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I'm Sure Going To Miss HerNov 08 '03 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line I needed to vent my grief and frustration, but I love my mother more than anything outside of my own children. I wish I could make it better, I can't.
Things are finally sinking in. I've put off "the talk" for as long as I possibly can and tomorrow is the dreaded day. I can't sleep, I can't eat. All I can do is dread tomorrow because that means it's all real and it's not going to get any better. *She's* not going to get any better. Two years ago, my mother, Patricia Ann Conner, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She went into the hospital for her mastectomy on June 14, 2002, the same day my little baby, Mary, was born. The next day, a mere 24 hours, she was released from the hospital and told to report for chemo the following week. Flash forward to the end of the chemo: she is told she does not need radiation, she's cured, by golly. Thank you, here's your bill. What they didn't tell her then was that her tumor had been tested, and received a score of 9, which meant that the cancer was going to come back. They KNEW it was going to come back and THEY NEVER TOLD HER THIS. When her back started to hurt, she thought she pulled a muscle. Imagine her reaction to discover that the cancer had spread to the bones. This is when they chose to tell her that they knew the cancer would come back, and I wondered how they could get away with such a thing. She called me on the phone and seemed relatively calm, and asked to see her grandchildren. When I said why, she got very quiet and it took me a minute to realize she was crying, quietly, and she managed to get out the words, "Kimmie, it's in my bones." The initial shock took my breath away and I choked out my own sobs because I knew what that meant. Little by little, we discovered one horror after another. She began a second round of chemo, only to be told her blood count was too low to continue. She needed transfusions because her blood count was a mere 19 and could not withstand the chemo. When her blood count did not rise, they did another test and we were told the cancer was now in the bone marrow. Then, they told us it had also spread to her liver. They made her wait a week to tell her she was dying, and there was nothing more to be done except put her in hospice care and wait around for the inevitable. They told her she had two years...but the fine print, which they finally admitted, was that they meant two years from the *first* diagnosis. This left her with maybe six months and now they say she might not see Thanksgiving. She has given me power-of-attorney, which means the dreaded "talk". I prayed that I wouldn't need to think about this so soon, but it seems I've run out of options. I must go over and sit at her bedside and discuss the carving up of everything that used to be her life. I have to discuss funeral plans, money, cars, belongings and animals but I don't want to. It doesn't matter to me who gets the computer, I just want my mother back the way she used to be. I want my children to have their Nana for the rest of their childhood. But, apparently, that isn't in the cards for me or them. I've had nobody to talk to about these things. I, as the only child, have had to be strong and rely on my "Vulcan" side so far because everyone else is falling apart. My grandparents are beside themselves with grief, and in some ways, this is probably worse for them than it is for me. I'm losing a mother, but they are losing their baby. It has disrupted the natural order of things because as a parent, you are always prepared to go before your children. I know I'd lose my sanity completely if one of my babies died before me, it's just not natural. I've so wanted to curl up and cry in someone's lap, but there is nowhere for me to turn. I end up comforting everyone else and there's no one to comfort me. I've put my head my mother's lap and sobbed, but I don't feel like I can do that because it upsets her so much. She can't comfort me anymore and she never will again. How lonely a world is it where there is no mother to comfort you? To hold you when you're upset? To kiss you and tell you everything is going to be alright? Pretty damn lonely, I can tell you. She is my best friend as well as my mother. I saddens me so deeply that my little Mary will have virtually no memory of this woman. Mary is 17 months old and her Nana will be gone before she's old enough to remember her. My oldest daughter is having as much difficulty as I am with this because she was the first grandchild and (even though my mother would deny it if she was asked, I know it's true) she is my mother's favorite. Melody spent every waking moment with her Nana and this is just tearing her apart. On top of everything else this kid is going through, I fear that her Nana's death will send her over the edge and I'm frightened for her. My 7-year old, Ashlin, cries often and has asked me why God didn't answer her prayers. I've told the girls that God had a different plan for Nana and she is going to be the Guardian Angel, always watching over them, but so far, that has been little comfort. I'm still stubbornly optimistic that mom will make it to the last Christmas she is so desperate to see. She is hanging on to that hope, I know it. She wants to see the kids happy and opening their gifts and I want that for her. My heart tells me it could happen, but my head is calculating her steady decline and is doubtful. She can no longer eat more than a few bites of food and she often spends hours of her day vomiting bile and blood until someone comes out to give her a shot of finegren to make it stop. Her stomach is so distended that she looks six months pregnant and she is now wracked with extremely painful spasms in her arms and shoulders. No, I don't hold out much hope and I believe she is growing weary of the battle to stay alive. She knows she doesn't have much time left and I still have to have "the talk". All I can say is, God, please let her see the first snowfall and let her have this one, last Christmas with her family who loves her. We will miss her so dearly when she is gone and every Christmas hereafter we will always shed tears for her and I know I will never be able to stop buying her gifts every year because she will forever be in my thoughts and it's the thought that counts, right? My apologies for the length of this, but it's been building up inside me for a few months now and I have nowhere else to let it out. I can't believe it's really almost the end of the journey that started 34 years ago when I was born and my mother was only 16. It hasn't always been an easy journey, but right now it seems like pretty smooth sailing in comparison. If I can impart nothing else, please make every second count with the people you love. Tell them every day how much you love them and how important they are to you. Nothing will haunt you more than leaving these things unsaid when they are gone...in other words, give them the flowers NOW.  |
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