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.