I've gone to call her at her work number to tell her something my kids just did and then I remember she won't pick up on the other end. 

She didn't take the best care of herself, but she definitely didn't deserve cancer.  And everyday, I think of her at some point and tell her I miss her.  F*** you, cancer.

February 12, 2011

When a person comes to the end of their battle of cancer, their loved ones are left with no good choices.  I remember praying that God would take Mom and put her out of her suffering, but at the same time, not wanting her gone.  I wanted that impossible miracle still of having her back at full health - cancer free.  I'm at peace with her dying - it wasn't a life she wanted to live at the end, but I still find myself wishing we could just have her back, completely healthy.  Sometimes, I go through a little checklist to make sure what I feel is just normal grief and not depression.  I can easily get out of bed in the morning & shower, I genuinely laugh at things and enjoy most of my days.  But I'm someone that likes to know there's an end to something, so where I struggle is knowing that there's no end to missing my mom.  From talking to other people that have missed loved ones, I know moments are going to pop up for the rest of my life where I just get really sad.  I also know that all this is normal, and it means my mom was someone I loved, and that's a good thing.  I still hate that it doesn't end and that piece will always be missing.

There have also been reactions in my daughter that I wasn't expecting.  I thought since she's only 3 years old, she'd have a very vague idea of death and would pretty much carry on as usual.  Instead, when my husband was sick with a stomach bug last week, she got very worried about him and needed to physically see him to make sure he was still here.  She's had a cold for about a week now, and a few nights ago, she got very upset missing her voice and worrying that her cold was the same kind of being sick as her grandmother having cancer.  She's asked me if I'll still be her mom even after she dies.  It's moments like that that really break my heart.  I've told her that absolutely nothing can ever stop me from being her mom and that there's no reason both of us shouldn't be around for a long time (I've stopped short of promising that, knowing that life can sometimes throw you a curveball, but also knowing I don't need to fill her head with those new worries.)  I tell her we're a healthy, active family, and we live this way so we can live long, healthy lives together.  Her logic is at a level I never expected.  The other day, I dropped my car off at the dealership so they could do some regular maintenance on it.  My daughter couldn't stay asleep that night - she had a fear that she'd wake up and something else from our house (or someone) would be missing, too.  I did my best to explain to her that nothing leaves our house without us making it leave.  Luckily, my car was ready in the morning, and my daughter was very happy when I picked her up in it at school the next morning.  Again, I know her reactions are normal, but it's just logic that my very young child shouldn't have as part of her world yet.  She shouldn't have lost her grandmother yet.

Screw you, cancer.

January 11, 2011

I'm learning that grief is a lot like having your first child - you really can't prepare for it.  I keep picturing certain days or events and preparing for how it'll feel, and then I find out what I prepared for is usually not what I feel on that day/event.  I thought Christmas would be the hard day, and instead New Year's Eve threw me for a loop.  I pictured being very emotional the first day I saw my mother's stone in the cemetary, and instead I felt really OK.  Every time I thought about going there, I'd get very emotional, but once I was there, it was like an ordinary moment.  I was more taken aback by my dad choosing to have his name & birth year on there than I was by seeing my mom's information.  I just kind shook my head and thought how I wouldn't want my own name on a stone until it was my time (no matter how normal it is for family members to have their name & birth info on a stone before their day comes), but also respecting my dad's choice to do so. 

There are also reactions I think I've moved past, only to find them sneak up on me again.  Shortly after Mom died, I had the typical reaction of wanting to call her after something happened only to then remember she was gone.  Yesterday, after at least a month of that not happening, it happened again.  Patience isn't one of my strong suits, and this is all a big lesson in learning it.  I've always had the least amount of patience with myself - I just want to be where I see myself, I don't want to do the work to get there.  There have been some bumps in the road, but overall, til now, I've led a pretty charmed existence.

I've been remembering a lot about my mom's idiosyncrasies.  The way she twiddled her fingers while pointing to what she wanted, or always finding a way to get me to hold her shopping bags while we were out together in the mall.  They all make me smile.  I can hear her laugh and voice and I'm so very glad for all the time I had with her.  And especially glad I was old enough to appreciate the time I had with her.  I'm not jealous of anyone that still has their mom.  I'm not mad, I don't say, "why me?".  I just miss her and I just get sad sometimes.  But I have these two little kids and they need me and we all have to move on and remember there are so many reasons to still be happy.   We have a Nor'easter coming our way tomorrow - there are snow angels to make and snowmen to build.  And Mom will be laughing at her grandchildren at play.

January 2, 2011

I'm healing again.  Christmas went a lot easier than I expected, but New Year's Eve through me for a loop.  Even though my husband very kindly took the morning shift with the kids and let me sleep in, I was grumpy.  I couldn't figure out why til the sadness creeped in.  New Year's wasn't a holiday I'd usually spent with my mom, so I figured it'd be an easier one to get through, and it turned out to be one of the hardest.  It just felt like ringing in the new year was a final way of leaving my mom behind and I just wanted to hold onto whatever I could.  I was happy again at midnight (thanks to some love & support from both my husband & my sister), but I was still surprised at how emotional the day was.

Today, I was able to go to my dad's house by myself to clean out some more stuff from my old bedroom and to hang out with my dad.  I also stopped by the cemetary to see my mom's stone (it was the first time I got to see it).  I had to plow through a little bit of snow and shovel my way out a little bit, but it was worth it to see the stone, touch it, and draw a heart in the snow for Mom.  The visit with my dad was even more helpful for me.  I was able to tell him how I feel, too, and get some unconditional love from him, too.  Originally, I thought my visit would be to help him out, but I think I got more help today than he did.  One of the things I love best about him is that we can tell each other the same stories over and over again and never get tired (and he gives great hugs).

My heart feels a bit better again.  I'm getting there.