Last year I posted about trying to cope with my moms breast cancer recurrence. Four years ago my mother was diagnosed with Stage I breast cancer. Less than three years after her diagnosis she recurred as Stage 4. She did not make the 5 year survival mark. If you look up Stage 1 Breast cancer on the American Cancer Society website, you will find this quote: "The 5-year relative survival rate for women with stage 0 or stage I breast cancer is close to 100%." Irony.
This last year has been spent with me trying desperately to treasure every moment while also trying to stop a boulder. I have made appointments, had family strategy meetings, endlessly researched and relentlessly picked the brain of her oncologist. I have tried to make moments out of every pause. I would often sneak away from my clinic to sit in the infusion room. We would watch soap operas and chat about bits of everything while I would chart. My mom worked from home for the last year, and I would occasionally spend my administrative time in her home office. We would gossip and look at shoes online while trying to work. These moments are some of the most cherished, just the two of us. Our family tried to band together. We reinstated family Sunday dinners. We all visited as much as we could manage. We organized family outings. We took advantage of all the grandparents days at the local museums and kids theaters. But many days were post chemo days or too much pain days, and on those days we just talked and sat.
Thanks to our move, my daughter got a full year of Grandma time. A year I pray she is old enough to remember and cherish. I will fight to make sure she doesn't forget. Their love for each other was magical.
My daughter was with us in the hospital intermittently up until my mothers death. On that final trip she saw something in our urgency to get back. She asked me, "Mommy, did Grandma's cancer get stronger than the chemotherapy?" In her pure and innocent love, she drew a final picture of Grandma holding all of our hands, each of us smiling. At our daughters request, we buried that picture with my mother. She said, this way we would always be with Grandma. I am continually in awe of the simple wisdom of children.
I have seen many people die. I have cried with families in the hospital. I have sat vigil in the unit trying to will patients back from the precipice. I saw the scans, I knew this was coming. But, there was no preparing for this feeling, for this moment. I have never felt this. I have no words for it. As I move past the initial shock I am just trying to exist in this new reality. I am trying to be normal because it's been a month and now people expect me to function and be "back." But I am still in phase 1 and I have no idea what to do. I am constantly searching for something...a memory, a piece of her jewelry, a picture, a video, anything to fill this chasm. I have filled my house with old purses and pictures and clothes and plates and spices and cakes she made from her freezer and each thing is like a single speck of sand. I talked to her every day. I texted her between cases. I dropped by to see her on the way home. What do I do with all of these things I would have told her, what do I do with all of these words that are words only for her. Who do I give them to, where do I put them. I re-read every e-mail from her. I started at the present and just kept reading until the e-mails ran out. This little journey just confirmed why she is so important to me. There were encouragements from every moment - before big operations that I was nervous about during residency, before interviews, presentations at conferences, client pitches from my finance days. She called me before EVERY SINGLE test in medical school. Somehow she never forgot a single one and she would call me on the morning of the test, making sure to wake up early (she was on central time and I was on eastern) in order to catch me before I left my room. She was my cheerleader. She believed in me unfailingly and with such purity it was impossible to not just believe her and strive to be what she saw in me.
I will end with this. I have been so moved by the outpouring of love in the final days of my mothers life and since her death. It has come from friends old and new. Friends who I haven't talked to in years but have reached out to me in a way that erases those years. New friends and colleagues have been there, supporting me in ways I didn't even realize I needed. Women I don't even know in Facebook mommy groups have sincerely reached out because they too have experienced the loss of a parent. These women have been a wall for me to lean against when I felt I couldn't stand. I am so grateful and thankful for this love.
Love is what feels most like my mother.
Oh Cutter I'm so sorry for your loss. This post is beautiful. Sounds like you made the most out of such a short time with your mom near the end. My kids lost their Nana to breast cancer about 6 years ago. Cecelia gave a beautiful tribute to her at the memorial in the form of a poem, and they both carried the dolls that she made for them. I don't know if this will help, or you even want to go there right now, but two of my favorite books on grief are The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion and Wave by Sonali Deraniyagala. Both personal stories about going through the process. I'll keep you in my thoughts and prayers:)
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Gizabeth. I've already ordered the books. Thank you so much for the recommendation. I've already read through A Grief Observed by CS Lewis. Reading is part of my searching. Cancer sucks. My mom made my daughter dolls as well.
DeleteCancer is truly the physical ill of our time. It's becoming more aggressive, and happening to younger people. I see it, and I worry, and I try to diagnose impassively. But even though I see the patient's tissue, and not the patient, I still well up with tears. I hope we find a cure for our generation and our children. Nana was my ex's mom, and it was tough, but I can't imagine losing my own parents. Peace and strength to you.
DeleteI am so sorry for your loss. I lost my Dad in my last year of medical school, and it was one of the hardest things I've experienced in my life. Seven years later I still miss him all the time and wish that I could share my new life with him.
ReplyDeleteI wish you peace, comfort, and support in the difficult journey ahead.
This is beautiful and touching and so sad. Sending you gratitude for sharing and peace (I pray) during this difficult time.
ReplyDeleteOh, my heart goes out to you. Beautiful post. What a wonderful relationship, really special. Prayers.
ReplyDeleteSo beautiful - these words and the love that bound the two of you together. Wishing you peace and healing; that love will continue on.
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ReplyDeleteYou are so fortunate to have had such a close relationship with your mother, and also to have had the foresight and flexibility to spend so much time with her during her last year with you. She is truly lucky to have had such a good daughter! I can't imagine the pain you must feel at this loss, and I hope you heal quickly. Hugs to you!
ReplyDeleteI am sitting here in tears, transported to that time ten years ago when I had just lost my dad. I couldn't have written this at a month. I couldn't have written anything. You already know that we don't get over these losses; we get through them, and we find a new normal. Thinking of you.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. I have always written things down as my therapy. My MIL even bought me a beautiful journal just to write down my feelings. It is completely blank. I haven't been able to write a single word. This post came as a random 2am catharsis. It is the first thing I've been able to write since the forced writing of her obituary. Thinking of you too.
DeleteI lost my mom just before my 15th birthday. She never got to see me become a doctor, an orthopedic surgeon, or, mostly importantly, get married this year. we are now trying to grow our family and I miss her more than ever. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about calling my mom or wonder what she would think about my life now. To say it gets better with time is wrong. But to say it becomes more bearable is true. There are always life events that bring back the grief terribly. But the daily hurt transitions from a searing pain to a dull ache. We see beauty elsewhere and know mom would be proud. We survive. We continue.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. It is helpful to hear that it is never better, because I feel like it never will be. And in a way I don't want it to be better if that means not thinking about her all the time. Glad to know it will be easier. Thank you so much for sharing.
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ReplyDeleteI'm so, so sorry for your loss. Your words are a beautiful tribute to your mother.
ReplyDelete"Love is what feels most like my mother." This is so raw and beautiful. Thank you.
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