In just a few "sleeps", you'll officially be a big, six years old. I look at you and flash back to that first day you entered the world. I remember lying on the table, holding back the fear from the "What to Expect" lecture about the c-section I was going to have.. Then I heard you. Crying before they even took you out. Letting me know you were here and you did not like being disturbed.
You and I. We've spent a lot of time together, these past few years. I see your big, beautiful heart and pray you never change. Your soul and your kindness make me so proud and so scared. Sometimes, my love, the world can be a mean place. It can trample sweet little souls and make them try to be tougher and meaner just to keep up. Don't lose your sweetness. Don't let others tell you to toughen up and not be so nice. Keep being that nice boy. Love with an open heart and know that you are a good person. Continue to be a good friend and help others when you see them needing help. Keep singing. Keep being silly. Keep that deep, belly laugh.
Know that I will always be there, behind you, cheering you on and encouraging you. I know you can achieve anything you set your mind to and I know how hard you will work when you want something. Know that I will love you, no matter what, and I will always be there for hugs and cuddles when the world gets to be too much. My favorite parts of my day are when you need a hug or just want to sit next to me and tell me whatever is on your mind. Don't stop talking. Don't stop sharing. Tell me anything and everything and I will listen with a happy, obliging heart.
It's been a big year for all of us. It was scary and exciting to send you off to Kindergarten this fall. To send you to "big boy school" and to hope and pray your long day at school goes well. As always, you surpassed my expectations and took to school with excitement and enthusiasm. It hasn't always been easy. You get frustrated that the kids in your class act up at times and, yet, you still strive to be the good kid with the green light each and every day. You work hard during school and after school with your homework. Even when you are frustrated and have tears in your eyes, you still come back, take a deep breath, and get back to work. Your brain is lightning quick and I am always amazed at how fast you pick things up. You have conquered your 9 weeks worth of "popcorn words" and can now proudly show off your skills. You and Daddy spend a few days a week going over first grade math and you just blaze right through. Your writing has improved and you are taking such an interest in figuring out words. Soon you'll unlock those words and start reading, I just know it!
You even like to buy school lunch and eat most of it every day. I'm so surprised because you can be quite a picky eater, but here you are, Mr. Adventure, heading off to lunch each day and trying new things. Some you like. Some you don't. But you are doing something even I didn't like to do when I was your age.
Turning six is a big deal, Buddy. Six is a fun age and it's going to be a great journey. We are so happy that we are able to celebrate with you, teach you, guide you, love you, and laugh with you. Know that you are loved beyond measure and that you are surrounded by family and friends who will always stop to listen to you and help you when problems arise. Never doubt our love and our desire to help you grow into a great man with a great heart and soul. You are my favorite Phoenix in the whole wide world and I will love you always and forever.
Love with all my heart,
Mommy
Monday, October 14, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
For Reals
This evening, we sat in the pool house and stuck pictures of Mom and us on to poster board. We thought, foolishly, that one board would be enough, but we soon realized we needed more poster boards. More than 2. More than 3... Really, how are you supposed to condense 58 1/2 years of life, living, and loving on to poster boards? So many didn't make it on and yet, once we were done, we couldn't stop staring at it, letting our eyes roam from picture to picture, never really deciding on which one we like the most. Just small glimpses in to her life.. and our life with her.
It made it so real. I stared at her picture and it really hit me... She's not coming back. She's not at the store and she's not going to walk around the corner any second now. She's really gone. For reals gone. No more conversations. No more hugs. No more laughter from her. Just memories. Stories. Pictures.
It made it so real. I stared at her picture and it really hit me... She's not coming back. She's not at the store and she's not going to walk around the corner any second now. She's really gone. For reals gone. No more conversations. No more hugs. No more laughter from her. Just memories. Stories. Pictures.
Friday, June 7, 2013
My Stories
The good thing about my mom is that she loved and touched so many people. I keep hearing people tell me how much they loved her and how she was like a mom for them. And I admit... while it's great to hear and I honor and love that so much, it's tough to hear because a part of me says "Yes, but she was MY mom and now she's gone". The truth is, it's hard to grieve her when so many are grieving for her and telling me what she meant to them and what they lost. I get it. I do. It's just hard to process their grief and my grief at the same time. It's like overload.
I have a hard time talking about my relationship with my mom. It was... good, great. She was my mom for 31 1/2 years and became my best friend about ten years ago. She was the one I could turn to when things blew up in my face, when I had the ugly cry going on, when I felt lost or scared or alone, when I had good news and not so good news, when I needed to just vent and throw things out into the void, and when I needed someone to tell me the hard truths. She was that friend who could listen, hand you a tissue, and tell you what you needed to know... not what you wanted to hear.
But she was a mom as well. Her and my dad had a baby boy a few years before I was born. Kacey John Covell. He was born premature and had too many health problems. He died a day or two after he was born. When I was little, I used to write him letters and give them to my mom, fully believing she would be the one to get them to heaven for me. As a mom, I can't imagine the pain her and my dad felt for the rest of their lives. The pain when he died... and the twinges every now and then when the mind would drift to "What If.." thoughts.
She had me a few years after and I was premature as well. Somewhere around two months premature, as the story goes. The hospital she had me in was not equipped to handle a preemie like me.. so they rushed me by ambulance from South Lake Tahoe to Reno, NV. The minute my mom was discharged the next day or so, her and my dad drove down to Reno and began their watch over me. I weighed something like 2 pounds, a few ounces. I was small enough to fit in the palm of my Grandpa Jack's hand. I can't imagine what my parents felt as they repeatedly heard alarms go off as I struggled to remember to breathe. (The going joke was that every time my dad held me, I would get so relaxed, I'd stop breathing.) I was in the hospital for a few months and she was there, by my side, every day, as long as she could be there. I don't remember if she had to leave to work, but she was there, fighting for me and willing me to live each day.
Once out of the hospital, she used every resource available to make sure I received early intervention. To make sure I was on the right track and growing up properly. She helped me overcome so many weird little things. Like how to brush my teeth without throwing up. How to overcome texture issues or smell issues without getting sick. How to stop feeling overwhelmed by a huge task and to focus on one little thing at a time. I was a picky eater and she kept working with me until she could find healthy foods I'd eat... and then she'd have me eat them every day, pretty much. She taught me about God, about faith, and about having a personal relationship with Him that would be mine and mine alone. She taught me how to deal with bullying and cried with me when my feelings got hurt. She helped me learn to breathe each and every time I'd knock the wind out of my lungs after falling on my ass from roller skating. She gave me my first Nancy Drew book in first grade and, from then on, encouraged my voracious appetite for books.
When my parents separated, she understood why I was angry before I even understood that I WAS angry. She taught me how to deal with change while I fought tooth and nail for things to remain the same. Even though I hated the moves, she taught me how to move, how to start life in a new place, make new friends, and move again. She taught me to dream and imagine... and to chase those dreams when the time came. She taught me to plan for the worst case scenario, to go over it in my head and decide if it would still be okay, even if the worst case scenario happened. She taught me to go for it. To put my mind to it and just do it. She taught me it was okay to make mistakes, but to learn from them, forgive yourself, and then move on.
When her and Tony moved to Idaho, I chose to stay in Louisiana. From that day until the day she died, I knew that things could blow up in my face, that my heart could break, my world could fall apart, the worst case scenarios could happen, but I would be okay because I always had a home with her. She never had a lot of money, but there was always a room with my name on the door and a hot meal waiting for me when I needed it. She was my safety net and knowing she could catch me if I fell only allowed me to climb even higher.
When I became a mom, she was there to watch over Phoenix while I was still in surgery... And I knew I had nothing to worry about because my mom was watching over my baby and she would keep him safe. When I couldn't get Phoenix to sleep or to stop crying, she would take him into the kitchen and dance with him like she used to dance with me. She'd sing him the songs she sang to me and she loved him like only a Nana could. She was there to answer any question I had about Phoenix's health or behavior... or to listen to any story I had to tell about what he did, what he said, or how he reminded me of her.
We used to talk about my wedding... About what dresses we liked, what she thought I'd look good in and where she hoped I'd get married. About what food we'd have, the party we'd throw, and the music we'd play. We'd talk about Say Yes to the Dress and roll our eyes over the cost of some of those dresses. She always said she's buy my dress if I could figure out how to use her veil.
Just random things, but all of these are still only a glimpse of what she meant to me. Do I know what the world lost the day she died?? Yes. God. Yes. I will feel it every day of my life. I will hear it when I hear Phoenix singing to himself. I will see it every time the sun is out and shining. I will catch my breath every time I catch myself thinking "I have to tell Mom about that..". I'll figure out a way to live without her. We all have to, in the end. She wouldn't want it any other way, but yes.. I will miss her until my very last day. She was my super hero, my mom, my son's Nana, and my special person.
I have a hard time talking about my relationship with my mom. It was... good, great. She was my mom for 31 1/2 years and became my best friend about ten years ago. She was the one I could turn to when things blew up in my face, when I had the ugly cry going on, when I felt lost or scared or alone, when I had good news and not so good news, when I needed to just vent and throw things out into the void, and when I needed someone to tell me the hard truths. She was that friend who could listen, hand you a tissue, and tell you what you needed to know... not what you wanted to hear.
But she was a mom as well. Her and my dad had a baby boy a few years before I was born. Kacey John Covell. He was born premature and had too many health problems. He died a day or two after he was born. When I was little, I used to write him letters and give them to my mom, fully believing she would be the one to get them to heaven for me. As a mom, I can't imagine the pain her and my dad felt for the rest of their lives. The pain when he died... and the twinges every now and then when the mind would drift to "What If.." thoughts.
She had me a few years after and I was premature as well. Somewhere around two months premature, as the story goes. The hospital she had me in was not equipped to handle a preemie like me.. so they rushed me by ambulance from South Lake Tahoe to Reno, NV. The minute my mom was discharged the next day or so, her and my dad drove down to Reno and began their watch over me. I weighed something like 2 pounds, a few ounces. I was small enough to fit in the palm of my Grandpa Jack's hand. I can't imagine what my parents felt as they repeatedly heard alarms go off as I struggled to remember to breathe. (The going joke was that every time my dad held me, I would get so relaxed, I'd stop breathing.) I was in the hospital for a few months and she was there, by my side, every day, as long as she could be there. I don't remember if she had to leave to work, but she was there, fighting for me and willing me to live each day.
Once out of the hospital, she used every resource available to make sure I received early intervention. To make sure I was on the right track and growing up properly. She helped me overcome so many weird little things. Like how to brush my teeth without throwing up. How to overcome texture issues or smell issues without getting sick. How to stop feeling overwhelmed by a huge task and to focus on one little thing at a time. I was a picky eater and she kept working with me until she could find healthy foods I'd eat... and then she'd have me eat them every day, pretty much. She taught me about God, about faith, and about having a personal relationship with Him that would be mine and mine alone. She taught me how to deal with bullying and cried with me when my feelings got hurt. She helped me learn to breathe each and every time I'd knock the wind out of my lungs after falling on my ass from roller skating. She gave me my first Nancy Drew book in first grade and, from then on, encouraged my voracious appetite for books.
When my parents separated, she understood why I was angry before I even understood that I WAS angry. She taught me how to deal with change while I fought tooth and nail for things to remain the same. Even though I hated the moves, she taught me how to move, how to start life in a new place, make new friends, and move again. She taught me to dream and imagine... and to chase those dreams when the time came. She taught me to plan for the worst case scenario, to go over it in my head and decide if it would still be okay, even if the worst case scenario happened. She taught me to go for it. To put my mind to it and just do it. She taught me it was okay to make mistakes, but to learn from them, forgive yourself, and then move on.
When her and Tony moved to Idaho, I chose to stay in Louisiana. From that day until the day she died, I knew that things could blow up in my face, that my heart could break, my world could fall apart, the worst case scenarios could happen, but I would be okay because I always had a home with her. She never had a lot of money, but there was always a room with my name on the door and a hot meal waiting for me when I needed it. She was my safety net and knowing she could catch me if I fell only allowed me to climb even higher.
When I became a mom, she was there to watch over Phoenix while I was still in surgery... And I knew I had nothing to worry about because my mom was watching over my baby and she would keep him safe. When I couldn't get Phoenix to sleep or to stop crying, she would take him into the kitchen and dance with him like she used to dance with me. She'd sing him the songs she sang to me and she loved him like only a Nana could. She was there to answer any question I had about Phoenix's health or behavior... or to listen to any story I had to tell about what he did, what he said, or how he reminded me of her.
We used to talk about my wedding... About what dresses we liked, what she thought I'd look good in and where she hoped I'd get married. About what food we'd have, the party we'd throw, and the music we'd play. We'd talk about Say Yes to the Dress and roll our eyes over the cost of some of those dresses. She always said she's buy my dress if I could figure out how to use her veil.
Just random things, but all of these are still only a glimpse of what she meant to me. Do I know what the world lost the day she died?? Yes. God. Yes. I will feel it every day of my life. I will hear it when I hear Phoenix singing to himself. I will see it every time the sun is out and shining. I will catch my breath every time I catch myself thinking "I have to tell Mom about that..". I'll figure out a way to live without her. We all have to, in the end. She wouldn't want it any other way, but yes.. I will miss her until my very last day. She was my super hero, my mom, my son's Nana, and my special person.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
How Do I Begin?
I've written and deleted a hundred paragraphs since the day my mother passed away. Words just cannot do justice to the emotions that I'm feeling and the place of quiet I'm in. To say my mom meant a lot to me is like saying chocolate tastes good. Duh. It's a given. I can't explain what my mom meant to me because I haven't enough words. And I know that today, it's not just me who is missing her and expecting her to walk around the corner any second.
I want to say thank you to everyone who has expressed their condolences. Those who have checked up on me and reached out to me during these past few days. I see your messages. I've heard your voice mails. I'm not quite ready to talk, but understand that I know you all are there and will listen if I need to babble on and cry. I know I'm not alone and that there are so many who want to help. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
The past week has been tough, but there have been some beautiful moments as well. I am so lucky that I had the chance to spend time with my mom even if she couldn't really talk to me or comfort me like she always has. I still know she heard me and she tried her best to communicate with me when she could. Like the time my night shift was up and I leaned in to kiss her. I whispered if she remembered "Eskimo kisses and butterfly kisses" and she made a sound like "Uh huh". I took my glasses off and gently brushed my nose against hers. Then I leaned over, holding my hair out of her face, and softly brushed my eyelashes against her cheek. I whispered "I Love You" in her ear and she made a sound like "I Love You" right back.
I was able to give both of us reassurance that I was going to be okay. That she had done her job well enough that I would survive in the world without her to push me and pull me along. She taught me to strike out on my own, to create a family of my own, and a support network of people to help me when I fall. I reminded her of those that are dear to me... the ones who will give me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to whisper in. It was a hard conversation... to admit that I will find a way to live without her, but it's one we both needed to hear. I felt like she had spent her whole life fighting for me, protecting me... that it was important for her to know that I'll make it through this tough time and honor her in everything I do.
My mom was more than a mother. She was a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a great friend. She would truly listen when you came to her with something and give you honest advice... even when it was something you didn't really want to hear. She wasn't perfect, but in her imperfection she taught me how to acknowledge failure and move on... To let go of heartache and disappointment and find the happy in any situation. She taught me how to find the beauty in simplicity, how to dig in and survive the hard times and enjoy the good times, and how to find something to be thankful for every day. She gave the best hugs, had a beautiful laugh, and would hum quietly as she went about her day. She meant a great many things to a lot of people.. To me... she meant everything.
I want to say thank you to everyone who has expressed their condolences. Those who have checked up on me and reached out to me during these past few days. I see your messages. I've heard your voice mails. I'm not quite ready to talk, but understand that I know you all are there and will listen if I need to babble on and cry. I know I'm not alone and that there are so many who want to help. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
The past week has been tough, but there have been some beautiful moments as well. I am so lucky that I had the chance to spend time with my mom even if she couldn't really talk to me or comfort me like she always has. I still know she heard me and she tried her best to communicate with me when she could. Like the time my night shift was up and I leaned in to kiss her. I whispered if she remembered "Eskimo kisses and butterfly kisses" and she made a sound like "Uh huh". I took my glasses off and gently brushed my nose against hers. Then I leaned over, holding my hair out of her face, and softly brushed my eyelashes against her cheek. I whispered "I Love You" in her ear and she made a sound like "I Love You" right back.
I was able to give both of us reassurance that I was going to be okay. That she had done her job well enough that I would survive in the world without her to push me and pull me along. She taught me to strike out on my own, to create a family of my own, and a support network of people to help me when I fall. I reminded her of those that are dear to me... the ones who will give me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to whisper in. It was a hard conversation... to admit that I will find a way to live without her, but it's one we both needed to hear. I felt like she had spent her whole life fighting for me, protecting me... that it was important for her to know that I'll make it through this tough time and honor her in everything I do.
My mom was more than a mother. She was a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a great friend. She would truly listen when you came to her with something and give you honest advice... even when it was something you didn't really want to hear. She wasn't perfect, but in her imperfection she taught me how to acknowledge failure and move on... To let go of heartache and disappointment and find the happy in any situation. She taught me how to find the beauty in simplicity, how to dig in and survive the hard times and enjoy the good times, and how to find something to be thankful for every day. She gave the best hugs, had a beautiful laugh, and would hum quietly as she went about her day. She meant a great many things to a lot of people.. To me... she meant everything.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
"Life in Review"
We believe it will be just a few more days before we say goodbye to Mom. She's more "out of it" than with it and, today, has spent more time sleeping than waking. Even "awake" means she's nodding off every minute or so... or drifting in and out of a sentence.
One of the hospice booklets that I read about mentioned how they will sleep most of the time as they draw nearer to the end. How it's their body's way of "shutting down", but the interesting thing was that it's also their brain's way of doing a "Life in Review"... Life flashing before their eyes. I watch Mom sleep and see her smile and smile as well because I hope she is seeing all the great times that I will always carry with me in my heart.
Tony, Trish, and I finally sat down and had "The Talk" about what we would do once she really leaves us. I've never had that conversation before and I had put it off until today because I didn't want to face it. It really wasn't until yesterday that it even hit me that she'll be gone sooner rather than later. We'll send her off in a style that she would be happy with. And I'll stay up here to help Tony and Tena for a while. To start to make sense of something that... never makes sense.
I haven't cried much. I'm surprised really. I thought for sure the minute I was alone in my bedroom, I'd break down, but it really wasn't until I sat next to Mom, put my head on her shoulder and told her how wonderful she is, how much I love her, and how proud I am... that the tears became to much to hide. I still hid them from her and they didn't last long... I jumped up and washed my face before she could see me cry.
Truth is, I don't know if that's the last time I'll have her attention, but I do know it's not the last time I'll talk to her. I take the first night shift... (Usually 8pm to 1-3 AM) and will use that time to whisper in her ear as she sleeps. I don't think we'll have a real conversation, but I can give her my love, my memories, and reassure both her and myself that I will be okay. That WE, the ones who will be left behind, will be okay. We'll survive. We'll hold on tight to each other and we'll survive.
One of the hospice booklets that I read about mentioned how they will sleep most of the time as they draw nearer to the end. How it's their body's way of "shutting down", but the interesting thing was that it's also their brain's way of doing a "Life in Review"... Life flashing before their eyes. I watch Mom sleep and see her smile and smile as well because I hope she is seeing all the great times that I will always carry with me in my heart.
Tony, Trish, and I finally sat down and had "The Talk" about what we would do once she really leaves us. I've never had that conversation before and I had put it off until today because I didn't want to face it. It really wasn't until yesterday that it even hit me that she'll be gone sooner rather than later. We'll send her off in a style that she would be happy with. And I'll stay up here to help Tony and Tena for a while. To start to make sense of something that... never makes sense.
I haven't cried much. I'm surprised really. I thought for sure the minute I was alone in my bedroom, I'd break down, but it really wasn't until I sat next to Mom, put my head on her shoulder and told her how wonderful she is, how much I love her, and how proud I am... that the tears became to much to hide. I still hid them from her and they didn't last long... I jumped up and washed my face before she could see me cry.
Truth is, I don't know if that's the last time I'll have her attention, but I do know it's not the last time I'll talk to her. I take the first night shift... (Usually 8pm to 1-3 AM) and will use that time to whisper in her ear as she sleeps. I don't think we'll have a real conversation, but I can give her my love, my memories, and reassure both her and myself that I will be okay. That WE, the ones who will be left behind, will be okay. We'll survive. We'll hold on tight to each other and we'll survive.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Finding My Place
Let's not talk about the trouble I had to go through to get to Idaho. Delayed flights, missed connections, unplanned stay in a hotel, grumpy employees who didn't care WHY I was traveling and upset... It was not fun. Not fun at all.
But I made it. I made it to Idaho yesterday and have been here for one full day. I can't say it's what I expected because I had no idea what to expect... It's definitely more real now and "in my face" every minute of the day. What I had a hard time articulating until today is that I'm here until my mom passes away. I hated to say it. I hate to write it, but there it is. Black and white. I'm here to help send her off the best way possible.
I'm so glad my Grandpa Ted and his Carol are here for a few days. I feel like I can ease into my place and find my role without neglecting my duties. The truth is, I know nothing (to quote Game of Thrones) when it comes to the terminally ill, dying, death, and after death. I know abstract ideas and TV/movie ideas, but I don't know the day-to-day, the minute by minute play out of actual decline and death. I read all the information the hospice people left. I learned more about what to expect, why these things happen, and how to help deal with "milestones" of the dying...
It's still hard though. I had to fight back tears as I helped my mom get dressed twice today. On one hand, I was thanking God that I'm a mom and learned how to detach myself during "times of crisis" so I could deal with what needs to be done, but on the other I just kept thinking how terrible this must be for her... How independent she has been her whole life and how, now, she has to ask for help with getting dressed, sitting/standing, walking, lying down. I want to apologize to her as I'm helping her. "I'm so sorry I have to help you. Please don't feel bad. I love you with my heart and soul and will do anything and everything for you. I'm so sorry it has to go down like this. I wish I could change it, I do."
I would escape to my room for an hour or two and just distract myself from the reality in the living room. I cleaned out the bathroom in the pool house so I could use it and leave her access to the main bathroom all the time. I did her laundry, folded it, and put it where she can get to it easily. I walked the dog, played with the dog, and cuddled the cat. I helped with dinner and helped her fix her plate, pour her milk. I tried to stay busy and out of the way, quiet and not demanding. I sat in the stifling hot living room this evening and just watched the TV on silent (Mom likes it that way, now.) for a few hours while Mom dosed off and on. I wanted to be somewhere else, but I also wanted to be right here, looking at how cancer has changed her and still being able to see the mom I see in my head. Trying so hard not to put any burdens on her, now, by staying calm and strong for both of us. Always saying yes when someone asks if I can do something... Getting out of the way when I feel Mom wants privacy...
It's going to be awhile before I adjust to this "normal" and find my place. Before Tony and I find a rhythm that will enable us to work together for Mom's comfort. I know I'll do what needs to be done. I might hate parts of it and wish someone else would do it, but if it's asked of me... and even if it's not.. I'll step up and get the job done.. It's the best way I can honor the woman who taught me the meaning of stepping up and getting the job done since day one.
But I made it. I made it to Idaho yesterday and have been here for one full day. I can't say it's what I expected because I had no idea what to expect... It's definitely more real now and "in my face" every minute of the day. What I had a hard time articulating until today is that I'm here until my mom passes away. I hated to say it. I hate to write it, but there it is. Black and white. I'm here to help send her off the best way possible.
I'm so glad my Grandpa Ted and his Carol are here for a few days. I feel like I can ease into my place and find my role without neglecting my duties. The truth is, I know nothing (to quote Game of Thrones) when it comes to the terminally ill, dying, death, and after death. I know abstract ideas and TV/movie ideas, but I don't know the day-to-day, the minute by minute play out of actual decline and death. I read all the information the hospice people left. I learned more about what to expect, why these things happen, and how to help deal with "milestones" of the dying...
It's still hard though. I had to fight back tears as I helped my mom get dressed twice today. On one hand, I was thanking God that I'm a mom and learned how to detach myself during "times of crisis" so I could deal with what needs to be done, but on the other I just kept thinking how terrible this must be for her... How independent she has been her whole life and how, now, she has to ask for help with getting dressed, sitting/standing, walking, lying down. I want to apologize to her as I'm helping her. "I'm so sorry I have to help you. Please don't feel bad. I love you with my heart and soul and will do anything and everything for you. I'm so sorry it has to go down like this. I wish I could change it, I do."
I would escape to my room for an hour or two and just distract myself from the reality in the living room. I cleaned out the bathroom in the pool house so I could use it and leave her access to the main bathroom all the time. I did her laundry, folded it, and put it where she can get to it easily. I walked the dog, played with the dog, and cuddled the cat. I helped with dinner and helped her fix her plate, pour her milk. I tried to stay busy and out of the way, quiet and not demanding. I sat in the stifling hot living room this evening and just watched the TV on silent (Mom likes it that way, now.) for a few hours while Mom dosed off and on. I wanted to be somewhere else, but I also wanted to be right here, looking at how cancer has changed her and still being able to see the mom I see in my head. Trying so hard not to put any burdens on her, now, by staying calm and strong for both of us. Always saying yes when someone asks if I can do something... Getting out of the way when I feel Mom wants privacy...
It's going to be awhile before I adjust to this "normal" and find my place. Before Tony and I find a rhythm that will enable us to work together for Mom's comfort. I know I'll do what needs to be done. I might hate parts of it and wish someone else would do it, but if it's asked of me... and even if it's not.. I'll step up and get the job done.. It's the best way I can honor the woman who taught me the meaning of stepping up and getting the job done since day one.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Lessons on Letting Go
I've seen a theme pop up for the past few years. A theme that always ends up with me having to take a deep breath and just let go... Trust that things will work out and that I do not have to control everything. From letting other people pitch in and help plan one of Phoenix's birthdays to today.. where I have to take a deep breath and believe that life will go on without me in Louisiana. That Juan will handle day-to-day duties, that Phoenix will adjust to a new normal without me by his side, and that my son will be loved and cared for by our family.
I'm nervous and anxious about tomorrow. I have so much I need to do today and keep putting it off because I don't want to face my reality just yet. Poor Phoenix is still running fevers and feeling punky. I was up all night, watching over him, feeling his forehead, waking him up for more medicine, and just listening to him cough and breathe. I found myself worrying that Juan wouldn't do that tomorrow night, but I know he will. He will step up to the plate and handle everything that comes his way... because he always has. And he's good at it.
In a way, it's hard to admit that life can go on without me.. I know Phoenix will miss me, but I also know that his family here will do what they can for him and help him each and every day. I know that we'll talk on the phone every single day and that he knows he can have Daddy or Grandma call me any time he wants a chat. He'll be fine, I know. It's just hard to let go of all the things I do for him and trust someone else will pick up my slack.
Leaving tomorrow also means that my reality with my Mom is real. That I'm going to have an even harder, more advanced lesson on learning to let go in these next few weeks. I have a huge knot in my stomach today as I try to ignore thoughts about what I'm going up to Idaho for. I keep telling everyone "It'll be fine. We'll get through it," because I know we will. I know we'll survive but I also know this is going to suck. It's going to hurt and it's going to be a dark time. I just hope for a few glimpses of light along the way.
I know things will be fine. Life will go on both in Louisiana and Idaho. We will all adjust to new normals and then adjust again when that normal changes. We'll make it through minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day.
I'm nervous and anxious about tomorrow. I have so much I need to do today and keep putting it off because I don't want to face my reality just yet. Poor Phoenix is still running fevers and feeling punky. I was up all night, watching over him, feeling his forehead, waking him up for more medicine, and just listening to him cough and breathe. I found myself worrying that Juan wouldn't do that tomorrow night, but I know he will. He will step up to the plate and handle everything that comes his way... because he always has. And he's good at it.
In a way, it's hard to admit that life can go on without me.. I know Phoenix will miss me, but I also know that his family here will do what they can for him and help him each and every day. I know that we'll talk on the phone every single day and that he knows he can have Daddy or Grandma call me any time he wants a chat. He'll be fine, I know. It's just hard to let go of all the things I do for him and trust someone else will pick up my slack.
Leaving tomorrow also means that my reality with my Mom is real. That I'm going to have an even harder, more advanced lesson on learning to let go in these next few weeks. I have a huge knot in my stomach today as I try to ignore thoughts about what I'm going up to Idaho for. I keep telling everyone "It'll be fine. We'll get through it," because I know we will. I know we'll survive but I also know this is going to suck. It's going to hurt and it's going to be a dark time. I just hope for a few glimpses of light along the way.
I know things will be fine. Life will go on both in Louisiana and Idaho. We will all adjust to new normals and then adjust again when that normal changes. We'll make it through minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
The Calm Before the Storm
Here I am. Again. Trying to gather my thoughts into sentences coherent enough to share. I am trying to get ready for my trip to Idaho on Tuesday. Making mental lists of what I need to bring, if I need to write anything down for Juan, trying to help Phoenix understand why he has to stay behind and why Mommy won't be home for a little while. I'm able to be calm and collected until I start to think of why I'm going to Idaho.
Truth is, I'm scared. I'm heart sick. I don't want to go. Not for the reason that's bringing me up there. The cold truth is that I'm going and I'm not leaving until my mom's fight is done. I am finally making the choice to go up there and help out in any way I can. To give my mom and, really, myself time to say goodbye and to send her off with all the love in my heart. To help Tony in any way I can. He has had to shoulder such an unbearable burden, one that I feel was partly mine to shoulder... I feel such gratitude for what he's done and how he has loved my mom every day... It's my job to help him help her now.
I feel pretty calm about all of it, at the moment. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a tall cliff, looking down at the choppy water and knowing that I'm going to have to jump off in a little bit. I know the fall will be scary and the impact will hurt like hell. I know it'll take me a while to find myself and catch my breath, but I also know I'll do it and survive. I truly believe that while there will be tears and heart ache, we will find a way to have a few laughs and smiles.
I continue to pray for wisdom, strength, and grace. To be able to soldier on and do what needs doing. To be selfless and to serve my family, pull them through to the other end if I have to. To love them with every inch of my heart.
Truth is, I'm scared. I'm heart sick. I don't want to go. Not for the reason that's bringing me up there. The cold truth is that I'm going and I'm not leaving until my mom's fight is done. I am finally making the choice to go up there and help out in any way I can. To give my mom and, really, myself time to say goodbye and to send her off with all the love in my heart. To help Tony in any way I can. He has had to shoulder such an unbearable burden, one that I feel was partly mine to shoulder... I feel such gratitude for what he's done and how he has loved my mom every day... It's my job to help him help her now.
I feel pretty calm about all of it, at the moment. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a tall cliff, looking down at the choppy water and knowing that I'm going to have to jump off in a little bit. I know the fall will be scary and the impact will hurt like hell. I know it'll take me a while to find myself and catch my breath, but I also know I'll do it and survive. I truly believe that while there will be tears and heart ache, we will find a way to have a few laughs and smiles.
I continue to pray for wisdom, strength, and grace. To be able to soldier on and do what needs doing. To be selfless and to serve my family, pull them through to the other end if I have to. To love them with every inch of my heart.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
On Anger
This week, I have been angry. I AM angry. So angry right now. I hate cancer. I hate what it does to families, to individuals, to one's body. I hate that cancer is a six letter word because it doesn't describe all the various types of cancer, all the various realities that come along with it. It needs to be bigger, harder to spell, difficult to pronounce. It needs to sound meaner, scarier, harsher.
With Mom's cancer coming back... it leaves me facing a darker reality. Her option, now, is chemotherapy.. and if that doesn't work.. an experimental surgery with lasers.. But even if chemotherapy works, we might, MIGHT, get two years... Just 24 months. Is it 2 years from today? 2 years from the end of the chemo? 2 years from last year ago? I know that we are not guaranteed to see tomorrow.. but to hear someone say you might only get 2 more years sounds so much scarier than to hear someone say we might not see tomorrow. 2 years is everything and nothing to me at the moment.
I'm angry that time goes so fast. I'm angry that it takes one full day of travel to get to where she is.. and I'm angry that it feels so far away from her. I'm angry that she's 57, I'm 30, and that life seems too short. I'm angry at the thoughts that whisper in my head... that weigh heavy on my heart and go where I don't want to go. I'm angry at the feeling that I need to hurry, to go, to be there because I feel like I'm losing her and I'm running out of time. I'm angry that I took so much for granted over the years. That I was young and dumb and wasted so much time.
I'm angry that I feel torn and that I almost wish someone would tell me to stay or go. I'm angry that I'm not there and I'm angry that I have to choose between my little family and my mother. (Note: No one is making me choose as I have nothing but support from my "little family" as to what I need to do.. when I feel I need to do it.. and for how long I feel I need to go..) I can't explain to my four year old that Mommy wants to leave to be with her Mommy for who knows how long. Is it even right to want to leave and not come back in a week? To leave my kiddo behind because I can't take care of him and of her at the same time? I'm angry that I don't have the time to break down and cry. I'm angry that I get told "Don't be sad" and "It'll be fine". I WANT it to be fine... but I want to scream "What if it's NOT? What do I DO?"
I'm angry because I feel selfish. I feel guilty. She's taken such good care of me and I'm not there to take care of her during this ordeal. I'm angry because I'm scared.. I want to believe it will all be okay. I pray for healing, strength, and miracles every day. I pray she will become a walking, talking, miracle.. And I'm angry that this little voice in my head whispers doubt and plays out little scenarios that do not have a happy ending. I'm angry that, through this, one thought always comes back.. "I'm not ready to be a woman without her mother". I'm angry that my son won't have the same relationship with my mom as he does and will have with Juan's mom. I'm angry that she may not be able to tell my kid(s) my story. My life through her eyes. That she won't be around for as long as I always thought she would.
I'm angry at her for not being fully open with me. For leading me on with positive reports when reality is beginning to crash down on us. For letting me think I'd get another 10 or 20 years with her. I'm angry with myself... For being angry with her.
I fucking hate cancer.
With Mom's cancer coming back... it leaves me facing a darker reality. Her option, now, is chemotherapy.. and if that doesn't work.. an experimental surgery with lasers.. But even if chemotherapy works, we might, MIGHT, get two years... Just 24 months. Is it 2 years from today? 2 years from the end of the chemo? 2 years from last year ago? I know that we are not guaranteed to see tomorrow.. but to hear someone say you might only get 2 more years sounds so much scarier than to hear someone say we might not see tomorrow. 2 years is everything and nothing to me at the moment.
I'm angry that time goes so fast. I'm angry that it takes one full day of travel to get to where she is.. and I'm angry that it feels so far away from her. I'm angry that she's 57, I'm 30, and that life seems too short. I'm angry at the thoughts that whisper in my head... that weigh heavy on my heart and go where I don't want to go. I'm angry at the feeling that I need to hurry, to go, to be there because I feel like I'm losing her and I'm running out of time. I'm angry that I took so much for granted over the years. That I was young and dumb and wasted so much time.
I'm angry that I feel torn and that I almost wish someone would tell me to stay or go. I'm angry that I'm not there and I'm angry that I have to choose between my little family and my mother. (Note: No one is making me choose as I have nothing but support from my "little family" as to what I need to do.. when I feel I need to do it.. and for how long I feel I need to go..) I can't explain to my four year old that Mommy wants to leave to be with her Mommy for who knows how long. Is it even right to want to leave and not come back in a week? To leave my kiddo behind because I can't take care of him and of her at the same time? I'm angry that I don't have the time to break down and cry. I'm angry that I get told "Don't be sad" and "It'll be fine". I WANT it to be fine... but I want to scream "What if it's NOT? What do I DO?"
I'm angry because I feel selfish. I feel guilty. She's taken such good care of me and I'm not there to take care of her during this ordeal. I'm angry because I'm scared.. I want to believe it will all be okay. I pray for healing, strength, and miracles every day. I pray she will become a walking, talking, miracle.. And I'm angry that this little voice in my head whispers doubt and plays out little scenarios that do not have a happy ending. I'm angry that, through this, one thought always comes back.. "I'm not ready to be a woman without her mother". I'm angry that my son won't have the same relationship with my mom as he does and will have with Juan's mom. I'm angry that she may not be able to tell my kid(s) my story. My life through her eyes. That she won't be around for as long as I always thought she would.
I'm angry at her for not being fully open with me. For leading me on with positive reports when reality is beginning to crash down on us. For letting me think I'd get another 10 or 20 years with her. I'm angry with myself... For being angry with her.
I fucking hate cancer.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
On Faith
So much for writing every day. Long story short, my mother's cancer is back.. It was back before we could even say, for sure, it was gone. She is, right now, getting a procedure done (4th or 5th time for this particular procedure) to try to drain excess bile fluid that is back-flowing into her liver. It was determined that there are most likely cancerous tumors blocking her bile duct again and causing this back-flow of fluid, her jaundice, pain, and exhaustion. She will also meet with a Seattle oncologist this week for a second opinion and, hopefully, a treatment plan that she can take back to her regular doctors in Idaho.
Phoenix and I were able to spend 10 days with her and my step-dad this month. Most of those days were spent in Seattle while she had procedures done to try to unblock her bile duct. They didn't work exactly and the doctors had to create a drain in her liver.. Today's stop in Seattle is to, hopefully, put in a bigger tube to drain more fluid faster and help alleviate her jaundice and whatnot. The trip was great in the sense that we got to finally, after more than two years, see each other, hug, and just spend time with each other. Stressful in the sense that I had to entertain my four year old for a few days in Seattle and figure out affordable things to do in walking distance or shuttle distance of our motel. But it was worth my time, stress, and $ to see my mom, share memories, create memories, and just be with her again. I didn't want to leave even though I longed for my house and my bed.
This post is supposed to be a little bit about faith. I've never really been one to stand on corners and proclaim in a loud voice my faith and beliefs. I've always just kept quiet and really only shared my thoughts when really moved to do so or when talking with good friends. I will say that during the past year, with my mom being sick and diagnosed with cancer, I have leaned on my faith even more. I have tried hard not to pray for specifics, but to pray for wisdom, strength, and the ability to be the person my mom would need during this time. I'm not in the ditches, first hand, to experience everything my mom is going through and, maybe, that's why I haven't felt anger at God specificallyor the need to question my faith... I've just had to hold on tight, close my eyes, and trust that we will get through this and see a bright future soon.
I think one reason why I haven't doubted my faith is that I feel I've gotten little messages along the way. I've also never really been one to talk to strangers unless it was about something trivial... like the weather or the bad customer service... or the weirdo creeping everyone out. But I've found myself talking about my mom's illness to people and have been blessed to have so many strangers tell me how they're praying/pulling for my mom. Her name has been added to prayer lists.. Strangers have bowed their heads before me and said quick, powerful prayers for her health. And every time, even if they go home and forget to pray for her, every time someone has said "I will pray for your mom", I feel as though it's a little message from God. That he is sending his prayer warriors to me to remind me that we are not alone and that He has not forgotten us.
I've even had people of different religions send me love and well wishes for my mom.. I think it's absolutely beautiful and am completely humbled and awed by those people willing to take a few seconds to care about my mom. Complete strangers, some of them, asking her name and sending her love and healing in whatever form they choose. It makes me feel connected to something greater than myself and it gives me hope that things will soon be better. It strengthens me during my weak moments and it makes me strive to pass on the goodwill by praying for those I come across that need help for various reasons. It's made me commit myself to going back to church, to finding a deeper, more personal path of faith, and holding on, tighter than ever, to the belief that we will have many, many years with my mom and that this will soon just be a speed bump we will briefly talk about now and then throughout the years.
Phoenix and I were able to spend 10 days with her and my step-dad this month. Most of those days were spent in Seattle while she had procedures done to try to unblock her bile duct. They didn't work exactly and the doctors had to create a drain in her liver.. Today's stop in Seattle is to, hopefully, put in a bigger tube to drain more fluid faster and help alleviate her jaundice and whatnot. The trip was great in the sense that we got to finally, after more than two years, see each other, hug, and just spend time with each other. Stressful in the sense that I had to entertain my four year old for a few days in Seattle and figure out affordable things to do in walking distance or shuttle distance of our motel. But it was worth my time, stress, and $ to see my mom, share memories, create memories, and just be with her again. I didn't want to leave even though I longed for my house and my bed.
This post is supposed to be a little bit about faith. I've never really been one to stand on corners and proclaim in a loud voice my faith and beliefs. I've always just kept quiet and really only shared my thoughts when really moved to do so or when talking with good friends. I will say that during the past year, with my mom being sick and diagnosed with cancer, I have leaned on my faith even more. I have tried hard not to pray for specifics, but to pray for wisdom, strength, and the ability to be the person my mom would need during this time. I'm not in the ditches, first hand, to experience everything my mom is going through and, maybe, that's why I haven't felt anger at God specificallyor the need to question my faith... I've just had to hold on tight, close my eyes, and trust that we will get through this and see a bright future soon.
I think one reason why I haven't doubted my faith is that I feel I've gotten little messages along the way. I've also never really been one to talk to strangers unless it was about something trivial... like the weather or the bad customer service... or the weirdo creeping everyone out. But I've found myself talking about my mom's illness to people and have been blessed to have so many strangers tell me how they're praying/pulling for my mom. Her name has been added to prayer lists.. Strangers have bowed their heads before me and said quick, powerful prayers for her health. And every time, even if they go home and forget to pray for her, every time someone has said "I will pray for your mom", I feel as though it's a little message from God. That he is sending his prayer warriors to me to remind me that we are not alone and that He has not forgotten us.
I've even had people of different religions send me love and well wishes for my mom.. I think it's absolutely beautiful and am completely humbled and awed by those people willing to take a few seconds to care about my mom. Complete strangers, some of them, asking her name and sending her love and healing in whatever form they choose. It makes me feel connected to something greater than myself and it gives me hope that things will soon be better. It strengthens me during my weak moments and it makes me strive to pass on the goodwill by praying for those I come across that need help for various reasons. It's made me commit myself to going back to church, to finding a deeper, more personal path of faith, and holding on, tighter than ever, to the belief that we will have many, many years with my mom and that this will soon just be a speed bump we will briefly talk about now and then throughout the years.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Change
I used to say I was terrible with change. Hated it. Tried to avoid it as much as possible. Fought change until I couldn't fight anymore. Funny. Because now I have learned to embrace it... even if there is a little bit of bittersweet to go with the excitement of change.
What am I talking about? A lot of things. Juan and I are very close to figuring out where we want to be in a year or so. (Location wise.) It's narrowed down but is still a matter of job and logistics. I'm uber excited though a little sad to think of leaving Lubbock... okay.. Really, just leaving my gym. I am in love with working out in my gym's pool every day. However, I know this isn't our "forever" home and am eager to find our spot of heaven and get a place with a backyard before my kid's too old to play outside.
Life is changing for my mom as well. She's doing pretty well with the radiation treatments and those will be winding down this week. Once she recovers from the fatigue and whatnot, she'll hopefully start to feel like her old self and it will be just in time for a visit from her one and only daughter (er, me) and her awesome grandson. We talked a little last night about the future for her and she said she wasn't going to go back to work. Due to her diagnosis, she will, in a way, retire early. She said this really made her think about life and how she doesn't want a stressful, thankless job now that she's had to kind of fight for her life. Her and my step-dad decided to put their little peace of heaven up for sale due to the not-so-wonderful winters and the distance from "civilization". It's exciting because they hope to move down to Florida (though I am lobbying hard for Texas re-location) and will be closer to us than they are in Idaho now. But it's sad because I know they love their Idaho property and that place just has this wonderful sense of peace and beauty to it that will be hard to replicate anywhere. But, ya know, they're getting older and they decided it's more important to make those memories with their scattered family than to spend the rest of their years up in Idaho without us. I get it. I support it, but I think I'll be a little sad on my trip up there because I love that spot of heaven..
So, this next year is anyone's guess as to where Juan and I'll be living, where my mom and step-dad will be, and what we'll be doing. But it's also exciting to think and dream about our future and to work towards goals that have always felt so far away. I hope to be done with my associate's before the end of 2012 and might start trying to get my foot in the door at a clinic or hospital as I begin to work on my bachelor's. Phoenix is almost done with his first year of preschool and might start full-day preschool next year depending on where we are. Life is changing. It's all good, but a little bittersweet as I think about the things we'll say goodbye to. Luckily, the excitement about the things we'll say hello to completely outweighs the little bittersweet feeling.
What am I talking about? A lot of things. Juan and I are very close to figuring out where we want to be in a year or so. (Location wise.) It's narrowed down but is still a matter of job and logistics. I'm uber excited though a little sad to think of leaving Lubbock... okay.. Really, just leaving my gym. I am in love with working out in my gym's pool every day. However, I know this isn't our "forever" home and am eager to find our spot of heaven and get a place with a backyard before my kid's too old to play outside.
Life is changing for my mom as well. She's doing pretty well with the radiation treatments and those will be winding down this week. Once she recovers from the fatigue and whatnot, she'll hopefully start to feel like her old self and it will be just in time for a visit from her one and only daughter (er, me) and her awesome grandson. We talked a little last night about the future for her and she said she wasn't going to go back to work. Due to her diagnosis, she will, in a way, retire early. She said this really made her think about life and how she doesn't want a stressful, thankless job now that she's had to kind of fight for her life. Her and my step-dad decided to put their little peace of heaven up for sale due to the not-so-wonderful winters and the distance from "civilization". It's exciting because they hope to move down to Florida (though I am lobbying hard for Texas re-location) and will be closer to us than they are in Idaho now. But it's sad because I know they love their Idaho property and that place just has this wonderful sense of peace and beauty to it that will be hard to replicate anywhere. But, ya know, they're getting older and they decided it's more important to make those memories with their scattered family than to spend the rest of their years up in Idaho without us. I get it. I support it, but I think I'll be a little sad on my trip up there because I love that spot of heaven..
So, this next year is anyone's guess as to where Juan and I'll be living, where my mom and step-dad will be, and what we'll be doing. But it's also exciting to think and dream about our future and to work towards goals that have always felt so far away. I hope to be done with my associate's before the end of 2012 and might start trying to get my foot in the door at a clinic or hospital as I begin to work on my bachelor's. Phoenix is almost done with his first year of preschool and might start full-day preschool next year depending on where we are. Life is changing. It's all good, but a little bittersweet as I think about the things we'll say goodbye to. Luckily, the excitement about the things we'll say hello to completely outweighs the little bittersweet feeling.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
On School, Mom, and the Future
School started back up for me on January 13. It's been busy, but not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Right now I have four classes going and one that will start in mid February. With Phoenix in school 3 hours a day, I'm really able to sit down and focus on one class a day in order to stay ahead and maintain the grades I want. After this semester, I'll only need five more classes before graduating with an associate's degree. I plan to finish all that up either at the end of the summer semester or the fall semester depending on class availability and if I can find a way to substitute a class for the chemistry that is required since they only offer that class on campus and I am too far from campus to commute daily.
Mom started her chemo and radiation treatments last Wednesday. She is taking a chemo pill 2 times a day, 7 days a week and receiving radiation treatments 5 days a week for 6 whole weeks. She hasn't been doing too well since starting all that. I guess that's par for the course with those treatments, but it makes me sad and angry that she has to feel so icky. I'm really wanting to be up there but she keeps telling me to wait until spring when she will, hopefully, be feeling better and more able to enjoy my visit. Which I understand, but I want to be there now to help Tony out and help her while she's ill and needing help. I feel so guilty for listening to her and holding off, but I also feel it's my job to listen to her and give her what she's asking for. Even if my gut says to ignore her and come up anyway.
We haven't talked much about her treatments because she chooses not to. We haven't talked about whether or not she has to do this again or if, after 6 weeks, she'll be done for good. There are a lot of questions I want to ask, but if she doesn't want to talk about it, then it's up to me to bite my tongue and think of things she wants to hear for the brief moments I talk to her. I was calling every other day, but have cut back to calling once or twice a week as I worry I'm annoying her and I would hate that. I just worry about her and it's my only way of checking up on her. I can't very well drive over there on a weekend just because I want to. It's times like these where I really hate the physical distance between us.
Speaking of the distance, our future in Lubbock is looking a little shaky. Juan's in a tough industry that lays off a lot of people around this time of year, each year. His company all ready laid off 40% of the main crew in Shreveport and the only thing that's really keeping him employed out here is a test well that everyone is hoping will have good results in the next few weeks. If the news is bad, he'll be out of a job almost certainly and then we'll be at square one. The good thing, though, is that we're preparing for the worst and looking at all our options. Moving back to Louisiana is almost out of the equation. The industry is just too shaky in LA and seems to be drying up with jobs harder and harder to find in oil and gas out there. So, that leaves us with Texas, Pennsylvania, Colorado, and Ohio. We've ruled out Ohio because of snow. (Juan hates the cold.) Pennsylvania would be a "maybe" as in: A company offers Juan money that we just can't refuse and then Juan would do three weeks out and one week off while Phoenix and I move back to Louisiana and stay with Juan's mom. We are undecided about Colorado. I like it because it would put me closer to my mom, but it would also put us further away from Juan' mom and she's the one who needs more help, at the moment. So.. let's talk Texas. Basically, if we can get Juan just a few more months of experience, almost the whole of Texas opens up to us. We're really interested in the Austin area followed by the Ft. Worth/Dallas area. We both really want Austin and Juan's sent out e-mails and resumes to a few companies out there. I could definitely see Austin becoming our home for more than a year.
We really have one more year that we can be "nomadic" until Phoenix has to start Kindergarten. I would like us to be settled down by then and try to give him a few steady years in one school. I remember hating the whole moving and switching schools thing when I was young and would not want to put that on Phoenix. Then again, I also told Juan we will go where we need to go and make a life wherever that may be. Phoenix will adapt and survive and we'll be stronger together no matter what. I actually enjoy moving to new places, now, and get excited to think about the next great adventure. I love Lubbock and am happy to be here, but I'm excited to try another place and make another home somewhere.
I've rambled on enough. Time to knock out some Sociology before I need to pick up the kiddo. Guess I'll throw some housework in there as well. Today's laundry and kitchen day. (Yes, I have my "chores" listed on my phone's calendar so I have a daily reminder of what needs to be done. It really helps me stay on top of everything house related as well as school related.)
Mom started her chemo and radiation treatments last Wednesday. She is taking a chemo pill 2 times a day, 7 days a week and receiving radiation treatments 5 days a week for 6 whole weeks. She hasn't been doing too well since starting all that. I guess that's par for the course with those treatments, but it makes me sad and angry that she has to feel so icky. I'm really wanting to be up there but she keeps telling me to wait until spring when she will, hopefully, be feeling better and more able to enjoy my visit. Which I understand, but I want to be there now to help Tony out and help her while she's ill and needing help. I feel so guilty for listening to her and holding off, but I also feel it's my job to listen to her and give her what she's asking for. Even if my gut says to ignore her and come up anyway.
We haven't talked much about her treatments because she chooses not to. We haven't talked about whether or not she has to do this again or if, after 6 weeks, she'll be done for good. There are a lot of questions I want to ask, but if she doesn't want to talk about it, then it's up to me to bite my tongue and think of things she wants to hear for the brief moments I talk to her. I was calling every other day, but have cut back to calling once or twice a week as I worry I'm annoying her and I would hate that. I just worry about her and it's my only way of checking up on her. I can't very well drive over there on a weekend just because I want to. It's times like these where I really hate the physical distance between us.
Speaking of the distance, our future in Lubbock is looking a little shaky. Juan's in a tough industry that lays off a lot of people around this time of year, each year. His company all ready laid off 40% of the main crew in Shreveport and the only thing that's really keeping him employed out here is a test well that everyone is hoping will have good results in the next few weeks. If the news is bad, he'll be out of a job almost certainly and then we'll be at square one. The good thing, though, is that we're preparing for the worst and looking at all our options. Moving back to Louisiana is almost out of the equation. The industry is just too shaky in LA and seems to be drying up with jobs harder and harder to find in oil and gas out there. So, that leaves us with Texas, Pennsylvania, Colorado, and Ohio. We've ruled out Ohio because of snow. (Juan hates the cold.) Pennsylvania would be a "maybe" as in: A company offers Juan money that we just can't refuse and then Juan would do three weeks out and one week off while Phoenix and I move back to Louisiana and stay with Juan's mom. We are undecided about Colorado. I like it because it would put me closer to my mom, but it would also put us further away from Juan' mom and she's the one who needs more help, at the moment. So.. let's talk Texas. Basically, if we can get Juan just a few more months of experience, almost the whole of Texas opens up to us. We're really interested in the Austin area followed by the Ft. Worth/Dallas area. We both really want Austin and Juan's sent out e-mails and resumes to a few companies out there. I could definitely see Austin becoming our home for more than a year.
We really have one more year that we can be "nomadic" until Phoenix has to start Kindergarten. I would like us to be settled down by then and try to give him a few steady years in one school. I remember hating the whole moving and switching schools thing when I was young and would not want to put that on Phoenix. Then again, I also told Juan we will go where we need to go and make a life wherever that may be. Phoenix will adapt and survive and we'll be stronger together no matter what. I actually enjoy moving to new places, now, and get excited to think about the next great adventure. I love Lubbock and am happy to be here, but I'm excited to try another place and make another home somewhere.
I've rambled on enough. Time to knock out some Sociology before I need to pick up the kiddo. Guess I'll throw some housework in there as well. Today's laundry and kitchen day. (Yes, I have my "chores" listed on my phone's calendar so I have a daily reminder of what needs to be done. It really helps me stay on top of everything house related as well as school related.)
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Hoping For Good Things
My mom goes to the drs tomorrow for her final consult with the radiation expert and the chemotherapy dr. They originally wanted her to start her chemotherapy pill and the radiation treatments last month, but she asked for more time to heal from her surgery/hospital experience and to get her anxiety/depression under control. I'm not sure her anxiety/depression is under control yet, but I'm happy to report that she's feeling a lot better than she has in a long time. That being said, she's very anxious about tomorrow and what may happen. I'm trying to give her the space she needs so I won't hear anything for the next few days... but I'm hoping for a good outcome, one that she will be at peace with, tomorrow.
In other Mom news, their English Bulldog, Buster, had to be put to sleep on Friday. A few months ago, he had been diagnosed with liver tumors (Ironic, eh? Mom has cancer near her liver; Buster has tumors in his liver.) and Mom and Tony decided to just let him live out the remainder of his days at home. They had an option to take him to a local university for an experimental treatment, but that would cost a few thousand dollars and success was not guaranteed. Plus, Buster was already twelve/thirteen years old (The average lifespan of an English Bulldog is about 8-10 years.) and had lived a pretty awesome life. It's a sad thing. He was one of the few dogs I could tolerate and I know my step-dad absolutely adored that dog. The memory of Buster as a wrinkly little puppy has been playing across my mind this weekend. He was soo adorable and such a pain in the ass because he was one feisty little pup. He would jump up and latch onto my mom's bathrobe with his teeth while she would try to walk around the house, getting ready for work. You could just hear that little pup growling as he was dragged up and down the hall. He loved kids though and always wanted to be around them, playing with them. So much so that when the neighbor kids would come over to swim, he would have to wear a special doggy life-vest because he had been known to jump in after the kids and then sink to the bottom of the pool. We thought he was rather dumb until Sophie (An English Bulldog sired by Buster) came along and we realized Buster was rather smart... Anyway, Buster, you snorted like a pig, were stinky, drooled a lot, and would have asthma attacks when too excited, but you were loyal, loving, and patient when the kids used you as a pillow and whatever else they could think of. Thank you for all the laughter and the opportunity to get to know an English Bulldog and fall in love with the breed.
I am also hoping for good things for Phoenix tomorrow. He had a rough day in preschool on Friday. Apparently, he burst into tears off and on throughout the three hours of school. It took me all day to finally get him to tell me what the deal was. Long story short, he told me he thought the teacher was mad at him because he couldn't put his jacket on and he couldn't write his name. So today, we worked on the letter of this upcoming week ("I") as well as a few other letters (B, H, L, T and P). I worked hard to get him excited about learning how to write (Okay, I bribed him with candy) and am hoping he goes to school full of confidence and just knocks those I's out of the park this week. It broke my heart a little to see him so sad and I vowed to work with him every day so that he wouldn't be the last one in his little class to learn how to write his letters.
In other Mom news, their English Bulldog, Buster, had to be put to sleep on Friday. A few months ago, he had been diagnosed with liver tumors (Ironic, eh? Mom has cancer near her liver; Buster has tumors in his liver.) and Mom and Tony decided to just let him live out the remainder of his days at home. They had an option to take him to a local university for an experimental treatment, but that would cost a few thousand dollars and success was not guaranteed. Plus, Buster was already twelve/thirteen years old (The average lifespan of an English Bulldog is about 8-10 years.) and had lived a pretty awesome life. It's a sad thing. He was one of the few dogs I could tolerate and I know my step-dad absolutely adored that dog. The memory of Buster as a wrinkly little puppy has been playing across my mind this weekend. He was soo adorable and such a pain in the ass because he was one feisty little pup. He would jump up and latch onto my mom's bathrobe with his teeth while she would try to walk around the house, getting ready for work. You could just hear that little pup growling as he was dragged up and down the hall. He loved kids though and always wanted to be around them, playing with them. So much so that when the neighbor kids would come over to swim, he would have to wear a special doggy life-vest because he had been known to jump in after the kids and then sink to the bottom of the pool. We thought he was rather dumb until Sophie (An English Bulldog sired by Buster) came along and we realized Buster was rather smart... Anyway, Buster, you snorted like a pig, were stinky, drooled a lot, and would have asthma attacks when too excited, but you were loyal, loving, and patient when the kids used you as a pillow and whatever else they could think of. Thank you for all the laughter and the opportunity to get to know an English Bulldog and fall in love with the breed.
I am also hoping for good things for Phoenix tomorrow. He had a rough day in preschool on Friday. Apparently, he burst into tears off and on throughout the three hours of school. It took me all day to finally get him to tell me what the deal was. Long story short, he told me he thought the teacher was mad at him because he couldn't put his jacket on and he couldn't write his name. So today, we worked on the letter of this upcoming week ("I") as well as a few other letters (B, H, L, T and P). I worked hard to get him excited about learning how to write (Okay, I bribed him with candy) and am hoping he goes to school full of confidence and just knocks those I's out of the park this week. It broke my heart a little to see him so sad and I vowed to work with him every day so that he wouldn't be the last one in his little class to learn how to write his letters.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Updates and Whatnot
I forgot about this blog for awhile. Maybe I didn't forget exactly, but I avoided it. Good news for my mom. The surgery went well. The recovery... not so much. She spent most of November in the hospital trying to get her pain under control as well as drainage and whatnot. She seems to be doing better physically. The pain isn't as bad as pre-surgery and there are times when she sounds like her old self. More so than before surgery. She still has days where she is short of breath and the pain bothers her, but I'm hoping those are getting few and far between the good days. Her anxiety has not gone away and she may have a bit of depression. Which has lead her to ask for anti-depressants and to hold off on the chemo and radiation until some time this month. The chemo will be done via pill but she will also receive high doses of radiation. She doesn't talk about it much and I'm not sure what to expect once her treatments start. I just try to keep our phone conversations short and happy in order to keep her spirits up and in a positive light.
Juan's step-dad passed away a few weeks ago. It was a bit of a shock but not a huge one. His health just began to go downhill the moment he was diagnosed with kidney failure and put on dialysis a year ago. I didn't visit him in the hospital, but Juan did. I am very proud of Juan for stepping up to the plate and taking turns keeping an eye on his stepdad when his brother or mom couldn't be there. His stepdad was a hard guy, lived a hard life, and I can't say for sure if Juan or his brother really loved him, but they did right by him in the end. Just as their stepdad tried to do right by them when they were young. Juan's mom is handling things as well as possible. We stayed and tried to help out as much as we could. We'll be helping her financially until we get everything figured out for her.
I have an overwhelming urge to being writing again. Writing blog posts. Writing stories. I miss writing. I miss pouring out my thoughts on paper and seeing my daydreams get fleshed out and made into something that I wouldn't mind reading. I don't know if I"ll make the time to write every day... like I wan to, but I will try to make the time to write every few days. I am expecting life to get rather hectic once my classes start on Jan. 13th. I signed up for five classes and am worried that I have signed up for too many classes, but I refuse to drop any and will just soldier on and work my ass off. I am still happy to be in school. Even happier to have finally passed that damn math class... with a B!
This is just random crap. It's late. I don't even have my glasses on, but my fingers wanted to do some typing and my thoughts wanted to do some talking. So here you go. It feels good to be back here. To write about anything and everything. Maybe one day I'll even share this with friends and family.
Juan's step-dad passed away a few weeks ago. It was a bit of a shock but not a huge one. His health just began to go downhill the moment he was diagnosed with kidney failure and put on dialysis a year ago. I didn't visit him in the hospital, but Juan did. I am very proud of Juan for stepping up to the plate and taking turns keeping an eye on his stepdad when his brother or mom couldn't be there. His stepdad was a hard guy, lived a hard life, and I can't say for sure if Juan or his brother really loved him, but they did right by him in the end. Just as their stepdad tried to do right by them when they were young. Juan's mom is handling things as well as possible. We stayed and tried to help out as much as we could. We'll be helping her financially until we get everything figured out for her.
I have an overwhelming urge to being writing again. Writing blog posts. Writing stories. I miss writing. I miss pouring out my thoughts on paper and seeing my daydreams get fleshed out and made into something that I wouldn't mind reading. I don't know if I"ll make the time to write every day... like I wan to, but I will try to make the time to write every few days. I am expecting life to get rather hectic once my classes start on Jan. 13th. I signed up for five classes and am worried that I have signed up for too many classes, but I refuse to drop any and will just soldier on and work my ass off. I am still happy to be in school. Even happier to have finally passed that damn math class... with a B!
This is just random crap. It's late. I don't even have my glasses on, but my fingers wanted to do some typing and my thoughts wanted to do some talking. So here you go. It feels good to be back here. To write about anything and everything. Maybe one day I'll even share this with friends and family.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Dear Mom,
You're probably in Spokane now. Or getting ready to be in Spokane soon. I hope your anxiety is low today and your drive over was smooth. I didn't get to tell you everything I wanted to, yesterday, when we talked on the phone. So here's what I wanted to say:
* I love you and I still need you in my life. Who else could I call for advice for everything from cooking to being a parent?
* I miss you. I hate that it's been so long since we've been able to see each other. I miss your hugs, your laugh, and the way you always compliment me and make me feel wonderful.
* You may not like to hear it, nor believe it, but you are such a strong, beautiful woman. I've always been amazed by your beauty and strength. You've held us together through tough times and still managed to have a positive attitude, a smile on your face, and love to share.
* I am scared for you, Tony, and the rest of us. Mostly for you. I try hard not to be, but there are times when the fear creeps up.
* We will have a get together in spring, will take a lot of pictures, have a lot of laughs, and give a lot of hugs.
* I don't want to celebrate my birthday until I know you're going to be okay.
* I don't want a present from you. I just want you.
* One of my favorite memories of you is when you would dance with me.. Even when I was "too grown up" and you'd try to get me to dance with you and then we would laugh. I'll never be too grown to dance with you.
* Whenever I hear Phoenix singing or humming to himself, I automatically think of you and smile. He, too, has his happy song that he sings/hums whenever he is happy.
* I can't wait for you to see, hug, and play with Phoenix when we come visit. He takes my breath away at least once a day and I love him more and more as time goes by.
* When I grow up, I want to be like you.
I know things will go well, but I will pray and think about you from now until I hear everything went exceedingly well during surgery. Tell them how important you are and that they must do 10000% better than their best for you. Tell them to pamper you and take care of you so you can rest, heal, and begin to finally feel better.
I love you. I love you. I love you a million times more. Thank you for being my mom and I look forward to talking to you soon. You are in my heart, my thoughts, and my prayers from now until forever. Don't worry about me. Focus on you and call me when you can.
Love,
Me
* I love you and I still need you in my life. Who else could I call for advice for everything from cooking to being a parent?
* I miss you. I hate that it's been so long since we've been able to see each other. I miss your hugs, your laugh, and the way you always compliment me and make me feel wonderful.
* You may not like to hear it, nor believe it, but you are such a strong, beautiful woman. I've always been amazed by your beauty and strength. You've held us together through tough times and still managed to have a positive attitude, a smile on your face, and love to share.
* I am scared for you, Tony, and the rest of us. Mostly for you. I try hard not to be, but there are times when the fear creeps up.
* We will have a get together in spring, will take a lot of pictures, have a lot of laughs, and give a lot of hugs.
* I don't want to celebrate my birthday until I know you're going to be okay.
* I don't want a present from you. I just want you.
* One of my favorite memories of you is when you would dance with me.. Even when I was "too grown up" and you'd try to get me to dance with you and then we would laugh. I'll never be too grown to dance with you.
* Whenever I hear Phoenix singing or humming to himself, I automatically think of you and smile. He, too, has his happy song that he sings/hums whenever he is happy.
* I can't wait for you to see, hug, and play with Phoenix when we come visit. He takes my breath away at least once a day and I love him more and more as time goes by.
* When I grow up, I want to be like you.
I know things will go well, but I will pray and think about you from now until I hear everything went exceedingly well during surgery. Tell them how important you are and that they must do 10000% better than their best for you. Tell them to pamper you and take care of you so you can rest, heal, and begin to finally feel better.
I love you. I love you. I love you a million times more. Thank you for being my mom and I look forward to talking to you soon. You are in my heart, my thoughts, and my prayers from now until forever. Don't worry about me. Focus on you and call me when you can.
Love,
Me
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Random Thoughts
In talking to my mom the other day, I was finally able to express a fear that I've had but haven't admitted to.. We were talking about spring and about the plan for the family down here to fly up there and spend time with Mom and Tony. I really, really wish I could fly up there now, tomorrow, or in December.. but reality is that she's going to be going through a rough time and having a four year old and her daughter around will not, exactly, make for relaxing conditions. I know my mom. And I know how stressed/depressed she would be if we were up there while she feels like crap and can't do all the things she would want to do. But, I guess, my fear is that things will be bad and she won't tell me she needs me before it's too late.. So i was finally able to tell her and get her to promise if she needs me then she will tell me... and I promise to be there immediately. I don't even mean if her health gets worse and she thinks her time is short.. I just mean if she's getting down and out, I will be there within a heartbeat to help in any way I can.
I just feel so tied up and far away down here. I hate the distance and I hate the helplessness that comes with it. I think if I was single, without Phoenix, I would most likely drop my job, pack my bags, and move up to Idaho indefinitely. I would find a job there, willingly work minimum wage, if it meant I could be there with her and help out in whatever way I could. I admit, I'm tempted to do it anyway. To drop everything and move up there until this whole thing passes... But I have created my own little family and it's neither right nor fair to drop them so I can go be with my mother indefinitely. But my heart is up there and at least she knows I will be there the second she wants me there.
I think all of us are still trying to come to grips with this new reality. There are days when it doesn't feel real. When I call her and she sounds energetic, happy, and like her old self... And then there are days when I call her and the pain has gotten to her. She sounds exhausted and talks about only having little bursts of energy before having to lie down on the couch and rest. If you know my mom, you will know that this is not like my mother. Her idea of relaxing while watching TV is to jump up the second a commercial comes on and clean something.. Heck, even watching a DVD, she would have you pause it every now and then while she went off to clean up the kitchen or the bathroom or the invisible dust on the dining room table. So to hear her admit to resting and to feeling as though her house is falling apart because she is so behind on her "chores"... really brings home how awful she feels some days..
But we're still trying to focus on the positive. I know, on here, it may sound like all I have is sadness and negativity, but this is just where I come to dump all that out so that I can focus on positivity and good vibes. I can focus on what needs doing around my own house, on taking care of my family, and on being positive when I talk to my mom so that she doesn't have to add me to the list of things to worry about. Most days are easy.. and then there are days where I just randomly start crying and thinking this journey will be the hardest thing I've ever had to watch a family member endure. I just... don't know how to feel/deal with this some days. It's not MY body. It's not MY fight.. so how am I supposed to feel? Because feeling sad/angry/fearful feels so selfish to me. Almost as if I'm thinking "Yeah, you have cancer, but what about ME?". And the last thing I want is to have any selfishness through this. It's NOT about me. It's NOT about my fear/sadness/anger... it's all about my mom and how I can help her..
This is all randomness today. Just like my thoughts lately. I think I said, last post, that her surgery is scheduled for 11-11-11. I'm going to choose that to be a good sign though it makes my birthday on 11-12-11 a little more depressing and the first birthday I really dread. She said the surgery will be about 4-5 hours long. They'll remove half her liver (did you know that they can take that much of the liver because, in time, it will grow back?), all of her gallbladder, and hopefully all of that damn tumor. She said she'll try to call me on my birthday, but I told her not to worry about it. I would rather her sleep and recover than worry about getting a hold of me so long as someone calls me after the surgery to tell me how everything went. I may not be able to be there, to hold her hand before and after surgery, but I'll be lighting at least one candle for her and praying over her before, during, and after her surgery. This year, for my birthday, I just want that tumor completely removed for my mom. That would be the best birthday present ever.
(Sorry for the jumbled thoughts. Welcome to my brain.)
I just feel so tied up and far away down here. I hate the distance and I hate the helplessness that comes with it. I think if I was single, without Phoenix, I would most likely drop my job, pack my bags, and move up to Idaho indefinitely. I would find a job there, willingly work minimum wage, if it meant I could be there with her and help out in whatever way I could. I admit, I'm tempted to do it anyway. To drop everything and move up there until this whole thing passes... But I have created my own little family and it's neither right nor fair to drop them so I can go be with my mother indefinitely. But my heart is up there and at least she knows I will be there the second she wants me there.
I think all of us are still trying to come to grips with this new reality. There are days when it doesn't feel real. When I call her and she sounds energetic, happy, and like her old self... And then there are days when I call her and the pain has gotten to her. She sounds exhausted and talks about only having little bursts of energy before having to lie down on the couch and rest. If you know my mom, you will know that this is not like my mother. Her idea of relaxing while watching TV is to jump up the second a commercial comes on and clean something.. Heck, even watching a DVD, she would have you pause it every now and then while she went off to clean up the kitchen or the bathroom or the invisible dust on the dining room table. So to hear her admit to resting and to feeling as though her house is falling apart because she is so behind on her "chores"... really brings home how awful she feels some days..
But we're still trying to focus on the positive. I know, on here, it may sound like all I have is sadness and negativity, but this is just where I come to dump all that out so that I can focus on positivity and good vibes. I can focus on what needs doing around my own house, on taking care of my family, and on being positive when I talk to my mom so that she doesn't have to add me to the list of things to worry about. Most days are easy.. and then there are days where I just randomly start crying and thinking this journey will be the hardest thing I've ever had to watch a family member endure. I just... don't know how to feel/deal with this some days. It's not MY body. It's not MY fight.. so how am I supposed to feel? Because feeling sad/angry/fearful feels so selfish to me. Almost as if I'm thinking "Yeah, you have cancer, but what about ME?". And the last thing I want is to have any selfishness through this. It's NOT about me. It's NOT about my fear/sadness/anger... it's all about my mom and how I can help her..
This is all randomness today. Just like my thoughts lately. I think I said, last post, that her surgery is scheduled for 11-11-11. I'm going to choose that to be a good sign though it makes my birthday on 11-12-11 a little more depressing and the first birthday I really dread. She said the surgery will be about 4-5 hours long. They'll remove half her liver (did you know that they can take that much of the liver because, in time, it will grow back?), all of her gallbladder, and hopefully all of that damn tumor. She said she'll try to call me on my birthday, but I told her not to worry about it. I would rather her sleep and recover than worry about getting a hold of me so long as someone calls me after the surgery to tell me how everything went. I may not be able to be there, to hold her hand before and after surgery, but I'll be lighting at least one candle for her and praying over her before, during, and after her surgery. This year, for my birthday, I just want that tumor completely removed for my mom. That would be the best birthday present ever.
(Sorry for the jumbled thoughts. Welcome to my brain.)
Thursday, October 27, 2011
And now... The News
My mother will have surgery November 11 to remove the tumor in her liver/bile duct. They have finally determined the only source of cancer is located in the bile duct. Unfortunately, it is an aggressive type of cancer and will need to be treated with chemotherapy and radiation after her surgeon clears her for treatment. It should take about 6 weeks for her to heal after her surgery and then, I'm assuming, is when they'll start chemo and radiation.
I finally talked to my father today and told him the news. Even though they have been divorced since I was eleven, he took it kinda hard. Of course, it didn't help that after I told him my bad news, he had to tell me his bad news. My grandma, 92, is in the hospital and will be having surgery on Monday to fix her colon. She also has pretty serious Alzheimer's and is rather weak all ready. He doubts she'll make it out of surgery. Dad's pretty sad about it and is dealing with a lot of regret and guilt over not seeing them/ talking to them as much as he could have/should have. I feel my news about my mom didn't help and now worry about him a bit.
This is where I wish I could clone myself and have the power to fly. I'd be in California with my grandma and grandpa... I'd be in Idaho with my mom.. I'd be in Mississippi with my dad to hang out and comfort him.. and I'd still be down here, taking care of Phoenix and whatnot. I just, at this time, feel emotionally drained. I was wrestling with my emotions when it came to my mom and now I'm wrestling with the emotions that come up when I think about my dad and my grandma. To say I'm dreading the next few weeks would be an understatement.. I'm really scared to see what the next few weeks/months bring us. I'm having a hard time grabbing onto the positive and carrying it in my heart and mind everyday.
Truth is, I'm definitely more worried for my mother than I am about my grandma or my dad. My relationship with my mom is by far stronger than the ones I have with my grandma and dad... I Googled her type of cancer and it seems like the odds aren't really in her favor... But I keep having this scene/quote from Dumb and Dumber roll through my head. It's the scene where Jim Carrey's character is asking the female lead what his chances of being with her are... And she responds something like "One in a million"... Camera pans to his face, you expect him to be heartbroken, but he gets this huge shit-eating grin and says "Soooo, you're saying I have a chance?!?".... So yeah, if I read right, her chance isn't the best, but there's still a chance that one day, we'll be able to look back and talk about this journey and be thankful we all survived.. And she'll live for a very long time.. There's still a chance, hope, and a prayer.. And I have to remind myself that I need to hold onto that and carry it with me when the doubt and fear start to take over.
I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm unsure of the future. I feel helpless. I feel angry. Angry at myself for feeling fear. Angry that I'm so far away and unable to be there to help and support. But there is hope. There is a chance.. and I have faith. I have faith I'll be what I need to be to help my family through the next few months. I have faith in my mom and her team of Dr.'s. And I have faith that this new path may be full of shadows and doubt, but there is light just around the corner.
I finally talked to my father today and told him the news. Even though they have been divorced since I was eleven, he took it kinda hard. Of course, it didn't help that after I told him my bad news, he had to tell me his bad news. My grandma, 92, is in the hospital and will be having surgery on Monday to fix her colon. She also has pretty serious Alzheimer's and is rather weak all ready. He doubts she'll make it out of surgery. Dad's pretty sad about it and is dealing with a lot of regret and guilt over not seeing them/ talking to them as much as he could have/should have. I feel my news about my mom didn't help and now worry about him a bit.
This is where I wish I could clone myself and have the power to fly. I'd be in California with my grandma and grandpa... I'd be in Idaho with my mom.. I'd be in Mississippi with my dad to hang out and comfort him.. and I'd still be down here, taking care of Phoenix and whatnot. I just, at this time, feel emotionally drained. I was wrestling with my emotions when it came to my mom and now I'm wrestling with the emotions that come up when I think about my dad and my grandma. To say I'm dreading the next few weeks would be an understatement.. I'm really scared to see what the next few weeks/months bring us. I'm having a hard time grabbing onto the positive and carrying it in my heart and mind everyday.
Truth is, I'm definitely more worried for my mother than I am about my grandma or my dad. My relationship with my mom is by far stronger than the ones I have with my grandma and dad... I Googled her type of cancer and it seems like the odds aren't really in her favor... But I keep having this scene/quote from Dumb and Dumber roll through my head. It's the scene where Jim Carrey's character is asking the female lead what his chances of being with her are... And she responds something like "One in a million"... Camera pans to his face, you expect him to be heartbroken, but he gets this huge shit-eating grin and says "Soooo, you're saying I have a chance?!?".... So yeah, if I read right, her chance isn't the best, but there's still a chance that one day, we'll be able to look back and talk about this journey and be thankful we all survived.. And she'll live for a very long time.. There's still a chance, hope, and a prayer.. And I have to remind myself that I need to hold onto that and carry it with me when the doubt and fear start to take over.
I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm unsure of the future. I feel helpless. I feel angry. Angry at myself for feeling fear. Angry that I'm so far away and unable to be there to help and support. But there is hope. There is a chance.. and I have faith. I have faith I'll be what I need to be to help my family through the next few months. I have faith in my mom and her team of Dr.'s. And I have faith that this new path may be full of shadows and doubt, but there is light just around the corner.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The "C" Word
It's a word that causes heart pounding fear. A word that ushers in "What if.." and "How will..." and many other, terrible emotions. It's a word you hear in passing and always think "But for the grace of God, go I". It's a word that we joke about, say everyone will experience it, but also say a quick prayer, cross our fingers that our loved ones and ourselves will never be visited by it.
Cancer
It's a vile word. Fives letters, but a word so big, it could make your heart stop and your lungs struggle for air. We say we've come a long way, the medicines today beat cancer more than not, but still.. that word takes you to the dark corners of your mind and you contemplate life before and after it became such a scary, dreadful reality. You wonder if it will be beaten back, destroyed, and triumphed over... or if those five letters will destroy your heart, your life, and your world.
It's something my family is facing as we find out my mom has a cancerous tumor in her liver. A three inch, fatty tumor that has been causing her pain and grief for a few months now. Not the silly gall bladder issues we thought she was experiencing.. It's this tumor in her liver, by a bile duct, causing all the drama. Not liver cancer. No. This tumor is a traveler and was just visiting, perhaps relocating, to the liver. That vile word lurks somewhere else. Colon? Thyroid? Bladder? So many places that word can strike and now we're left to deal with that word and the aftermath as more tests are done to determine its hiding place.
What do we know so far? We know this tumor has to go. We know my mom will undergo more tests to define the type of monster we will fight. We know that she will still not feel well nor be able to drink the wine she loves or eat a lot of the food she enjoys. We know we will say that we will keep it light, keep it positive, and pray for the best outcome while we try to banish the "What if" thoughts from the dark corners of our minds. We will look at news stories of those who have passed from cancer and say "This will not be our story. We will it so and so it will be". And we will pray, hands clasped, on our knees that we will have a survivor's story to tell during holidays and vacations.
We don't know the type or the future treatment. We don't know how long this will effect us. We don't know how this will effect my mom... How this will effect our family.
Tonight I cry.. in fear, in sadness, in anger, in disbelief. Tonight I want nothing more than to fly up there, crawl into bed with her, and cry on her shoulder as she comforts me and I comfort her. I want to talk about it.. and I want to ignore it. I want to know that I'll have her for years and years to come because I don't want to be a daughter without her mother. I want comfort and I want to be alone.
Tomorrow, I will wash my puffy eyes, give my son more hugs than normal, and focus on positive thinking and positive outcomes. I will lock away the fear and sadness.. and focus on sending prayers of health, energy, and love to my mother. When I start to feel doubt or fear or sadness I will close my eyes and envision my mom wrapped in healing, energy, and light as I repeat
"I will wrap you in the yellow light of health and happiness.
I will wrap you in the green light of energy and health.
I will wrap you in the red light of love and warmth."
It may sound silly, but it's something I've done for years for myself, friends, and family who have been sick or in need.
It can't hurt, eh?
Cancer
It's a vile word. Fives letters, but a word so big, it could make your heart stop and your lungs struggle for air. We say we've come a long way, the medicines today beat cancer more than not, but still.. that word takes you to the dark corners of your mind and you contemplate life before and after it became such a scary, dreadful reality. You wonder if it will be beaten back, destroyed, and triumphed over... or if those five letters will destroy your heart, your life, and your world.
It's something my family is facing as we find out my mom has a cancerous tumor in her liver. A three inch, fatty tumor that has been causing her pain and grief for a few months now. Not the silly gall bladder issues we thought she was experiencing.. It's this tumor in her liver, by a bile duct, causing all the drama. Not liver cancer. No. This tumor is a traveler and was just visiting, perhaps relocating, to the liver. That vile word lurks somewhere else. Colon? Thyroid? Bladder? So many places that word can strike and now we're left to deal with that word and the aftermath as more tests are done to determine its hiding place.
What do we know so far? We know this tumor has to go. We know my mom will undergo more tests to define the type of monster we will fight. We know that she will still not feel well nor be able to drink the wine she loves or eat a lot of the food she enjoys. We know we will say that we will keep it light, keep it positive, and pray for the best outcome while we try to banish the "What if" thoughts from the dark corners of our minds. We will look at news stories of those who have passed from cancer and say "This will not be our story. We will it so and so it will be". And we will pray, hands clasped, on our knees that we will have a survivor's story to tell during holidays and vacations.
We don't know the type or the future treatment. We don't know how long this will effect us. We don't know how this will effect my mom... How this will effect our family.
Tonight I cry.. in fear, in sadness, in anger, in disbelief. Tonight I want nothing more than to fly up there, crawl into bed with her, and cry on her shoulder as she comforts me and I comfort her. I want to talk about it.. and I want to ignore it. I want to know that I'll have her for years and years to come because I don't want to be a daughter without her mother. I want comfort and I want to be alone.
Tomorrow, I will wash my puffy eyes, give my son more hugs than normal, and focus on positive thinking and positive outcomes. I will lock away the fear and sadness.. and focus on sending prayers of health, energy, and love to my mother. When I start to feel doubt or fear or sadness I will close my eyes and envision my mom wrapped in healing, energy, and light as I repeat
"I will wrap you in the yellow light of health and happiness.
I will wrap you in the green light of energy and health.
I will wrap you in the red light of love and warmth."
It may sound silly, but it's something I've done for years for myself, friends, and family who have been sick or in need.
It can't hurt, eh?
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Life in Lubbock
Did you know Lubbock, TX is the birthplace of Buddy Holly? No? Now you know. We've been in Lubbock for about five days now. Our apartment still doesn't feel like "home" yet (Perhaps it has something to do with the furniture that came with it.) but it's getting there. The apartment is smaller than our last apartment, square foot wise, but the layout makes it feel larger and I love it!
So far, I am really enjoying this area. I admit that on the drive up here (after we got off I20) I grew worried as I saw how brown this area was and little cacti growing along the highway. In a way, it reminded me of Carson City, NV but without the view of the mountains. I'm happy to report that, yes, it's a little browner than Louisiana and the trees aren't quite as big... but it's got a beauty all its own out here. Lubbock feels HUGE but I think it's about the size of Shreveport/Bossier. I want to say one reason Lubbock feels so big is because all the major roads are 6 lanes (3 lanes each way). It feels a little intimidating, at first, but I really enjoy the wide roads and the city's layout. All the numbered streets run east-west and the named streets north-south. And the best part about Lubbock?? Barely any humidity!! I can breathe without feeling smothered by the atmosphere!
The neighborhoods we've driven by have all been cute, well-kept, and generally areas that we would be happy to call home. One real neat feature, to me, is that most every street has a little alley in the back where the garbage dumpsters (seems like most houses have little personal dumpsters instead of trash cans) are kept and where, in some neighborhoods, you access your garage. In fact, there's a cute little neighborhood right across the street from our apartment. Looks like we know where we'll be taking Phoenix for trick-or-treating this Halloween!!
There are so many places I want to check out as well. An apple orchard where we can pick our own apples, go on hay rides, pick a pumpkin in fall, drink fresh pressed apple cider, and eat lunch (I plan for us to go in October), another pumpkin patch closer to town, a science museum like SciPort in Shreveport, wineries (though I'm not sure Phoenix could come along), a ranch to go horse back riding, a drive in movie theater, Texas Tech and one of their football games, and who knows what else? I think I drive Juan a little crazy by showing him all the stuff that interests me. I just feel so excited to explore this area and give Phoenix these experiences that we didn't really look for in Louisiana.
And on a final note, we met some of Juan's co-workers today. Two married couples who were all very nice, friendly, easy to get along with, and they all really liked Phoenix. Both women are better in the kitchen than I am. One loves to cook and one loves to bake... so between the both of them, I should learn a lot! I was worried that they would be hard to get along with or kind of... snobby, but they were all just really easy going and friendly without being fake friendly. I look forward to developing a nice friendship with them. It's nice to not be the only ones in a new town.
All in all, Lubbock seems to be turning into a nice adventure. Also, I admit to worrying about living in Lubbock after I googled a few places and looked around thanks to Google Earth. It was all flat, brown, and there was nothing but dirt and scrub bushes. But those pictures seem kind of dated because yes, there are spots that are flat and undeveloped, but so much of Lubbock is new construction and nice looking. Now let's see how the winter treats us!
So far, I am really enjoying this area. I admit that on the drive up here (after we got off I20) I grew worried as I saw how brown this area was and little cacti growing along the highway. In a way, it reminded me of Carson City, NV but without the view of the mountains. I'm happy to report that, yes, it's a little browner than Louisiana and the trees aren't quite as big... but it's got a beauty all its own out here. Lubbock feels HUGE but I think it's about the size of Shreveport/Bossier. I want to say one reason Lubbock feels so big is because all the major roads are 6 lanes (3 lanes each way). It feels a little intimidating, at first, but I really enjoy the wide roads and the city's layout. All the numbered streets run east-west and the named streets north-south. And the best part about Lubbock?? Barely any humidity!! I can breathe without feeling smothered by the atmosphere!
The neighborhoods we've driven by have all been cute, well-kept, and generally areas that we would be happy to call home. One real neat feature, to me, is that most every street has a little alley in the back where the garbage dumpsters (seems like most houses have little personal dumpsters instead of trash cans) are kept and where, in some neighborhoods, you access your garage. In fact, there's a cute little neighborhood right across the street from our apartment. Looks like we know where we'll be taking Phoenix for trick-or-treating this Halloween!!
There are so many places I want to check out as well. An apple orchard where we can pick our own apples, go on hay rides, pick a pumpkin in fall, drink fresh pressed apple cider, and eat lunch (I plan for us to go in October), another pumpkin patch closer to town, a science museum like SciPort in Shreveport, wineries (though I'm not sure Phoenix could come along), a ranch to go horse back riding, a drive in movie theater, Texas Tech and one of their football games, and who knows what else? I think I drive Juan a little crazy by showing him all the stuff that interests me. I just feel so excited to explore this area and give Phoenix these experiences that we didn't really look for in Louisiana.
And on a final note, we met some of Juan's co-workers today. Two married couples who were all very nice, friendly, easy to get along with, and they all really liked Phoenix. Both women are better in the kitchen than I am. One loves to cook and one loves to bake... so between the both of them, I should learn a lot! I was worried that they would be hard to get along with or kind of... snobby, but they were all just really easy going and friendly without being fake friendly. I look forward to developing a nice friendship with them. It's nice to not be the only ones in a new town.
All in all, Lubbock seems to be turning into a nice adventure. Also, I admit to worrying about living in Lubbock after I googled a few places and looked around thanks to Google Earth. It was all flat, brown, and there was nothing but dirt and scrub bushes. But those pictures seem kind of dated because yes, there are spots that are flat and undeveloped, but so much of Lubbock is new construction and nice looking. Now let's see how the winter treats us!
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Learning to Be Still
There are days when I think "My baby isn't a baby anymore". And then there are days when he wakes up, cranky and grumpy from either too much or too little of a nap. Mad at the world, he lies on the couch and whines/yells about trivial things until I stop what I'm doing, sit down next to him and pull him on to my lap. Nowadays, it takes a little bit to re-arrange limbs and to fit him in my lap, but we cuddle up and he leans his head on my chest, his hand finds my hair, and we both breathe a deep sigh and sit in stillness for a while. I bend my head until my nose brushes his hair, take deep breaths (catching faint whiffs of baby shampoo and, sometimes, sweaty boy) and feel as though my world has stopped for just a few wonderful moments. I stop thinking about what I was doing, what needs doing, and what is not getting done.. and all I think is "This is exactly where I'm supposed to be". We can sit for five minutes or, sometimes, forty-five minutes but it doesn't matter. Each minute is precious and more than worthy of my time. He may not be a baby anymore, but to still be able to give him love and reassurance that all is right in his world.. Well, that's what I'm here for.
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