Third time's the charm, right? This is actually the third time I've posted this. I removed it the first two times, but now that all the family members have been told in person, I feel that it is okay to publish this to the wider world. (I'm glad Sarah reminded me who hadn't been told so I could pull it down before they read it on FB.) Anyway, I need to get this off my chest in large part because so much of my time is now taken up dealing with this that I haven't felt comfortable engaging with friends on Facebook for fear that I would let something slip unintentionally. So, for the few friends that saw this before, there's nothing new below. But now I will be posting more updates as time goes on.
***
Okay, I am about to take a big risk in saying this. My mom has cancer. Terminal. It's something that I have debated for over a month whether I should go against her wishes to say anything. That is why some of you that I consider my closest friends do not know - she wants to be private. But I feel that I need to say something now before I burst. This is my catharsis. Plus, today is a good day so I feel that I am best equipped to deal with the emotions at this specific moment in time. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, or even tonight, or even what might change in an hour.
Another reason I am doing it this way is because it is to mentally and physically exhausting to tell each individual person. The roller-coaster of emotions is too much. I won't do it if I don't get started this way. There are certain people that I already called or told in person. I know a text about it is rather impersonal, but I trust you to understand.
I am at the hospital today helping her through a couple fairly minor procedures to get prepared for the chemotherapy and to relieve some pain she has now. She starts chemo on Monday, and we think that will give her a better quality of life for the time she has left. I have been high, low, and in between. Mostly, I'm mad. I'm pissed that my mom is only 67 and this is happening. I said a few weeks ago that I thought my mom would be working her garden, going up and down the hillside, for 20 years to come.
She's not gone yet, and I don't want it to sound like that. She may have many months, even over a year left. But in the last 3 weeks, if you looked inside my backpack, you would see medical books, a Last Will and Testament, trust documents, power of attorney, prescription drugs, a laptop, camera to document events, a notepad full of phone numbers, doctor names, drug names, appointment dates, etc. In a very real sense, I felt that if my backpack fell over and all the contents spilled out, it would be like seeing a black, oozing puddle of sludge pouring out. Negativity and depression and the signs of someone dying are inside my backpack. I carry death with me both physically and figuratively everywhere I go.
But then I look at the good things. I look at the fact that I'm spending more time with her now than I have over the past six months. And yes, while it shouldn't take death to bring us together, I'm glad we are doing it. We took the girls to Fairy Tale town two weeks ago. I am learning things about my family history and our story in a compressed amount of time that would have taken 20-30 years. I always knew how strong my mom was, and how stubborn, but now I get to see it in the ultimate way. She is facing her own mortality with courage, practicality, and humor where she can find it. And that is all good.
Having read this, don't feel sorry for me. I have Sarah and Sherri, I have my girls. I have everything I need to be just fine and come through this stronger on the other side. If you feel like telling me that you are sorry for me or my mom, that's fine. I appreciate it, but what I'd rather you did is spend that energy to help an animal shelter in your area. Volunteer, donate some time or money, help them get their animals adopted or cared for. That's what my mom would want.
***
Okay, I am about to take a big risk in saying this. My mom has cancer. Terminal. It's something that I have debated for over a month whether I should go against her wishes to say anything. That is why some of you that I consider my closest friends do not know - she wants to be private. But I feel that I need to say something now before I burst. This is my catharsis. Plus, today is a good day so I feel that I am best equipped to deal with the emotions at this specific moment in time. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, or even tonight, or even what might change in an hour.
Another reason I am doing it this way is because it is to mentally and physically exhausting to tell each individual person. The roller-coaster of emotions is too much. I won't do it if I don't get started this way. There are certain people that I already called or told in person. I know a text about it is rather impersonal, but I trust you to understand.
I am at the hospital today helping her through a couple fairly minor procedures to get prepared for the chemotherapy and to relieve some pain she has now. She starts chemo on Monday, and we think that will give her a better quality of life for the time she has left. I have been high, low, and in between. Mostly, I'm mad. I'm pissed that my mom is only 67 and this is happening. I said a few weeks ago that I thought my mom would be working her garden, going up and down the hillside, for 20 years to come.
She's not gone yet, and I don't want it to sound like that. She may have many months, even over a year left. But in the last 3 weeks, if you looked inside my backpack, you would see medical books, a Last Will and Testament, trust documents, power of attorney, prescription drugs, a laptop, camera to document events, a notepad full of phone numbers, doctor names, drug names, appointment dates, etc. In a very real sense, I felt that if my backpack fell over and all the contents spilled out, it would be like seeing a black, oozing puddle of sludge pouring out. Negativity and depression and the signs of someone dying are inside my backpack. I carry death with me both physically and figuratively everywhere I go.
But then I look at the good things. I look at the fact that I'm spending more time with her now than I have over the past six months. And yes, while it shouldn't take death to bring us together, I'm glad we are doing it. We took the girls to Fairy Tale town two weeks ago. I am learning things about my family history and our story in a compressed amount of time that would have taken 20-30 years. I always knew how strong my mom was, and how stubborn, but now I get to see it in the ultimate way. She is facing her own mortality with courage, practicality, and humor where she can find it. And that is all good.
Having read this, don't feel sorry for me. I have Sarah and Sherri, I have my girls. I have everything I need to be just fine and come through this stronger on the other side. If you feel like telling me that you are sorry for me or my mom, that's fine. I appreciate it, but what I'd rather you did is spend that energy to help an animal shelter in your area. Volunteer, donate some time or money, help them get their animals adopted or cared for. That's what my mom would want.
