My early
years, I was a bit of a Daddy's girl.
When I cut my lip and needed stitches, I remember crying out for my Dad
while they were stitchin me up.
But ever since I moved back home in 2009, I spent the
majority of my time with my Mom. Our
relationship over the past few years had changed a bit, we'd had ups and
downs--usually ups. In the past two
years, I would say that our relationship had in many ways become more symbiotic
than any other time since I was very young.
The strange thing, is that I never realized it until recently.
Her
first bout with cancer in 2002, I was the one who drove her to the hospital the
day of her surgery. I stayed with her
while they ran various test, put metal markers into her breast, when she passed
out. I waited alone to hear from the
surgeon. No part of me wanted to be there.
In my heart I wanted to run away, and not know, not think that my Mom
had cancer. She went through chemo and
radiation, lost all her hair, but I knew by then it was not her time...yet.
It has almost been three years now since we found out the
cancer had come back. Metastisized from
her breasts into her lungs and her spine.
When she had her lung re-section surgery, she asked me to stay with her
overnight in the hospital. She was very
stubborn and seldom asked others for help, but she felt comfortable with me,
always.
Each day I
would change the drainage bag from her lung.
I tried to be as gentle as possible.
She was miserable. There were
only three cancer nodules then. I came
home one night to find her barely moving after a treatment of zometa. She was extremely feverish and vomiting.
She was
afraid of going through chemo again. So
she sought alternative cancer treatments.
I cannot say if it was right or wrong, each person has to make their own
health decisions. It was just my Mom and
I living in our house for a long time.
While she was my mother, she also was my closest friend. She knew what I was feeling, before I even
knew. We took care of each other in
different ways. I helped her with her
cancer diet, cleaned the house, walked the dogs and kept her company. She
made it possible for me to finish my college education.
We fought sometimes.
We laughed sometimes.
We spent
time talking about my future as a writer.
She would say, "You have a
gift." or "you need to do what makes you happy."
The year
before the cancer came back, just my Mom and I spent almost a week up on
Martha's Vineyard. On the first night, I
ate crab by accident and started to have an intense allergic reaction. My Mom was always involved in my health
immediately drove to Cronigs and we bought some Benadryl. Let's just say that I passed out by 7PM that
night. We had such a wonderful time,
hiking, eating Clam Chowder, walking the dog on the beach at Chappaquiddick.
I've been missing her a lot this past week. I've been sick. My first real sickness since losing her, and it's crazy but maybe because she was so involved with my asthma and my stupid lungs for so many years, I just miss her. I think of her lungs. The cancer in her lungs killed her.
We
liked a lot of the same TV shows,
specifically Downton Abbey and Mad Men. So
for the past few years on Sunday nights, we'd pop some popcorn and I'd make a
big cup of tea and we'd watch our shows.
A few weeks ago, the new season of Downton
Abbey started. I watched about five
minutes and turned it off. I was simply
disinterested. I didn't know why. Until I had a conversation with my Dad.
"Have you been watching Downton Abbey?" He asked.
"No." I said." I guess that I just haven't
been interested, maybe because Mom and I used to watch it together." I didn't realize until I spoke it. Makes sense right?
Just like
it makes sense that every month around the 27th, I get a bit sad. I don't always know why, until I stop and
think, "Oh yeah."
When I was
in the throws of caring for my Mom, I never stopped to think about how lonely I
would be when she was gone. I'd gotten
so used to our relationship. The way she
would talk to all the people in the hospital about me, saying,
"Ask my
daughter, she will know." Or I'd
hear her call my name from down the hallway just making sure that I hadn't left
yet.
All I can say is, this grief thing
is a bitch.
One second
I will feel perfectly fine, and then my heart feels as though it is being
pulled down into my stomach. They don't
teach you about grief in school. There
are counselors who learn, but the average person gains knowledge through
experience. We are seasoned by these
losses.
When my cat
Teddy was hit by a car, I was almost ten.
It was my first "real" loss.
I saw his lifeless cat body wrapped in a black garbage bag and I did
what anyone who is really sad does. I
threw myself on the ground and howled.
My Mom tried to console me, but I simply could not imagine my life
without Teddy. His name was one of my
very first words, he was there when I was born.
He was always there no matter what...I had loved him for my whole life. Eventually, my sadness over losing him grew
less painful. I got new cats, who I
loved, none ever as great as him until my Sunflower.
But when my
mother died, even if I wanted to throw myself on the ground and howl, the
construct of behavior, or fear or something prevented me. Rational behavior versus grief can create
some sort of strange dichotomy of emotion.
Maybe all the losses over the years hardened me. Sometimes though, I wish I could be more like
my ten year old self and give into the sorrow.
Fear holds me back.
Fear that if
I threw myself to the ground, I may never get back up.
