New Way to be Human

2009-07-13T01:18:00.001-07:00

I never thought I'd write here again. But I feel like this is the place that makes sense tonight.

In a week it will have been 4 years since Mom died.

And tonight that is hitting me especially hard. Tonight, for the first time in a long, long time I am awake reliving it all, and second guessing myself. My memories are skewed. All I have to go on now are the words I wrote then in my haze of emotion and stress and fatigue.

And I hope to God I did ok. I hope to God I helped my Mom. I hope to God I wasn't so self-centered, so self-pitying that I made it worse for her those last few weeks.

I needed to revisit it so I read through the LC board for the posts of that time... I can see how far in over my head I was... But I have no mercy for myself in that. I was a selfish little self-centered brat whining about how my Mom's death was affecting me instead of focusing on her. I hate myself for that right now.

I did the best I could. I know that. But it doesn't feel like enough tonight. I hope my presence was a comfort. I hope she was sure of my love. I hope she forgives me for the mistakes I made. I tried so hard.

And most of all, always...

I miss her so desperately.

A Year Later--And A New Locale

2006-07-19T20:40:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I really legitimately needed to have a breakdown. I'm not sure if I legitimately needed to blog it, but I did, so... I guess it will stay.

This is the post I wanted to write from the beginning.

Today marks the one year mark of my Mom's death.

I can't believe that it's been one year. It is inconceivable to me that she has missed one full year of Carolyn's life. When she died, Carolyn was a little blob of baby--not crawling--just rolling over. She gave winning smiles, and had quite a personality, but she was so far away from the little person that she is now. Mom missed her crawling, her walking, her first words. She missed hearing about her saying, "Butt Boost," barking at every dog she sees, and all of her adorable dancing.

She has missed a year in my life as well. I survived my first deployment. I moved into a new house that she has never seen. I traveled 7000 miles or so. And I made a decision to begin moving in a new 'vocational direction.'

I miss her. How can it have been a full year already? The most painful thing about today is that it makes her feel so far away. All year long I've known that at least her life was just last year. Now I don't have that. Now all I have is distance. A year is a long time.... 365 days. One whole trip around the sun.

The thing is, a good part of me doesn't think that the world should have travelled around the sun again... A part of me wishes that the world had stopped... Because I want the world to take notice that an AMAZING woman ISN'T HERE anymore.

I said in another post that this day doesn't make her any more gone than she was yesterday or she will be tomorrow, but this day makes the finality hit home. Mom is not on deployment like Andy was. She is not coming back. The missing doesn't stop.

I have decided, for the record, that I hate the word "acceptance." That is supposed to be the phase of grief that you aspire to. I am an overachiever, you know, so logically I should want to get to that stage. I refuse. I will not contentedly accept the fact that my Mom died a horrible death due to a horrible disease.

I will however allow for integration. That is what I want my 'final stage of grief' to look like. I want to allow the grief and the missing and the hurt to be as big as it is. As big as it needs to be. And that is very, very big. But I want to be able to coexist with that. I think I am moving into "integration." I still hurt. I still miss her every day. But my every waking thought isn't tied up with Mom and missing her. I will never be one of those people who can look back at this experience and say, "I'm really thankful that this happened because I learned so much and gained all of these new insights." If I could have traded the lessons and still had my Mom--healthy and free of pain, I would in a heartbeat. But... The grief and the missing are only a part of Val now. They are no longer the black hole-like vortex sucking all of me in and leaving me no light.

My Mom was one hell of a woman. She would have understood my meltdown today. She would have understood my tears. Days like today were hard for her too. But she would have wanted me to smile today, and to celebrate her and the life that she led instead of just focusing on her death, and so I did.

Mom was tough, and strong, and no-nonsense, but she was also incredibly compassionate. She loved nurturing people, giving to folks in small ways. So today, I wanted to honor her by doing the same. I wanted to allow her to continue giving. So... I brought Yellow Roses and buttons that said, "Cancer Sucks" to a nearby cancer center. I left them at the front desk of the infusion center with instructions to give them to anyone who came in for a treatment today. And I hope in some small way, they will be tangible tokens of encouragement to the folks who recieved them.

Mom would have loved the sentiment "Cancer Sucks." She didn't mince words. If she felt like hammered dog shit, she told you that she felt like hammered dog shit. I think she'd get a kick out of the buttons.

So it's been a year... And I miss my Mom. I will always miss my Mom. I wish she had never had to hear the word, "cancer" and I wish she was still here to drive me nuts with unsolicited advice regarding my raising of Carolyn. I wish she was here to teach Carolyn to flip people off, and to say the words, "Male Dominant Stupid Gene." I wish she was here to personally infuse Carolyn with her grit and her love of life. And I wish she was here so I could hug her, call her to process through the craziness of people and to remind me that the democrats are always right.

I miss her. And that will always be part of me. And that is as it should be.

And that, my blogfriends, may well be the last of the posts here at New Way. I want to leave it here in it's blogspace so that perhaps someone else will find it and know that it's ok to admit that Cancer Sucks, and Grief does too. From now on, though, you can find me at my new blog, Dig Your Toes In .

I love you Mom.

Why I Hate Today

2006-07-19T15:39:00.000-07:00

If you want reflective, tie-it-up in a neat little package with a positive spin, then GO AWAY.

I hate today.

A year ago today my Mom died.

A year ago yesterday was my last day with my Mom on this earth. It was the last day I touched her hands while they still had life in them. It was the last time I spoke to her and believed she heard my voice.

At 5:35 a.m. one year ago today my Dad knocked on the door of the bedroom in which I was sleeping, and told me that my Mom was gone. No more Mom. 4 month old baby. 24 year old me. No more Mom. (Now is NOT the time to tell me how much worse it could be).

I hate today.

My husband left today. Now, he's been here for all of the rememberances of the days leading up to this day and that has been good, and I know I shouldn't complain, but he left again on a day when I need him. On a day when I hurt. It's all too familiar. And it sucks.

And true to detachment/deployment form, we have already had our first blow to the family while husband is unreachable. His brother's apartment burned yesterday. He is ok, but he lost everything.

I hate today.

I want my Mom back.

If she can't be back I want my husband to hug me and 'get it.'

And I want whatever force in the universe it is that thinks that it's fun to fuck with our family any time my husband's squadron is away from home to lay the hell off of us!

H-word Anniversary--(Do not read if you don't want to hear about Grief, or if end-of-life discussion will hurt or discourage you.)

2006-07-12T20:31:00.000-07:00

These July days aren't easy when it comes to the grief stuff. Please don't get me wrong I'm fully functioning, out and about, and doing the Mommy bit. (It seems like people read here and think, "Oh Val just sits around crying in her cheerios." I DON'T!). But, these are days of strong, strong memories of a year ago. These are the last days that are in the first year without Mom, and in a few short days I will have to say, "I lost my Mom over a year ago." It won't make her any more gone than she was a month after she died, but it will be a shift in language that I am not looking forward to. I have a very difficult relationship with time right now.

Today, has been an especially hard day. When I look back a year I find the day that the doctor said, "time for Hospice." The week or so before the 12th it was becoming more and more evident that Mom's body was winding down, and I knew that those words would likely come soon, but I wasn't ready to hear them.

In fact, Mom heard the words on a day when she'd gone to the doctor to find out about the clinical trial she was waiting on. She'd been waiting since the end of May. Wonder what would have happened if all the red-tape could have been waded through more quickly? I know--forget the what-ifs.

I wasn't able to go to the doctor with her that day. Carolyn had gotten her 4 month shots the previous day, and was sick and fussy and clingy. She had a fever and I didn't want to risk her actually having a contagious infection of some sort, and having her around chemo patients with weakend immune systems. I sat in the house and tried not to panic (I knew the day would be pivotal), and cried over not being able to be with my Mom to hear words that I knew would be heavy no matter which way they swung.

Until the day of the appointment we were all still geared up to fight. That day, she left the house in her wheelchair with the word, "EXTREME" painted on the back in hot pink--unable to walk even a few feet. Her lack of mobility was the telling point that made the doctor realize she wasn't strong enough to fight any longer. The next day, my Uncle Jerry would come to build a wheel-chair ramp in front of our house that Mom would never use.

She came home that day and my aunt told me what the doctor said. I can remember what Carolyn was wearing--It was an adorable little onesie with a bear embroidered on the rear end. We called it the "Bear Butt" outfit--and since Mom loved plays on words, she always laughed. To cheer her up when she got home, I pointed out Carolyn's "Bear butt" and actually got a grin... a mixed grin that told me that she looked at Carolyn and knew she wouldn't be able to be with her much longer and it hurt.

When she saw the doctor and he said the "H-word" he told her she had maybe 3 months. From the accounts I heard the word was, "Probably not six months, maybe three." So that day I remember trying to wrap my mind around the thought of only having my Mom on earth for three months.

I had no idea that a week later I would wake up and she would be gone.

Today marks a day when I want to demand from God and the universe--why didn't we get more time? (Don't anyone dare lecture me about that either). I know that no amount of time would have been "enough," but I desperately wanted more Mom time. The way things that progressed in the following week were terrible. The end bore down on us like a freight-train. None of us knew what had hit us.

It ocurred to me today that perhaps the reason these days are hard right now has more to do with finally processing the impact of the dying process and the privelege of bearing witness to the last two months of her illness.... and ALL that came with that. Those were weeks I wouldn't trade for anything in the world, but they left their mark. The illness and decline of a person you love so much are, in themselves, enough to pack a pretty hefty emotional wallop--even without the grief that comes with death. So I look back today and feel the impact, and again wish desperately that we could have had just a few more weeks... and that we could have been afforded just a few good, pain-controlled, quality time days.

Today will always be it's own anniversary.

Am I Normal?

2006-07-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

The question I have asked myself the most often in the last 2 years is, "Am I normal?" When I was pregnant and dealing with all of those suprising little symptoms I would call my sister-in-law the nurse practitioner, just so I could hear her say those two beautiful words: "It's normal." When Carolyn was born and something concerned me even a little, I would call her even more frequently to hear those same two beautiful words.

When Mom was diagnosed and the roller coaster of that journey started--I also wanted to hear them. Is what Mom is experiencing normal? Are these out of control emotions normal?

And here I am, almost a year after her passing... Finding myself in a slump, depressed some days, ok but non-productive on others, busy and businesslike others, and ready to plunge into new aspects of life still others. Is the way that I'm grieving here--11.5 months later normal? Is it normal to cast long glances back each day that we draw nearer to the anniversary of her leaving to mark what happened a year ago? Is it normal that in the next breath I reach for the phone to call her to tell her about Carolyn forgetting for the 215 millionth time that she really is gone? Is it normal that I can't comprehend all the ways that my life is different and that some of those changes feel like more loss? Am I normal?

I'm trying to learn what it looks like to be a normal stay-at-home Mom without the addition of an extreme family crisis (at least as normal as it gets when your husband is in the Navy), and I still want to know what that looks like? I wonder what feelings that I'm feeling might be felt by any Mom in general--is this boredom typical? Is the frequent fear that I'm doing something wrong what all Mom's go through? Am I being present to Carolyn a enough? Am I enriching her life with enough opportunities to learn? Is what I'm doing ok? Am I normal? Is she normal? Or have I been blown so offtrack by our lives being turned upside down that I'm not able to give that normalcy? Could some of the moodiness I experience be just the struggles of early motherhood--the fatigue of having a toddler, or even run of the mill PMS?

My rule of thumb for all things mothering related has been: assume it's normal unless I have a gut-feeling otherwise, and wait and see for confirmation. The difference with the journey of grief and calibrating to 'new-normal' is that the landscape is ever-changing. There are new things, and old things cropping up in a new way each and every day. The intensity of the grief has subsided in some ways and magnified in others. The passage of time becomes easier and harder all at once.

Why do I write this? Not to vent. Not to whine. Not to complain. I guess I write it in the hopes that, assuming that I am in some capacities, normal, maybe someone will stumble across these words, and something will resonate and they can relax into the feeling that they are ok. They aren't going crazy. Feelings are messy and don't happen "normally." The feeling of "normal" has a whole variety of definitions. New normals don't feel normal. And... I think at least, that itself is some kind of normal.

29 Years Ago Today...

2006-07-01T23:06:00.000-07:00

My Dad got dressed up in brown slacks and a dress shirt--a woodsy foliage kind of shirt with the seven dwarves marching all over it...

Mom got dressed up in--to my best photo recollections--an orange and yellow pants outfit.

They were headed out on the river, and Mom always told me that it had been windy and the water had been rough all day--until right before they were supposed to go out on the boat--and then the river turned to glass.

So they got on their friends' boat, with a couple of witnesses and someone 'official.'

And they got married in the middle of the Mississippi River. Or as close to the middle as they were allowed to with the Marriage License stipulations.

It was the perfect wedding by their telling--the way all weddings should be. Simple, unique, theirs.

I wish they could tell that story to me together today--with one starting where the other left off....

A Tale of Four Junes....

2006-06-27T00:22:00.000-07:00

June of 2003--

I was fresh out of college, engaged, and getting ready for my wedding. I was living with Mom and Dad. Mom and I picked out flowers together at Garden Gate florist. Mom assured me that 'they'd know how to help us.' She was right.

The night before the wedding we had a everyone over to their house for pizza. Mom was in high-gear worrying about entertaining everyone. We stayed up late--Mom, Dad, my brother-in-law, Brad, and his wife, Stacey--and played Trivial pursuit. Mom and Dad got all the sex questions right. Mom got all the sports one... Also most of the rest. Situation normal.

The day of the wedding her best friend came over and did our hair for the ceremony. It might not have been out of a fashion magazine, but it looked nice and got the job done. Mom looked amazing in her beautiful pink, dress. I don't think I ever saw her look more beautiful.

And then the next morning, I went to her house, and hugged her. She loaned us her truck for the honeymoon (it was more dependable than my S-10), and we headed off to start our life together as a married couple.

June of 2004--

Andy had finished Basic Training and A School. We'd lived in Pensacola for only three short months, but something stirred me to go home before moving to Washington. I needed my Mom and Dad. I needed the familiarity of their home. I didn't know why, but I needed to be there.

Father's Day, Andy and I woke up. He was leaving for Washington that day and I was staying behind because I needed to. I indelicately peed on a stick, and found out that I was going to have a baby. I kept it to myself until I could go to the doctor to pee on a more official stick...

Except that there was Mom... and she kept asking when I Was going to make her a Grandma... And I just HAD to at least hint.

She caught on quick and was elated--but cautious--taking cues from me.... I chided myself for giving in so easily, but it was wonderful to share the secret with my Mom.

I went to the doctor and tested really, truly pregnant, ran to the mall, and picked up the "Grandmother" figurine made by Willow Tree. Then I rushed home and gave it to her. She exploded with joy. She ran around for days smiling, bouncing, giggling. She was giddy in a way I'd never seen her before.

She also yelled at me for having taken on some Republican leanings--JUST SOME! (Don't worry, I've come to my senses a bit!).

June of 2005

Again, I needed to be home. My Mom needed me. These were the last days of her life. She sat in her chair, and I sat in mine, and she just revelled in being awake--in smelling the air. She watched Carolyn, and cried because she didn't have the strength to hold her. She ooed and ahhed over all of her outfits.

She told me stories about when she was young--she knew it was time to pass on the history.

Some of her last really Mom-like days were in June of last year.

June of 2006

My Mom is gone. My daughter is turning quickly into a little girl. And I... I barely resemble the Val of four years ago. This Val is sadder, more compassionate, more serious, more adult, more somber.... But I like her better. (She still has plenty of childlikeness--Mom wouldn't have had it any other way).

Four Junes... Three years...

So very much happened.

Let Me Tell You About My Mom....

2006-06-09T23:19:00.000-07:00

So I have this blog here... Which started to be about dealing with my Mom having cancer, and has become a place to process my grief after her death.

And it occurs to me, that although every page here seems to be about my Mom, you get no real feel for what kind of a woman she is/was.

To give you an idea of the essence of my Mom: I would come to her with normal daughter-type problems, venting about such and such or so and so who frustrated me that day. Invariably her reply was, "Val. When are you gonna learn to tell them to FU*K off?"

The woman loved trivial pursuit. I mean loved it. Not only did she clean house on the normal old trivia questions, but the woman knew her sports--I mean she knew miniscule little facts that most guys couldn't scare up. And so, she was unbeatable at Trivial Pursuit.

When I was young--I'd say younger than ten, Mom taught me the phrase, "Male Dominant Stupid Gene." She taught the phrase so well that I used it confidently. I'm almost positive that my Dad's family was convinced I was going to grow to become a Femi-nazi.

Mom worked at Maytag Refrigeration for many years. When the plant closed she worked a job that required her to travel from one side of the plant to the other very frequently. To ease the strain of all that cement-pounding, she used a tricycle. No, I'm serious--a tricycle. It was a grown-up's tricycle, but a tricycle nonetheless.

So this no-nonsense woman who I'm sure would still love for me to learn to tell people to "Fu*K off," was also so nurturing, that probably 20 people other than me called her, "Mom." Folks at work, friends of mine, lots and lots of people claimed her as a person who nurtured them, cared for them, looked out for them. That makes me proud.

But despite that, I'm the only one who can truly say now and forever, "That's MY MOM."

Profiles of Hope: First Edition

2006-05-31T21:22:00.000-07:00

I mentioned that I want to start spotlighting individuals who are walking in life and hope and dealing with cancer in one way or another. This is my first attempt at what I'm calling, "Profiles of Hope" (Hey--if you're going to rip someone off, may as well be a Kennedy, right?).

I've gotten to know the stories of several individuals in the blogworld through this blog, and searching for others who are dealing with cancer of any kind. One of the first blogs that really struck a chord with me was, A Woman of Many Parts. There was an honesty and a vulnerablity about the words revealing a strengh of character that you don't see very often. What I read wasn't Lance Armstrong spin-doctoring about what a "gift" cancer could be. It was stark reality, but far from despair. Through her blog, and through just a few interactions with Minerva, I've been given another window that helps me to see what REAL HOPE is. REAL HOPE doesn't pretend that it's not scared shitless just to make people feel better. But it doesn't wallow in the mire of fear and pity either. REAL HOPE can be honest about the hard stuff, but pushes you towards that truly good stuff of substance that helps you to remember why it is that we say life is good.

Not only did Minerva encourage me by sharing her story, but she's come and shared her compassion with me. She has validated my feelings when I desperately needed to know that I was really ok right where I was. She has spurred me on to focus on the light. She has helped me hold onto hope simply with the comments that she's made here at my blog.

I think one of the most powerful gifts she has given me, without even knowing it I'm sure, is a testimony to life. When loss just seemed to be swirling around me, when it seemed that the beast was too strong, I always, always, always though, "But look at Minerva. She's still going. And she is going to win." She was the counter-argument to the loss and the hopelessness, every time that I was bogged down in the losses that loomed, or came and with the harshest force. She was, some days, the one ray of light that I held onto when I thought about the beast that is cancer.

She is fighting the beast. She is "evicting" it from taking up residence in her life. And she is winning.

Thanks, Minerva for giving me courage, for sharing compassion even in the midst of your own struggle, and for all in all being remarkable.

Sympathy Card Rant

2006-05-25T23:54:00.000-07:00

Ok. So... Gotta do a little bit on the topic of 'grief' in general here. Well... really more of a card vent. Bear with me, or read another post if you're just not into it.

I've had to buy several sympathy cards lately, and of course we got scores of them when Mom died.

Now don't get me wrong, I really loved and appreciated every one that we got, mostly because I knew the people who were sending them, and their love and care, and thought was the comfort. I get that that's the point. Some of them even had nice sentiments.

But, in general, I HATE them. I mean seriously--have you gone to Hallmark and read any? They are terrible! Especially the "Christiany" ones. It's like here--you've just been dealt a devestating blow, now how about a sermon?

The ones I hate most are the ones that try to tell you how to feel, "They aren't gone, they are merely away." "We can't understand God's plan, but He always has one." Oh PUHLEASE!!!!

When I'm buying one, I usually end up trying to find the most generic one I can with the least amount of sermonizing and then write my own note. Occasionally I'll find one that just, "fits" and that is always a relief, but it truly is a rare occasion.

I just don't get it. Why is our society so afraid to talk about the fact that death happens? I mean, statistically it's a certainty for all of us, right? And, unless a larger number than I'm aware of are holed up as hermits, people who die generally leave a few people behind. So why are we so afraid of saying words that are real instead of sermonizing or glossing over the pain--or worst of all trying to tell people how to feel their feelings?

In general, I think we'd be a healthier society if we got more comfortable with the idea of loss. We're so inundated with gimmee, gimmees, but we experience some form of loss many, many times--loss of friends, loss of jobs, loss of hometowns, loss of paradigms. Why can't we be real about that?

I think I might start my own line of sympathy cards. They will have messages like, "Grief sucks. I'm here for you." Or, "Call me if you need another casserole (or if you want me to wisk you away for some real food since I know you have tons of them)." Or, "Hurt in whatever way works." Or, "There is no normal now. Be gentle with yourself."

They might not be flowery, but they seem more real to me than sanitized cardboard sermons.

--End Rant--

A Mom Memory

2006-05-25T14:37:00.000-07:00

Some friends of ours just gave birth to a beautiful little guy, and I just scrolled through the photos on the hospital website to see his precious little wrinkly, newborn face.

That made me think of my Mama. When I was growing up, every couple of weeks our newspaper would run an ad for the maternity ward at one of the local hospitals. Mom would always yell, "Val! New babies, new babies!" and I'd rush over and we'd "Ooooo" and "Ahhh" over them.

Course neither of us were bashful. We both frequently made comments like, "That baby has a little Elvis lip." "Whoa.... That ones hairy!" and, "That kid is so ugly he's cute!"

Yeah. That's classic Mom. :) Loving little babies and telling it straight all in one moment.

Thoughts From Another Blogger

2006-05-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

I read a really great post written by a lady fighting Lung Cancer. It's about how to be supportive of a person dealing with cancer or any other difficult illness (I would add perhaps applicable to many challenging circumstances--I get similar comments just from being a Navy wife. How silly!).

Anyway. This was just a tremendous "Aha!" for me. It makes me re-evaluate my own interactions, and it says some of what I said in my previous post about helping when things are dire so much better than I said it.

Anyway. Enjoy!

Hope

2006-05-24T20:44:00.000-07:00

For the record, I do have it. I feel like this blog weighs several tons. It seems to be so full of loss. I wish that I could believe that it's because I am somehow fixating on loss, but in reality, I think that my every day life was just full of it this year.

However, it doesn't escape me that folks who are touched by cancer live by hope. And account after account of loss I guess just isn't 'hope-filled' (though even in the passing of people we love there is hope... and somehow a bit of joy even filters through now and again).

With that in mind, I want to try to make a concerted effort to inject more hope here. Sometime in the next week I want to post the first of what I want to call "Profiles of Hope." In short, this will be my chance to throw the spotlight on some remarkable people living day by day with the reality of cancer, and surviving.

On top of that, and despite my late-night ramblings, I want to assure readers again that hope is something I have. My ire is up when it comes to this beast and I am determined to fight it in my own way. I am a caregiver survivor. And I have been touched by cancer in ways too numerous to count. I won't let it have the last word.

The weather here today was very strange...When I woke up the sun was shining so brightly that I breathed in a sigh of relief. The light was here at last. But, it rained most of the day. All day, the rain and the sun seemed to be competing. The sun would dapple our yard with sunspots, and then the rain would come again. This evening we had both rain and sun and I tell you the truth--half of my yard was dry, and the other half was being rained on.

That's how I feel in my life right now. Sunshine is breaking through the sadness that has surrounded the events of my life. It seems that light and dark are battling it out.

I know who will win.

I know because I AM a light-bearer.

I will try to do a better job of living up to that title.

12:44

2006-05-24T00:47:00.000-07:00

It's 12:44 a.m. and here I am still awake. I've been struggling with insomnia lately... Maybe it's caffeine, though I didn't even get through half of my can of Coke tonight. I am more apt to suspect it's the events of the last couple of weeks, and the events of the last couple of years keeping me up. Those are the tapes that are playing in my head when I wish I was sleeping.

Tonight, to tire myself, I read through all the entries of this blog. I started it in February of 2005... Here it is May of 2006. The days, and months mean nothing to me. I move through them in chronology, but I'm not entirely sure what timeline the rest of me is on.

The calendar tells me my Mom has been dead for 10 months. I don't believe that. The pain of missing her feels fresh... and the thought of that much time being gone feels like another knife stabbing at the wound.

My husband came and went several times in the lifespan of this blog. My daughter was born, and is now walking and saying new words... She's a toddler now. I split time between Washington and Illinois. And time is split between, "When Mom was here." and "Now that she's not."

I Wish I could say that I want life to go back to what it was, but I don't know when I would go back to. It's been a whirlwind since I got married, but I wouldn't wish my marriage away. I wish I was out of the whirlwind, but I will never be completely out. I will always carry with me some of the pain of the last years.

I have healed some. I am reluctant to admit it because in admitting that, it feels as though I let go of my Mom.

It's also hard to heal though when new blows keep coming. Somehow, I think I still am.

I'm still walking. I am. I'm still raising a beautiful, happy little girl. I'm still being a Navy wife rolling with life's punches and my husband's crazy schedule. I'm investigating new leanings and directions that have come about as a result of this year. I still am. I still go on.

But at 12:51, I sure wish I could also be asleep.

Good News for a Change!

2006-05-23T20:34:00.000-07:00

My Uncle Marvin's surgery to address his prostate cancer was a success, and he is home recuperating. Looks like he is going to be a TWO TIME beast beater.

It was about time for some good news!!!

"Uncle Bob"

2006-05-17T20:20:00.000-07:00

The first time Carolyn danced was during a visit to our friends' Bob, and Jennie's house a few days before she was born. Bob and Jennie got out their fiddle and guitar, and suddenly there was rhythym in my womb.

The first time she heard live music outside of the womb, was when we visited Bob and Jennie's and they got their instruments out again. It was one of the first times in Washington that we felt really at home--a moment when we realized we had good, true friends.

Since then, Carolyn--all of us really--have had a softspot for her "Uncle Bob." Everytime they would come to visit, or we would go see them she zeroed in on him. Something about his smiling eyes and soft voice just appealed to her. At first we thought it was his handlebar mustache that caught her attention, but when he had chemo and lost all of his hair--including that mustache--she showed us otherwise.

In the last few weeks, despite Bob's deterioration, Carolyn has had this same connection. The last time we saw Bob, Carolyn locked eyes on him and gave him her biggest smile, and Bob, though disoriented and in and out of awareness saw her, broke into a huge grin, raised his hands and clapped. They had some special moments that day.

Bob died this afternoon at 4 p.m. He was a man with a gentle voice, a quick smile, and a musical laugh. He loved to play his fiddle and was the true compliment to his beautiful wife, Jennie. He had a strong faith--especially in these last few months. He was a good friend.

We miss him very much already.

Battle and Fighting Terminology

2006-05-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

The metaphorical terminology that surrounds cancer is vast. One image that seems to come up again and again is the idea of it being a battle or a war. People are said to fight valiantly against it. People are called fighters, warriors, soldiers.

When my Mom was sick, and then when she died I hated the phrase, "She lost her battle." It just sounded so defeating. It sounded like the cancer won and that just... shouldn't be. I didn't know what else to say though, so I found myself using those words.

Not long ago, a dear woman on my message board brought up that very phrase. She, too, had a problem with it. And she refused to say that anyone lost their battle. Instead, she viewed it as giving their life in the battle. She refused to believe that whether she lived or died with her cancer that it could be the victor. She felt that either way she would defeat her cancer--either by going on to life abundant and everlasting and being rid of it forever in her death passage, or by surviving it here. Either way, she would be the victor and it would be defeated once and for all. That remarkable woman gave her life in the fight shortly before I left for Washington. I miss her wisdom very much, but I am happy that she has won her battle.

But other terminology that plagues me right now, that stings me more than it should, is the idea of folks being 'fighters.' Of 'having spunk,' and therefor faring better.

My Mother was the fightingest woman that I've ever known. She was the spunkiest, take no prisoners, tell 'em to F*** off kind of woman that you've ever seen. She was to me the embodiment of feminine strength. I felt that this would be one of her finest assets in her fight against Lung Cancer.

But, my mother's battle with cancer was a very short one. She gave her life in the battle only 8 months and 1 day after her diagnosis. Her decline was also very rapid. She didn't linger and linger and linger. She lost her awareness quickly. We weren't able to have those special meaningful conversations I think we'd all envisioned after we signed on the dotted line for hospice. What do I do with the 'fighter' terminology in her case? Am I to believe that my Mom was less of a fighter than others because she couldn't hold on longer? Did the beast just come on too fast and too furious--with strategy that would outsmart even the brightest and strongest warrior?

The thought that comforts me is this: In a war, I believe the man who gives his life on the first day of the battle is every bit as valiant, every bit as much a warrior as the man who fights the entire conflict and perishes on the last day. I have to believe that is true.

But still, sometimes the words haunt me...

And Then....

2006-05-15T12:18:00.000-07:00

And then there are the times that you don't know what the heck to do to help....

And you don't know if your help is really helping or hurting.

See... I don't know much afterall. I think my last post still has some helpful nuggets in it, but even with having gleaned those thoughts I'm at a loss at how to support my friends now... and I'm wondering if the things that I *have* done have really been a help.

I pray that they have.

My Thoughts on Supporting Families When Time is Short Due to Cancer

2006-05-13T16:18:00.000-07:00

After going through the "last days" stuff both as a primary family member/caregiver, and now as a friend wanting to offer as much support as possible to our friends now experiencing the bittersweet time of good-bye, I want to offer my thoughts on "how to help."

I want to say that I don't know everything. I've bumbled and fumbled on both sides of things. But I remember how I felt as a daughter watching her Mom slip away and I know what I've seen as a friend offering support and I have some general thoughts on how to really be of help.

I think a lot of this probably applies to all stages of cancer, but it is the journey of the last stages that has caused me to do this thinking and writing.

First of all--The words, "Let me know if you need anything," are truly some of the most empty words on the planet... Yes, I've used them. They are what fly out of your mouth because you really do WANT to help. The sticking point is that you have to put feet and hands to the words. Put a little action behind it. People who are dealing with terminal illness themselves or as a family member don't have the energy to call when there is a need. It's difficult to rally your mental capacities to a point when you can put things together enough to say, "Such and such said they'd help... I'll call them."

So instead of saying, "Let me know if you need anything," use a little common sense and figure out what might be needed. Bring over food. Our friends Sarah and Larry brought food at least once a week when my Mom was ill. Every week we looked forward to it. We knew that there would be non-cancer centered conversation, good food, friendship, something to laugh about, and a lot of hugs the nights that they came. It was wonderful.

Offer to clean--The last thing you want to do when your loved one is sick and time is limited is clean your freaking house. Laundry is a plague. Dishes are an abomination. They stand in the way of time together and they aren't very much fun on a good day.

At the same time, if the person you are supporting would prefer you didn't do those things, be sensitive to that too. Some people need to stay busy--need to clean, need to cook, need to feel like they are doing something to feel sane in the situation. Offering is a good thing, and make sure you really mean it. But if it becomes clear that this is something that isn't wanted, it might be best to back off.

Be a physical presence--the whole way through as much as possible. Don't be afraid to call. Don't be afraid to visit, as long as everyone indicates it would be welcomed and beneficial. Nothing helps more than a hug and a shoulder to cry on.

Don't wait until the 'last days' to check in and visit. I know, I know... You'll feel bad because you missed your chance and you have to take this one last time to see that person and say what needs said--NEWSFLASH--THE FAMILY needs that time. If you can be there to be of a support and it is WELCOMED by the family, then be there... but in doing so facilitate time for the family to be alone to say what THEY need to say. THE FAMILY AND THE SICK PERSON are the ones who are important, NOT YOU.

To add to that, I don't think there is anything quite as offensive to me as people who don't seem to care until the drama is at it's height. Cancer sucks all the way through. Having a loved one suffering with cancer sucks all the way through. It might not play like a T.V. drama to go over after the initial diagnosis and during treatment, and to be supportive when things are normaler and even a little bit cancer-boring, but you're needed then too. If you don't show up then, you prove your lack of salt as a friend. Then there's nothing but motives to question. And from where I sat as a family member, that hurt. A lot.

That said, sometimes it is helpful to have a hand to hold as you sit at "the watch." Sometimes what you need is a person to sit with you and your family member and be quiet, to hug you when you break down and realize that your family member can't hug you back anymore, and won't ever again. Again, follow the lead of the ones you are supporting.

This is something that is important in all parts of a journey with cancer, whatever the outcome: Don't just fixate on the cancer, or the prognosis. And at the same time allow people to express where they are without guilting them. This is a "follow their lead" area. Allow for venting about how much it sucks, or excitement about hair growing back after chemo. Do so by making room for them to talk about it. Sometimes a person needs to talk about their honest raw feelings about what is happening to them because of cancer. And sometimes, they need a break from that and want to talk about the latest Sale at Target and nothing more pressing. There is a balance that can be found between talking about things that aren't depressing and/or cancer related and allowing a person to talk about where they are. Be sensitive enough to find it. Usually it comes down to following the lead of the person with whom you are speaking.

Know when to butt out. I suck at this sometimes. I do. I want to help so badly and I feel so much better when I am physically doing something to support people I love that I can be overbearing and TOO present. But this one really is key. Ask--"Do you want people here? Is this a help to you?" And if you get the sense that company is overwhelming for the person who is sick or for their family get the hell out.

I guess what it comes down to is this--Realize that the time that a terminally ill person has left is precious. What is happening to them is all about them, and all about their family. Anything that you can do to maximize and enrich the time that person has with those closest to them is a help. Anything that takes away from that is not a help. It is, to be quite blunt, a burden. Above all, follow the lead of the individuals whom you are supporting.

So that's the Val primer. I don't claim to know it all... but this is what I've felt from the seats that I've had in loving people dealing with this disease.

Keep Praying for Bob

2006-05-11T17:03:00.000-07:00

Please keep praying for my friend Bob. He has been moved to a nursing home. This makes me very sad.

Life Today...

2006-05-11T17:02:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking the last few days about how I feel like a totally different person than I was three years ago, or five years ago, or one year ago. I am a new person. I am a Mom now. I am a girl missing her Mom now.

The last two years have taken me to the heights of joys I'd never known and to the depths of griefs I'd never imagined. I've learned to feel suffering. I learned to watch suffering. And now I enter even further into the suffering of others.

A close friend of ours is nearing the end of his battle with cancer. He is about to give his life in the fight. I stagger at this--at seeing it again, at feeling it again, at knowing that people that I love are having to feel the devestation of the beast that is cancer.

I am learning here. I have learned here and from all that has come to me in these whirlwind months. But I can't articulate the lesson. I can't tell you how I'm different. I can't tell you who this new person is. I'm not sure I recognize her. I have to get to know her a little better.

All I know is I step forward into life each day a different person. I'm trying to assimilate the happenings of the last two years into who I am now. I'm trying to learn the steps of a new dance. It's scary, and hard, and leaves me quiet.

But I will continue the journey and I will try to share the story of it as much as I can. Because there is power in the telling of our stories.

Please pray for my friend Bob, as he finishes this journey and begins a new one. Pray for his wife Jennie and their family.

And pray for me as I make sense of who I am now and as I assimilate all that has been into who I am now and what now is.

Today

2006-04-29T16:27:00.000-07:00

When we went over to our friends' house today, he was doing a bit better. He is the one we are most worried about at present. I don't have staging info on my uncle etc, but it sounds like he will be able to fight pretty solidly. It's our friend and the road that he and his wife are walking that makes my heart weep.

Today though, was a little better for him. And I'm glad. I hope he has some rally left in him.

I still do hope. I still do have it. I have to.

MAKE IT STOP!!!

2006-04-28T21:02:00.000-07:00

My uncle was diagnosed with prostate cancer. The mean kind. I found out yesterday. He's already beaten Non-hodgkins Lymphoma. Now this?

And.... I fear that our dear, dear friend here in WA is near the end of his battle.

I don't feel strong enough to do this anymore. I want to support him and his wife, and I am doing the best I can to do so, but it hurts so badly. I just see all the pain before... I see faces and wonder in disbelief if another vibrant, giving, beautiful, unique life is about to gone from this earth again.

This isn't fair. This is unreal. This has to stop.

I can't do it anymore. I know that's selfish. It's happening to all these other people.

I don't want it for them either. Leave the people that we love alone!!!!

In regards to my last post

2006-04-24T08:04:00.000-07:00

I said, "Please believe you can, and beat it." I want to go on the record as saying I do NOT mean that "attitude is everything" and "if you just have a positive attitude, you can beat cancer." That's bunk. That's hogwash. That's a guilt-addicted societies subtle way of placing blame on people battling a deadly disease. I apologize for my poorly chosen words.

What I DO mean is this: Seeing the losses I've seen devestates me. It makes me want to lose hope--in the beatability of cancer, in medical advances, sometimes (only sometimes) in the goodness of life. I can't imagine how it would be to be the one with the diagnosis of cancer and witnessing losses.

There is hope... there must be. And each person that continues to survive in the war against this beast is a beacon to me and to others that hope is still alive. For this, I thank you.

It doesn't end.

2006-04-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

We're back in WA. I'm back online. I haven't posted here because I haven't known what to say. Cancer has... ravaged more lives in just the few weeks we've been here. My grief has taken on even more shades. I'm trying to relearn how to live in my own house with my husband. Life is good, and hard, and sad, and tiring.

I was very saddened and shocked to see that Amanda of . it's not just an astrological sign anymore
lost her husband. I just can't even imagine...

Soon after my Dad returned he called to tell me that our dear family friend, Larry, had been diagnosed with a Stage IV cancer of some type. They were still working to identify the primary. It was determined that he had kidney cancer and surgery was an option so that was scheduled for Good Friday.

I will spare you all the details, but Larry died in surgery. That was a blow to me and to many. Larry and his wife, Sarah were our most steadfast friends during Mom's illness. They have been steadfast friends of our whole family for a very long time. It's so unfair. All of this unfolded in less than a month.

This disease is diabolical. I KNOW There are survivors--those of you out there who are reading this. I NEED YOU to beat this. Please believe that you can and do it.

For the first time ever I understand why we, as Christians, say, "Come, Lord Jesus." The hurt, the wrongness, the destruction, the unimaginable unfairness must end. And that is the only way I believe that it will.

FYI

2006-03-01T19:03:00.000-08:00

Friday kidlet and me, along with "Pa-pa"--caravanning in his mini-van are going to again cross the western 2/3s of the country to go HOME. Home is such a sweet word. In less than a couple of weeks we'll be back in my husband's arms again, unpacking, and arranging our new house.

If you are one who prays, please pray for us. The journey is long and we're all weary.... And reunions are joyful, but anxiety-laden.

When we have internet access again (please God, let it be high-speed), I'll be back.

What a Year...

2006-02-22T20:48:00.000-08:00

A year ago my Gramma died....

It's just been such a hellish year. It really has. And that day a year ago was tremendously terrible... I was 39 weeks pregnant... knew Gramma was going to die that day... not sure whether to drive to Idaho or not... dealing with the Navy and the Red Cross so husband and I could leave to go to her...Mom was sick, and I knew that a lot of responsibility would fall on her and Dad for the funeral back in Illinois.... It was a terrible day.

I miss my Gramma. I've missed her at strange times especially lately. I missed her on my birthday when the phone didn't ring. I missed her on Valentine's Day when there was no card in the mail from her. I hate that she just missed being here for Carolyn's birthday by 2 weeks.

And then Mom's illness... and watching her suffer through days that just got worse and worse. So many people say, "Good days and Bad days" in reference to living with cancer. And indeed, I would say that when I had my public face on about Mom. But really her days just got worse and worse.

And then she was gone.

Things have been hurting a lot lately. Everything has really. I think the stress of the last year has just snowballed and is finally catching up to me--or maybe the last eighteen months, or two years.... I don't even know when this block of difficulty all started...

I'm just very tired.... I'm missing my Mom and my Grandparents. I feel like a huge part of my history has just been ripped away. Both of Mom's parents, and then Mom. What a gaping hole is left in my life... What tremendous people Carolyn will never know. And some days I don't know if I'm up to the task of living in a way that will give her a glimpse of their greatness...

But I will try.

I'm ready for the 'hard stuff' to end. I hope we have some rest time soon.

I Want to Write...

2006-02-14T19:01:00.000-08:00

I know I'm not writing here much. I want to write here... but the words just aren't coming.

I would like to write about how I think Lung Cancer awareness should be as much of a women's issue as breast cancer awareness, and cervical cancer awareness, and ovarian cancer awareness.... Because it's lung cancer that is the number one cancer killer of women... And women are 1.5 times more likely to be diagnosed with it. (More here: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/medicalnews.php?newsid=37271) (Although I hate that ANY WOMAN (or man for that matter) should have do deal with ANY FORM of cancer).

I want to write about a friend of mine on my LC board who finds herself nearing the end of her battle and how startlingly that is plunging me into my own grief.

I want to write about how I watched a video tonight of my grandparent's 70th wedding anniversary... about the gaping hole I felt as I saw what a huge portion of my life is now just missing... and about how I rewound the tape three times just to see my Mom laugh.

I want to write about 'battle terminology' and my struggles with it.

I want to write about the fellowship of suffering that haunts me more and more each day.

I'd like to write about all that and more... and some of it I will write eventually.

But tonight is not that night.... my heart and spirit are weary and no words but these will come.

Addendum to previous post....

2006-02-03T19:13:00.000-08:00

Thinking further about that last post.

Can you imagine how many screening tests I should legitimately have done with a history like that???

I mean... I could probably spend weeks just getting screenings done every year--not to downplay the importance of doing so.

I oughta have my skin inspected, various crevices and orifices probed and scraped, blood drawn, lumps palpated, torso x-rayed, and boobs mashed.

This could get exhausting!

No Longer Invincible

2006-02-03T18:53:00.000-08:00

So the thing about having a close family member battle cancer is that suddenly you realize that you're "It won't happen to us" mindset is shattered.

I am suddenly extremely aware of the fact that any moment anyone I love could be diagnosed. And the myriads of friends and family that have had new developments in their lives as a result of cancer only reinforces that.

And then there's me.... It could happen to me too.

I've had days when I wanted to call the doctor and say--so... How about a CT Scan just for fun?

Every little symptom, every bump, every lump... leads to worry and wondering.

I'm sure that my doctors will think I am a crazy hypochondriac from here on out, if they didn't already. "No Mrs. Roseberry I really don't think you're hangnail is reason enough to do a PET scan."

My Mom was one of seven kids. Of those seven 4 have had some type of cancer--the kinds are as many and varied as are the geographic regions in which the siblings chose to live.

Mom had at least two uncles who suffered with Lung Cancer.

My grandfather died of colon cancer.

(With genes like that it's hard not to think, "It ain't looking good, honey!")

I think of my husband and wonder what I would do if he were diagnosed.

I see St. Jude commercials on t.v. with beautiful bald-headed, big eyed children and a shiver of fear comes over me when I think of Carolyn.

I know now, without a doubt this CAN happen to me.

And it terrifies me.

It's not just cancer either. Car accidents, heart attacks, strike by random beer truck--it occurs to me that all of these could become a reality in my world. And I never forget that my husband is away doing a dangerous job. The somebody else that these things happen to in stories and on the news... could someday be me. Could today be me.

Sometimes when I think of the five day cross country trip I'm facing next month and all the things that could go wrong I can hardly breathe.

It's really terrifying sometimes. Enough to keep me awake at night for decades to come.

But... if I look only at those fears I get nowhere. I have to look past them. I have to see what it means that I'm not immune from having terrible things happen.

I have to see that I can't take time with my family for granted. I have to say I love you now. I have to fully taste my hot fudge sundae (in moderation). I have to go sledding with Carolyn and squeal in delight at the cold feel of snow on my face.

And I better watch out for beer trucks.

Turns out there's a flip side to fear.

I HATE cancer...

2006-01-23T18:43:00.000-08:00

It's a very bad day.

I called my dear friend, Jennie, today. I've been very worried about her and her husband. Bob has pancreatic cancer. When we left Washington, he was doing remarkably well. Still working. Still strong. Still just being Bob.

Something in the last few weeks has just gone drastically wrong, and now he can't keep down food... Things sounded terribly bad when I talked to Jenn, today, and Jennie sounded beside herself with the loneliness and pressure of it all.

And here I am in Illinois. It seems like I'm always in the wrong place. If only I could be there to fix them dinners, or to just go sit with Bob, or to go over and hug Jennie on the bad days.

I keep thinking of the photos of Carolyn that we have... Pictures of her with Mom, Pictures of her with Grandpa Roseberry. We have pictures of her with Bob too.... I am really hoping that Bob will rally--for his sake, and Jennie's of course, but I keep thinking that I don't want any more pictures in our collection of those photos where Carolyn is being held by people that we love who can't be with us anymore.

Then I logged onto the LC Message board, and we lost another of our most vibrant, beautiful, amazingly strong members... And the wife of one of our caregiver members as well. I keep going back to read Leslie's posts. She was the champion of the 'survivor' forum. She was always posting little things about survivorship--about each day being a victory. And she always celebrated other people's anniversaries in the fight against their cancer. And now she's gone.

I am just so ANGRY at what this does to people. I'm so ANGRY at the every day worry and fear that I have now--that so many people have. I'm so angry at the pain and devestation and depression that my friends and family who've been diagnosed have had to endure. I'm so angry about the holes in the lives of caregivers who've lost the one they cared for. I'm so angry that my Mom isn't here to see Carolyn trying to walk, and to talk to on the nights that I miss Andy, and to complain about how lousy the last season of West Wing has been. I'm SOOO ANGRY.

I wish I knew how to channel that anger. I wish I knew of a good place to focus it. I wish I could focus it directly AT CANCER and that somehow could help cause it to be eradicated.

And aside from the anger, tonight I feel a profound sense of homesickness. I'm homesick for the place beyond this life--the place with no cancer, or sickness, or pain, or tears. Larry Crabb says we have to feel the full disappointment of this life to be fully invested in the hope that comes in the next place. I am certainly feeling it. We were made to be eternal... This transient stuff sucks.

Some News and a "For Amanda"

2006-01-20T21:39:00.000-08:00

First of all, I was given an assignment by

Amanda

... and I wanted to share that it was completed... just pre-birthday.

This past weekend, a friend and I went to see Brennan Manning, one of my VERY FAVORITE author's, speak in a town near here. I've ALWAYS wanted to hear Brennan speak and I was so excited to see that he would be within an hour's drive. My Dad and his friend were kind enough to watch the kidlet, and my friend's husband took her kiddos, and we dashed off for the evening. And it was WONDERFUL. If you ever need to know that God really likes you, and Brennan is speaking near you--GO SEE HIM (or else pick up one of his books!). He was as quiet and unassuming in appearance as I imagined, but much more forceful and dramatic of a speaker than I thought he would be. I came away feeling like I could be ok with people again... And over all just feeling refreshed, and happy, and challenged.

I also had a Mom moment--singing "Amazing Grace" at the end (which at first I thought was going to be kind of cheesy), I couldn't hold back the tears. I sang that to Mom quite a bit her last few days and all I could see was that room... Then thinking about it, I realized that Mom never thought she was 'good enough' for God. I would share what I believe about grace with her and she would shake her head and say, "I still don't think I'll make the cut.' Before she died, she was at peace with God stuff, but I still don't think she felt she was 'good enough.' The last few days I've just smiled knowing that now she knows fully... She is in the fullness of glory with Abba... and she knows that she never needed to be 'good enough.' It was enough to simply be His.

I've also gotten out a bit this week for fun things. So... Do I pass, Amanda? ;)

Now for the news:

The time is approaching when my husband will be home. I still speak in terms of month(s) plurral. But things are closing in. And best of all, as of today, we officially have a house to move into when we head back to the Northwest! I haven't missed base a bit, but I miss having 'our home.' I miss our friends. I miss my mountains, and my ocean... And I miss my life being MY LIFE.

The light at the end of the tunnel keeps getting brighter bit by bit by bit.

Happy Birthday...

2006-01-18T20:55:00.000-08:00

I'm 25 today. I thought... that the birthday deal wouldn't be all that bad regarding the Mom-factor. It's not like Christmas and all sentimentalized. I'm a big girl now so birthdays aren't that big of a deal.

But I missed Mom in all of these little ways... Dad signed her name to my birthday card... but there was this hole nonetheless. I tried not to think about her making me a favorite meal, or the kind of gift she would give me... But other things kept cropping up. Things she said that I can't remember anymore. Looks she gave people.

and to my suprise, I also very much missed Grandma. Grandma always, always, ALWAYS called for my birthday. I just kept wanting the phone to ring with her at the other end.

Last night I put together a photo album of pictures of Mom. When Dad got home I showed him. He cried, and left the house. It's the first time I've seen him cry in a long time. Maybe since right after Mom died. I felt just terrible.... I didn't want to hurt him. It was a very bad thing.

Also, I never thought about the fact that birthdays are almost as much about the Mom. All I did was get born that day 25 years ago. It was Mom who suffered through 32 hours of labor to get me here. I just wish I could share this day with her.

Mom's gone. Grandma's gone. And husband is out. I did try to have a good day anyway... I really did. And I did smile some. And laugh some. And I thoroughly enjoyed the peanut butter pie I was given today (just one piece, I promise).

But for parts of today, I couldn't help but think, "Happy frickin birthday."

That said, I'm 25. And this last year has done more to make me than any other before. Mom isn't here, Gram isn't here... and a list of so many other aren't either. And I want to live in a way to honor them all for every year that I'm able to have a birthday.

I'm trying, guys.

I Don't Know What To Do Here...

2006-01-18T20:49:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what to do with this blog now. I started it to share my journey in dealing with my Mom's cancer. Mom is gone now. So I've sort of used it as a place to process through my thoughts about grief.

But I've found all these wonderful people in this community that isn't afraid to say real things about cancer...

I don't want this to NOT be a place to discuss cancer. I still have a good bit to say about it... but at the end of the day the thoughts that yell to be written are more about grief.

Because of these friends I've found, and the original intent of the sight, I don't want to discourage anybody. I feel like when I post I'm just a dreary reminder that sometimes people die from cancer. I want to be an encouragement. I want to give people hope.

I've thought of splitting into another blog--to make this the 'cancer place' and someplace else a 'grief place.' But that doesn't feel right either.

So I don't know what to do.

For now I'm still here... and I'll just post what comes.

Taking Down the Tree

2006-01-06T20:27:00.000-08:00

I took down the Christmas Tree today, and I can't entirely explain why.... but it felt like I was burying Mom all over again. I guess it was maybe because it was all of HER ornaments I was taking down. And each one I touched brought back a memory--of Christmases when I was little, or putting up the tree with Mom (that was always OUR thing to do)... There was the ornament with the photo of the house that Mom grew up in that she cherished, and the crystal egg ornament that she loved so much... all the little wooden ornaments that we've hung since I was little.... Each one I took down, and put away and couldn't look at again. And it just made me feel like I was losing her all over.

It's been a tough couple of days inside my head. Outside of it, I'm doing very well, but inside different things are hitting pretty hard. Last night, I lay in bed for a long time thinking about Mom's last few days--little things about that time... Moments that she looked at Daddy and I could tell he was still her sweetheart, and moments when she called me by my aunt's name instead of mine... I thought of all the music I put in and listened to with her after the confusion had taken over and she wasn't able to verbalize anymore. I was just so hoping that the HER part of her still heard. I thought of her hands... and holding them, and the way her fingernails always looked... Just so many difficult things to remember. And they all sting just as much.

The thing is... I DO think I'm 'doing better.' But I don't really 'feel' better. All the grief I feel is every bit as bitter and intense as it was in the beginning and as it began to sink in. It's just... I don't live in it as constantly. It's always there... but I'm not always looking at it.

The Boards

2006-01-02T19:18:00.000-08:00

For some time, I have been praying so hard for two of my favorite people over at the LCSC boards. (I will call them B and P) And B died yesterday. B was a valiant warrior... all the way through his struggle with cancer. He fought for every last moment of life with his family, every last drop of life, every last dripping of grace in this world. The love that P and B shared was amazing... simply amazing. It was (and indeed is) so strong that the words P types on the screen feel tangibly soaked with their love for one another. I simply ache for my friend P.

Another LCSC friend of mine, has found herself standing in shoes that are all too familiar to me. She has just had a little baby girl... and her Mom has just been referred to hospice.

The hurting and the ache that this disease causes to so many people is just too much to bear some days. I hate it. I wish by simply setting my being against it, I could somehow help to eradicate it...

For right now, I just hurt with and for my friends.

Emotions Epiphany

2006-01-02T18:38:00.000-08:00

I was chatting with my friend, Ronjour, the other night... and talking about one of my latest discoveries about grief (might blog about that later). But he said something that really struck me.

"...but if we saw how emotions come from God, maybe we'd reach a depth in our
emotions, and maybe more so, we'd reach a depth in our intamacy with God."

It kind of smacked me between the eyes a bit. I blinked and said.... "Hmmm... I think there's something to that."

You see, despite the fact that I can write about my emotions here, I'm really pretty sucky at actually letting myself feel them. I cerebralize most things. The beginning of the feeling comes--enough so that I can verbalize it and think about it... but the experience of that feeling may never fully happen.

I think one of the things about dealing with cancer, and dealing with grief is that there are so many huge things to feel your way through. There are emotions that don't make any sense... there are emotions that make you feel guilty and terrible. There are emotions that are so big that it's scary to even start down the road of feeling them for the fear that you will be swept away in torrents.

I somehow feel, even though I know it to be a lie, that I have to be doing 'ok' for myself to be acceptable to anyone... God, friends, family. In addition, I fear not being able to fully function if I give myself over to these feelings that are so powerful. I'm doing a lot of juggling at present... And I'm afraid I'll drop all my balls if I pause for emoting purposes. And admittedly, I'm unsure of what may be on the other side. I'm afraid I'll get stuck.

Anyway, Ronjour's wisdom makes me reconsider my putting off and/or stuffing my emotions.
I realize that I am cheating myself by not allowing myself to be fully in my them. I'm cheating myself from really stepping into the fullness of me, and the fullness of trusting God, and I am cheating myself from more deeply coming to know the maker of my feelings, the author of the very concept of emotions--who is Himself no stranger to immense highs, and deep lows.

That being the case, I think I might be a while in really learning how to give myself over to what I'm feeling in full abandon and trust that I will come through on the other side unscathed--and trust as well that those who may witness this will not feel I have burdened them. I'm still looking for my safe place. I'm hoping that one of those safe places will come back on a boat this spring. I'm learning though. I'm getting there. Epiphanies are good. But I'm still on the journey.

Grandma is ok.

2005-12-30T19:27:00.000-08:00

Andy's Grandma is ok. She's out of the hospital, and it was a hiatal hernia rather than the scarier options that we thought we were dealing with. She is feeling much better. I am grateful.

New Year

2005-12-30T18:54:00.000-08:00

If you've read any of the last few blogs, you know that I'm not feeling particularly shiny or happy as of late. Not that I'm down and out. I just feel a little beat up is all, and I'm sure I'll bounce back shortly.

I've been thinking though about the New Year. In my gloom-glut mood, my thoughts revolved mainly around just longing for tomorrow to be over with. I want a new year... This one has frankly been terrible. I want a clean slate. I'm afraid of what will show up on said clean slate at times... because Lord knows I didn't expect the pile of crud on this year's. So... I'm cautiously excited about this new year concept.

On top of that, the mere thought of Andy coming home this year... in the beginning part rather than the end, is enough to make me smile. The idea of his return is becoming more real. It's an odd feeling to have moments of thinking, "Oh yeah! my husband really is real! And in a couple of months I'll remember what his face looks like and be able to touch him!"

So in general, I've been having some, "Light at the end of the tunnel" feelings. In fact, I wrote about that to Andy, and said,

"This morning, it feels like there's a light at the end of the tunnel... I'm just not sure what's on the other side of it. It's funny. They don't tell you that about the said proverbial tunnel. It's supposed to be joy and relief when you see that light and finally come to the other side. What they don't tell you is that it can be scary as hell to step into the light of day, look life square in the eye, and say, 'Ok. What next?'"

So I have these feelings of wanting to flush 2005 down the toilet and run headlong into 2006. With a healthy dose of anxiety mixed in there as well.

And then I talked to my dear friend Kasey tonight. And she made me rethink my whole approach. She is battling lung cancer herself, and she said that every morning that she wakes up beside her husband is like a Happy New Year. They don't need a Dec. 31.

I want to get there. To embracing each new day as a gift. I've gotten closer this year. My priorities are straighter than they've ever been before. But I want to execute the living of life a little better. I think of what Kasey said and part of me says, "But my husband is on the other side of the world." I have to remember that he is still WITH ME. And besides, waking up with Carolyn or Dad, or the even just the cat in my life... That is something. I shouldn't gloss over it. I shouldn't ignore it. I need to get back to my gratefulness.

So I do want to celebrate the dawn of 2006 on Sunday, but I also want to celebrate the dawn of day 2 of 2006, and day 3, and day 4.... I want to be cognizant of the fact that even though things hurt.... and even though sometimes I feel like a 2000 lb. lead weight trying to drag through the day that there are gifts to look at. There is work to do. There are folks to love.

Happy New Year, all. Every day.

Unbelievable.

2005-12-29T18:44:00.000-08:00

I am SO DONE.

Andy's sister-in-law calls me today. Just chats in general for a while and then asks if I'd heard about Andy's Grandma--his Mom's Mom this time. No? Oh...

She's in the hospital. They called 911 last night and rushed her there because she was having chest pains.

This morning the thought was that it was simply angina. This afternoon it seemed there was more to it than that. Because she's in a podunk little town hospital they can't run tests until tomorrow. The possibilities today were heart attack, pulmonary embolism, or really bizarre indigestion. I'm hoping for the indigestion, but my sister-in-law feels that it's very unlikely.

I'm really praying this all... turns a corner, and Grandma W. is ok. Not only do I hate that Grandma is going through this, but I don't know if I can take anymore. This, by the way, is the third Thursday in a row that someone affiliated with our family has had a chest pain related incident. Three weeks ago it as Andy's grandpa. The day before his funeral--last Thursday, my sister-in-law's father had a heart attack as well, and now this.

On top of that, I called my own Gramma today and found that she wasn't doing well at all. There's nothing specific wrong with her, but she sounded worse than I've heard her in quite some time, and my aunt who is visiting was very worried.

I'm ready to put out an all points bulletin to all of my friends and family to beware.

And the truth is, I'm starting to feel rather pissed off about it all. I really am.

Not so much just because of what's happening in our family, but because of suffering and pain I see so many places right now. Hospice has been called in for several of my close friends on my lung cancer message board. I just keep reading of all of this sickness and pain and imminent death, and I look at what our family has been through this year: The loss of my Grandma W. in February, the loss of my mother, the loss of Grandpa Roseberry... it all just seems so unfair, and I want to shake life by the shoulders an demand an answer. I'm not afraid to be angry with God about things, but I don't want to be angry at him over this. It seems easier to just keep my anger aimed at a vague entity called, "Sucky parts of life."

I'm to the point of just waking up in the morning and saying, "What's next? Bring it on!" But I'm scared of what the answer will be.

I just don't want to do this anymore. I'm done. Enough is enough. This has got to end.

Weary

2005-12-27T19:33:00.000-08:00

I'm so tired. I'm tired in ways I don't remember being tired before.

I can't put together anything cohesive about the last week and a half except that essentially it's just sucked. Today was an ok day. Yesterday was an ok day. But things here have been hard.

The doctor's were right and Grandpa is gone. Andy couldn't come home. There were multiple crises and fiascos. I've covered another 1200 miles on the road with my daughter (luckily I didn't have to drive for most of it--God bless my sister-in-law and her family). And we were gone and in limbo for over a week. I missed being with my Dad when I felt we really needed to be together.

It's my first Chistmas without Mom or Gramma. My husband is on the other side of the world. Life just seems so.... wrong right now.

The light in the darkness that we celebrate at Christmas is still shining. Little slivers of light can't help but shimmer through to me. They buoy me and give me hope.

But even so, I am weary.

Don't Know what to Feel

2005-12-16T21:33:00.000-08:00

We leave tomorrow AM for Kansas to go be with Grandpa R. I've made the Red Cross call to my husband. The doctor's report attached to his red cross message reads that Grandpa is in end stages of heart failure, has days to weeks left, and that 'the servicemember's presence is requested.' Obviously things aren't looking good.

I don't know how to feel about any of it. I feel a deep sense of weariness, and a dread at what has become a familiar routine--find out that a family member is gravely ill, stop all normal life, travel many miles, say good-bye. This is the third time in one year.

I'm trying to remember that this isn't about me. This is about Grandpa, and more about Andy's family than me. And yet, this is a loss of my own as well. Grandpa Roseberry has been one of my favorite people since he informed the family that "He had TWO sons getting married in June and he would be attending BOTH weddings" after we somewhat unexpectedly moved up our wedding to two weeks after Andy's brothers to allow for us to have extra time before our first military-induced separation. He is a special man. I don't want to lose him either.

I also feel so helpless and sad and defeated for my husband, who feels so helpless and sad and defeated at all that is going on so far away. This is the first time in all of the mess we've been through that I've heard traces of low-depression in his voice. How he manages to continue doing his job is beyond me. I worry for him. And it is SO HARD to support him in the way he needs to be supported by his wife with him an entire world away, and with only 30 minute phone conversations when he is able to break away. What do you say?

On top of that, I feel anxious about what happens once the Red Cross message reaches him. Will they send him home? Can we afford a last-minute plane ticket from Anywhere, Middle East to Podunk Kansas Airport? Who will pick him up?

I feel guilty because I've wanted to see him so badly. Sometimes I've wished for him to just come home. What if... in some cosmic cruel joke this is the way the universe is answering that wish. I want to see him, but NOT UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES.

And I do feel angry that the hits just keep coming. We've had so many losses this year. So many losses since we've gotten married. So much upheaval and change and adjustment. I know life isn't fair, I know we have much to be grateful for, but isn't enough enough?

So much to think about, so much to do. I got a good bit of packing done tonight, but there will be a lot of last minute to do. And then there's putting my poor baby through another terribly long drive to thrust her into a situation full of so much emotion and stress that she won't understand. My little girl has seen more suffering, and sadness in her 9 months of life than many people see in one decade. I know I'm supposed to assume that she's 'oblivious' but I also know that it's hard on her.

And... It seems like... more and more of her past... her roots... the people who made us, who impacted us... are slipping away. And that seems so unfair. She lost her Daddy's Daddy and both of my grandparents before she was born, then my Mom, and now... well... I'm still praying for a miracle, I guess. I can't go too far into that statement.

So... Things are hard here. And I guess I just needed to write it out.

IStop World, I Want to Get Off

2005-12-15T20:28:00.000-08:00

Ok... So....

Little Pity Party. Little Stress Vent. Here I go.

When do we get a break? Since we've been married it's been one major life transition after another, one crisis after another, one death after another, one difficulty after another.

Now, Andy's Grandfather has had a heart attack. Things sound pretty dire. He has two arteries that are 75% blocked. He was advised that surgery would be very risky because of his age and the risk of a stroke. They have opted not to do surgery.

He is on Lasix to combat congestive heart failure, blood thinners, to prevent clots resulting in another attack or stroke, and morphine to relax his heart and ease his pain.

When I spoke with Gramma and her daughter on the phone and they said, "they're keeping him comfortable" the worst thoughts leapt into my mind. I've heard those words before.

I'm grateful that there is a chance that he will recover somewhat and be able to go home to hopefully be the feisty grandpa that we all love...

But this all depends on his progress in the next day or two.

As it stands, I am gathering information to make the official red cross call to my husband, should it be needed.

I am thinking about what I will need to do to get C and I to Kansas quickly should it be needed.

And I am, quite frankly, feeling pretty weary, and pretty pissed off.

If I do have to make a Red Cross call, it will be my third since the beginning of work-ups and deployment. The third for our first deployment.

If the worst happens, it will be the 4th time the worst has happened to a close family member of mine or DH's in the 2 years that we've been married.

DH feels so helpless being so far away with no way to get here... or to be connected to what is happening.

I feel so helpless knowing he hurts so.

I feel so sad for Grandpa.

I am trying to be hopeful, but... It's hard.

I am trying to be prepared, but don't want to douse my hope.

I am angry that we never get a breather.

I am trying to be mindful of all that we have to be grateful for.

I am trying to ask, "Why not us?" instead of, "Why us?"

I am trying not to be afraid of the question, "When will it stop being people close enough to us that it bores a hole into our souls, but not into our immediate family unit... and will it soon start being us?" Perhaps that seems a leap, but as I have said before... In my attempts to remember, "It could be worse..." all I can think of is, "What if it worse happens?"

We don't just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. We're seriously dodging shoes left and right, it seems.

But... Well. We still have a lot.

And when I put it in the terms of, "Gee, one heck of a lot has happened in our two years of marriage," I'm just glad God saw fit to put us together as helpmates one to the other, before we took on these trials. We could have both been going int alone, but we're doing it hand in hand (even from a world apart) and as a family. And THAT is somtehing I am most grateful for.

Happy Memory

2005-12-09T21:20:00.000-08:00

I've had Gordon Lightfoot tunes in my head for the last few days (I know I am of the wrong generation to love Gordon Lightfoot, but love him I do)... Especially, "Song for a Winter's Night" (which I just rediscovered as his), and "Ribbon of Darkness."

As I was sitting here humming it, I closed my eyes and remembered a night about a week and a half before Mom died. My Aunt Kathy was visiting, and my Uncle Ken and his wife, Ellen, were with us as well. I had wrangled up a guitar because Mom wanted to hear Ken sing again... Kind of a "Like old times" moment. We had no idea just HOW limited time was then--We were still hoping for approval for a clinical trial at that point... But we got together and we sang.

Ken played "Ribbon of Darkness" and Mom told him she thought that was just about her favorite song to hear him play. She smiled that night and was more peaceful and happy that she had been in weeks... It was just a simple night of being together... and singing (some of us off key).

I think we all looked around at one time or another and wondered if this would be Mom's last chance to sing with us all...

But mostly we just sang and stayed in the words of the songs, and the healing comfort of the music.

And it was good.

Remembering a GOOD thing about those last few days (which seem to be playing and replaying in my mind nearly constantly lately) is a comfort tonight. And I am grateful. That's a memory that I will treasure forever.

**edited to say that it might have actually been, "Did She Mention My Name" that Mom said was her favorite to hear Ken play... Regardless it was a Lightfoot song. No one does Gordon Lightfoot songs like Uncle Ken.... I still can't hear them without hearing his voice singing the words instead :)**

I Got Tagged!!!!

2005-12-06T18:54:00.000-08:00

I am SOOO excited! I've never been tagged to do a meme before. And today Amanda tagged me! I am ridiculously excited about this. Ok. So here goes:

Seven Things Tag

Seven Things to do Before I Die:

1. Write a book
2. Get my Master's Degree
3. Go with Andy to some of the places he's been in port while being a sailing sailor (Hmmm... Rome maybe?)
4. Work successfully in a job that feels like it fits me and I fit it
5. Tip a waitress $100
6. Finish The Brothers Karamazov (I really like, it... but given I've been reading it for 2 years now I really need to get going in order to finish this goal.
7. Touch a dolphin

Seven Things I cannot Do:

1. Speak a foreign language (though... I have a rudimentarly knowledge of sign language)
2. Sew
3. Ski
4. Wiggle my ears
5. Play softball without wanting to be swallowed by a hole in the earth
6. Swim in the ocean without worrying about 'critters and itchums' (which is unfortunate because I LOVE the ocean)
7. Stop thinking... Ever...

Seven Things That Attract me to my Husband:

1. He knows how to sit and just be with me.... without an agenda but totally WITH me when I am happy or otherwise
2. His love of all things beautiful
3. The way the depth of his faith and thoughts will suprise me when I least expect it.
4. His dedication to perpetually 'wooing' me
5. The way he is with Carolyn
6. His willingness to cook and do dishes
7. He loves me... like no one else does.

Seven Things I say Most Often:

1. "No... We don't eat catfood!"
2. "Crup"
3. "Are you sure?"
4. "Oh myy..."
5. "Abba Du"
6. "A dink" (In answer to Dh's "Rink-a-dink-a-dink")
7. He/she needs a 'quit being dumb' card

Seven Books or Series I Love:

1. Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Anne Brashares)
2. Madeleine L'Engle's Time Trilogy
3. The World of Pooh (Milne)
4. The Ragamuffin Gospel (Brennan Manning)
5. The Lord of the Rings (Tolkien)
6. A Ring of Endless Light (L'Engle again)
7. Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now? (Seuss)

Seven Movies I would watch over and over and over and...

1. The Princess Bride
2. White Christmas (even if it's not Christmastime)
3. Shawshank Redemption
4. The Shadowlands
5. When Harry Met Sally
6. Return to Me
7. Anne of Green Gables

Seven Bloggers to Tag:

Becca, Lauren, Karen, Sarah, Tracie, Red, and um... somebody else!

Please Don't Lecture Me

2005-12-04T21:37:00.000-08:00

Please Don't Lecture Me when I tell you that I hate my life sometimes right now.

Please don't lecture me when I tell you that I wish I could fast-forward through the holidays and my birthday... Even though it is Carolyn's first Christmas.

Please don't tell me to just 'get over it' already in regards to my grief.

Please don't tell me that so many other people have it worse and I should be grateful for what I have.

Please don't tell me to count my blessings instead of my losses.

Please don't tell me how to feel, how to grieve, or how to deal with my husband being gone for six months.

Please let me feel my feelings.

Please don't expect me to spill my guts to you because this once you asked, "How are you?"

Conversely, please don't recoil in horror if I DO tell you how I am really feeling.

Please don't judge me because I feel angry at people that I love right now. My anger is part of my grief too.

Please DO tell me that I'm doing ok, and that I did ok prior to my loss, during, and immediately after.

Please DO know that I am going on, that I am trying, that I do count my blessings, that I soak in every moment of joy that I have with those that I love, and every moment that is less than joyful as well. Please know that I am doing my best, trying, putting one foot in front of the other--and that is an accomplishment that *I* am proud of.

Please just let me feel, let me be, let me express what I am where I am how I am and when I am ready.

One of the reasons I feel so isolated at present is that I truly don't expect others to know to do these things. And those that would, I don't feel need the weight of my burdens on top of their own. Maybe I'm underestimating people. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just being prickly. I'm afraid of hearing others say the same things the tapes in my head torment me with. The things that bring on guilt and make me chafe and feel wrong in my feelings.

But it is partly the fear of these things that keeps me clammed up. I miss my safe places. Seems that most of them are on other continents, dead, or disappointing.

How lonely deeply, dazzlingly, dark emotions can be!

We'll Have to Muddle Through Somehow

2005-11-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

As posted at my other blog:

Even since I learned that the original lyrics of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" were something like, "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, It will be our last..." I've rather liked the song. (I am a little bit twisted you know). I like that Judy Garland allegedly insisted that they change the lyrics to something more hope-giving when it was originally sung in Meet Me in St. Louis.

This weekend, as the Christmas songs have been blaring over the airways more and more the song hit me anew in a fresh way. Especially the line, "Come next year, we all will be together If the Fates allow But till then we'll have to muddle through somehow So have yourself a merry little Christmas now."

I think muddling through is about all I'll be able to muster this year. I plan to muddle through with style, and grace, and spunk, and even joy, but it will be different than other Christmases in so many ways. Even different than last Christmas. Last Christmas I clung fiercely to the idea of Christmas being a light in the darkness. I'm clinging even tighter this year, because the darkness feels that much more overwhelming.But I know the light is there. I know that Christ is our light in the darkness...

So as I put up the Christmas tree, and listen to the carols, and remember special Mom memories, and miss Andy, and watch the wonder in my daughters face as she lays eyes on the Christmas tree for the first time I will hold on to that. And as I cry with tears of loneliness and missing, and wonder how I will get through my first Christmas without my mother... and how I will carry on the "Mom traditions," as I wish for Andy's arms, and real conversations with him, and long for his hand to hold, and to see the light in his eyes as he opens his gifts from Carolyn and I... Through the goods and the bads of the muddling, I will let the light shine in me, and in and through my life.

I will truly live and love this Christmas. Even if it hurts.

I will muddle through and hold onto the light. After all, I'm called to be a light-bearer myself.

So... here I go to muddle. I have lights to string on the tree and decorations to put up.

When you sit around the table...

2005-11-24T14:38:00.000-08:00

When you sit around the table this Thanksgiving holiday...
Take a slow, lingering look.
Really see the people seated around.
Remember why it is that you love them.
And be thankful for the ways they touched your life.
You don't know what seats might be empty next year.

When you bow your heads, and hold hands
To breathe a prayer of thanks
Squeeze extra tight before letting go.
You never know which hands you will be left
longing for next year.

And, as you sit and laugh and talk
About happenings past and present
Store up in your heart
The joy of those simple moments.
They slip away so fast
And you are left only with memories.

And if a chair is empty this year
Breathe a prayer of thanks
That you remembered to soak in the moments,
Squeeze the hand you now long for
And love fully in all the moments that you had...
then.

D-day

2005-11-19T18:33:00.000-08:00

A year ago yesterday my husband got his first promotion. He had a little pinning on ceremony and I was feeling very proud. I called my Dad to glow at him, and found him to be very quiet. Very strained. When I asked what was going on, he wouldn't tell me. And then he said he needed to talk to me later when Andy was there with me. I knew something terrible was going on.

That's when we found out Mom had lung cancer, and when my world turned upside down, and when I started to relearn everything that I thought I knew about living and loving and even being me.

The thing is... After the initial shock, I really thought that we'd have a long fight ahead of us. One with a lot more triumphs. One with more good days. I really believed that Mom would still be here today. I thought she might be very sick... but I thought she'd be here. I always believed she'd see the mark of one year out. My Mom was the most stubborn, fiesty woman I have ever known and I really thought her ability to fight would carry her far. But the beast was just too strong.

She's not here. She didn't have good days after that one. Her last good day before the day she entered heaven was last October.

I miss my Mom so badly tonight. I spent time today with some friends from high school, and I'd love to sit tonight and talk to her about that--about how we've all changed. A year ago I thought that I'd be able to do a thing like that. She's already missed Carolyn crawling, sitting up, pulling up, and cruising. She's not here to talk to when I miss Andy, or to discuss episodes of West Wing with, or to scream at the T.V. during a Steeler's game. I thought she'd still be doing all those things.

But I was wrong.

That makes me feel angry, and sad, and grieved, and defeated.

My Mom should be here. I should be planning for Thanksgiving with her. She should be spoiling Carolyn, giving people hell, laughing, playing trivial pursuit, going to the river boat, giving me advice (solicited or otherwise) about Mommying, and keeping Dad on his toes.

We've been robbed of so very much.

I HATE the beast, Lung Cancer.

I know there are folks in blogland reading this who themselves, are struggling with cancer. Don't let this post discourage you. Let it make you mad. Put on your boxing gloves and fight like Hell. Fight for good days, fight to live every moment, fight to make the number of those moments vast and expansive. Fight for hope. And know that I will be here fighting with you.

Cancer is a thief. A destroyer. An ugly, cruel entity.

We can't let it win.

Fear

2005-11-12T21:40:00.000-08:00

One of the emotions I didn't expect to see in the grief literature I've read was 'fear,' but I find that I do indeed have it.

Since Mom died... Actually since Mom got sick, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I worry about something happening to Carolyn, or something happening to me and what that would mean for Carolyn. I worry about Dad every time he has a cough or a sniffle. I worry about natural and unnatural disasters. And of course I worry about my husband.

Changes are afoot for him so I feel fear especially strongly tonight.

When I am trying to make myself snap out of my funks I often say "It could be worse. So many others have it worse." But what follows sometimes is: What if worse happens?

I'm not sitting around cowering, or out building a bomb shelter or anything.

But I would be lying if I said that I was exempt from this 'fear' emotion.

I must admit it's not one of my favorites.

VERY bad day so far

2005-11-04T07:05:00.000-08:00

It's a day of a little self-pity, a little despair, and one horrible nightmare.

As I went to sleep last night, I was thinking about how on the one hand, it was really no big deal that pastor-guy hadn't shown up... I could logically understand it. I know he is busy. I know he is human. No big deal. But it seemed like deep in the recesses of me I had this feeling of, "It was damn hard even jumping out on that limb... and now it's been cut away??" and also some feelings that maybe I am not meant to have support right now. Maybe right now is my season to muddle through darkness alone. I really don't like that thought, but if that is what the season is, I guess I will eventually learn to accept it. (Though I do note that there are a few people, most notably my dear friend, Becca, who will and do help carry the burden. And I AM grateful.)

So I don't know if my thoughts along those lines contributed to the nightmare I had this morning, or if it came straight from the cold I'm fighting... but it was a doozy.

I'll spare you the gory details, but essentially Mom was alive, but sick. It was this time of year. Someone had put up the Christmas tree without me and I was FURIOUS because I knew this would be my LAST Christmas tree with Mom. I ripped down the Christmas tree and ran to my room to cry, and while there was confronted with an evil woman. I knew if I destroyed this evil woman Mom would live and my husband would not have to go to scary places, so I clawed at her, and spoke words that were supposed to make her go away and indeed she was destroyed (incidentally... Somehow or another she was made into ginger-snap cookies... mildly comical I suppose).

I woke up, gasping, and frightened, and did the typical mental assessment to be sure that the nightmare would not be true. I thought of Carolyn and smiled and my brain said, "Everything is ok." Then, through the fog, I thought some more and realized with horror that in my nightmare Mom was alive, I was going into the holiday season with her, and husband was going to be in safe places (after all, I had destroyed the evil woman). In my real life Mom is dead, I am facing a holiday season without Mom that looks more and more complicated, sad, and lonely, and my husband IS going to scary places.

It was horrible. Real life is supposed to be better than your nightmares.... But today my real life is decidedly worse than my nightmare.

I was so stunned and weepy after the nightmare that it took me a bit more gumption to get out of bed and decide that I wanted to go ahead and get ready to go to the Mommy Group that I've been looking forward to attending all week. So I started to get ready, and my darling girl BURST into tears because in order to get a shower I had to leave her in her swing... And she stayed hysterical for the whole rest of the morning making it impossible to get either of us ready to go... So... Here I am blogging instead. This seemed just insult to injury. The whole week has been like that. I was SO looking forward to this week. Monday I started a new Bible Study, Wednesday I was going to go out with Becca and her husband, Yesterday I was supposed to meet with pastor-guy, and today I was going to go to Mommy group. All of these things made me HAPPY to think about.

The Bible Study was disappointing (I'll give it 3 more tries, but the first visit was disappointing), Wednesday I got terribly sick with a cold and wasn't able to go out with Becca and her husband, Thursday pastor-guy didn't show, and today I can't do Mommy group. All VERY small things.... But in the context of really struggling and being DESPERATE right now for things to go right it just seems so awful.

Please don't lecture me about counting my blessing. I am. I do. Every day. Every day I try to go to sleep more Grateful about things in my life than sad. Every second I am trying to see the brighter things. Every moment I am trying so hard to maintain blasted perpective.

But Right now I just feel like wailing that "IT's NOT FAIR!!!!!!" Nightmares shouldn't be better than reality. My husband should be here with me. My mother should never have gotten cancer. I shouldn't have to feel SO alone. And I should be able to have good, fun things happen in my life without it being a fluke or mistake of nature.

There is one more hope... I've been looking forward to a wedding that I'm going to this weekend for Months... I am excited. But Now I am terrified that I won't be able to go or it will end up being horrible.

So I know that overall, this shows far more pessimism that even my normal posts here. I know it sounds like a colassal whine. But I think I am entitled a few of those now and again. Perspective, and gratefulness, and the cultivating of joy even while I feel sorrow will be back soon.

For right now I'm just going to be angry and sad and pitiful.

I Guess One Tissue Will Have to be Enough....

2005-11-03T20:03:00.000-08:00

I had an appointment to visit with Pastor-guy today... At least I thought I did....

Turns out, it's not an incredible ego-booster to be stood-up by a pastor.

No big deal... Though I am a little bummed about it. I'd been taking mental notes all week about new things I wanted to verbally process.

I'm sure he had a very good reason for not being there--not the least of which being that he didn't have his datebook with him last week when we made the appointment.

It just makes me feel like I am probably back to going it alone in the vast wilderness of my current emotional situation.

I will survive.

Sweet Oblivion

2005-11-01T18:09:00.000-08:00

One year ago I would step outside my door and smell the warm scent of wood-burning and pine trees. Andy and I took trips to Island towns and ate at mediocre restaurants. I was sick with the yuck that wouldn't let go. I was feeling really pregnant. I was starting to show. I was worrying about the family invading our house for Thanksgiving.

One year ago, I talked to my Mom on the phone almost every day. I called her for help with recipes. I called her to tell about my ultrasound, and the pregnancy, and all of doctor's appointments, and to complain about aches and pains and frustrations that come with expecting a child. She sounded tired and a little worried, but overall ok.

One year ago this last weekend was my Mom's last good day.

One year ago I was finding a hotel for Mom and Dad to stay in when they came to visit us for Thanksgiving. I was checking in with Mom to see when they were coming, and if they were still driving.

One year ago we were starting to make plans about Mom and Dad coming to be with us when the baby was born. We were looking into long-term lodging. We were imagining a month of them being around. I was wondering if I would start to feel suffocated with my Mother hovering....

One year ago, when I looked ahead to this year, I saw myself spending the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's here with my folks so they could enjoy their grand-daughter.

One year ago... The word Cancer had NOTHING to do with my mother.

One year ago we were oblivious of the beast that would soon take over our lives.

One year ago happiness and joy looked a whole lot different.

It's no wonder I don't recognize my life some days.

Tissues

2005-10-27T20:38:00.000-07:00

Would you think I was crazy if I told you that it was a really big deal to me that someone offered me a box of tissues, today?

I visited a pastor this afternoon-- One that I don't know very well, which made it more and less scary simultaneously.

And, to my suprise, I cried a lot during this little visit.

During one of these crying spells, I looked up to see the box of kleenex that had been sitting on pastor-guy's desk held out to me. I'm really terrible, because my first thought was, "That's so cheesy... Yeah, like holding out tissues is going to make me feel any better."

My second thought was, "I could so totally have gotten my own tissue. I'm independent. I've been doing all sorts of stuff all by myself for quite a while now."

And then I thought, "But isn't the point of my being here that I don't have to be doing this incredibly overwhelming feeling and grieving stuff by myself if only for a few moments?"

So I took the tissue.

It's been a while since there's been a real, live, warm, breathing person in the room while I'm processing through this stuff. Andy is usually my tissue-offerer (though frequently, I just use his shirt. ahhh, love), but he can't be right now.

It just felt good to have this tiny, little tangible symbol of support.

My nose felt better too.

Expectations vs. The way my grief looks.

2005-10-15T20:00:00.000-07:00

I think when people here the 'g word' in reference to specific people, a lot of expectations come up in their minds. When you think of a grieving person you think of someone sitting around crying all the time. You think of tissues, and wearing black, and long faces. You think of people not going out, loud emotional outbursts, the person constantly talking about their loss.

I think sometimes grief doesn't look like that.

I don't meet many of those expectations. I don't think many grieving people do because people grieve in so many different ways. I think in the face of a different sort of loss my grief would look even more different.

When I'm in public, I think I look pretty normal. Truth is, I am pretty normal. I'm still me. I just happen to be in the midst of a process that is bigger than me. But I don't wear that process on my shirtsleeve.

I don't sit around crying all the time. Especially in public. Sure... when I'm driving or sitting somewhere sometimes I *will* be suddenly gripped with tears, but they subside rather quickly and I'm back to business.

I don't talk about my circumstances much. I don't like to be pinned into talking about it when I don't want to, and I get skittish when other people bring it up. That's not to say that I don't need and want people to let me know it is ok to talk if I want or need to, I just don't find myself able to much. If I do talk about it, I don't say much. Being vague works for me. And no, I don't think I fit the typical stereotype of, "Women talk about their feeilngs more." I process mentally a lot. I think about what I am thinking and feeling often, but these days most of that goes on behind the scenes of my words. It's there. It's mine. I'm comfortable with it that way.

I think because grieving folk don't meet the expectations of people, we are often misunderstood. Some people might think we didn't feel our loss deeply. Some people might assume we have 'gotten over it' and thus expect us to be chipper and 'back to normal.'

It is stressful sometimes to feel that people are sort of peering in on your life watching how you are reacting. Wondering about the way you are showing your emotions. It is strange to have even less of a clue than I did before about how to answer the question, "How are you?" and to know that once I do answer, that person is likely thinking to themselves, "But how are you really?"

Actually, that's not true. I do still know how to answer that question. It is, "I'm ok." And yes, I really DO mean it. I hurt and am sad sometimes. My current situation is bizarre and difficult some days. But I am ok. I've just come to believe that okness = I am not spinning off the edge of the world out of control, physically, emotionally, or spiritually. I know God is there. And I know that whether I feel like it or not somehow it is true that, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well... No matter what."

But it throws people when I say I'm ok in the context of grieving. It doesn't reconcile with that expected picture of grief. My okness is bigger than grief. Grief is something that happens. It just does. It doesn't make me not ok. It just is something that I have to be in right now.

I can't say that I know how I want other people to interact with me, and I am still negotiating how I interact with the world. I related to the words of a journal about grief by Nick Turnbull (http://nickturnbull.blogs.com/journal_through_grief/), when he mentioned that he got angry at just about every reaction people have to him and his situation when his little boy died. The people who made comments made him mad, the people who said nothing made him mad, the people who inquired after him often made him mad. There was just no winning. I feel that way too. It's terribly unfair to everyone in my life, but I can't seem to help myself.

It's awkward. It's confusing. It's exhausting.

No... I probably don't look like I'm grieving... But I still am.

I...

2005-10-14T20:25:00.000-07:00

I miss my Mom.

Thinking about Thinking about Grief

2005-10-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

People who know me pretty well--especially my in-person friends, though I'm sure it comes through on-line too--tell me that I am always thinking, and that most of the time the fact that I'm thinking doesn't stop registering on my face.

And what I do is think about stuff. And then think about what I'm thinking about. It all gets very circular sometimes and can get me into trouble if I don't watch it.

All that to say that I have these observational thoughts about grief all the time now. They aren't like, "ouch that hurts" thoughts, though sometimes they spring from things that do hurt. They are just thoughts about the process. Thoughts that come from thinking about thinking about it.

(I'm really blathering here, so I better just get to the point.)

Today's thought was this:

When I get a cold or the flu or just something little and sicky, and I'm on the mend, I usually have a day or two when I try to resume normal activities before my body really feels up to it.

So I'll go out and doing the flight of stairs will just really wind me or I'll just feel so listless that conversing with people takes too much energy, and all of a sudden I will go... Hmmm... I guess I'm really NOT well enough to be out and about.

Well I found out today that grief can be like that too.

We had a weinie roast here at our house tonight for our neighborhood--pretty ambitious for Dad and I, I guess.

Anyway, I was out there and had the same sort of thoughts... I guess I'm not well enough to be doing this afterall. I'm not as far as I thought. This is really taking a lot more out of me than I expected and it's because of where I am in this recovery

I just thought the parallel was interesting. And I think some days I'd be more ready than others to do what I did today. But today felt like one of those early recovery days after an illness when I think I can do more than I really can and feel like I'm gasping for air all day.

So there is my thinking about thinking about grief thought.

My Loss Isn't Big Enough?

2005-10-06T20:35:00.000-07:00

I went to a Grief Recovery group tonight. I was anxious about it. I was afraid it was going to be really 'Come to Jesus-y' and that I would feel that people's pain was being exploited for the purpose of 'winning people to the church.' I guess the up side of the evening was that didn't happen.

I struggle with not feeling like I have a right to feel my emotions. I struggle with thinking "well it could be so much worse, so why am I being so down and whiny about this?" In some ways it's a technique to get out of feeling what is hard.

But tonight, I went to this group hoping to find some company in the process of my grief. Hoping for some guidance and support.

What I came out with was a feeling of invisibility and the subtle message that my loss wasn't big enough to be worthy of needing a grief support group.

I've never deluded myself into thinking that losing my Mom holds a candle to the pain of losing a child or a spouse. I am fully aware that both of those losses must be truly, truly crushing.

I found myself tonight though, longing for some validation in my own loss. Longing to know that I wasn't the only one who felt a gaping hole in her life after her parent died. Longing to know that I wasn't the only one who didn't just 'get over it and go on' as the world seems to demand.

Instead I watched a video and was left out of discussion that centered mostly around the loss of a spouse. I was the only person there who hadn't lost a spouse. I struggled from the get go with all of the things I mentioned above--feeling unworthy of feeling my feelings because the circumstances in my life weren't as big as others'.

The message that I heard loud and clear (whether it was intended or not) was this: It is NOT the natural order of things to lose a spouse or a child, so you will feel awful about that and have a right to. It is the natural order of things to lose a parent so get over it.

I felt invisible. The facilitators facilitated around me. Why wouldn't they? They lost spouses themselves. That was common ground that they had with everyone.

But what about my loss? It might not have been as big, but it was big. It left me feeling big things. It left me with big grief. My loss WAS big. I lost my MOM. The woman who shared her body with me for 9/10 months. The woman who taught me how to be a woman. The woman who was supposed to be here to help me through being a Mommy myself. I lost her just as I was starting to get to know her as a person and not just as a parental entity. Maybe it was the natural order of things, but it didn't seem natural to me. It seemed like one of the largest chunks of my world--one of my stabilizers--fell away beneath me, and I'm still not sure how to stand up without it.

It was also suggested that because those of us who had lost our loved ones to terminal diseases had time to prepare that our experience was easier. That it was still hard and we were still unprepared, "But at least we had that time."

And part of me says, "YES. Thank God we had that time."

Another part of me says, "I'm still trying to figure out that time... That wonderful, horrible time. I'm still trying to figure out THAT on top of my grief."

I don't like feeling invisible or invalidated. Especially in places where I go to seek out validation and support.

Mom's Mile

2005-09-29T18:43:00.000-07:00

Wow...

A friend of mine from one of the messageboards I post on (My mil. spouse one), is going to dedicate a mile in her next marathon to my Mom.

Sometimes people confound me with what I perceive to be thoughtlessness.

And then... I'm blown away by an incredible gesture like this--done by someone that I've never had the pleasure to even meet in person.

I feel so very blessed.

Full

2005-09-28T19:57:00.000-07:00

My heart, and mind, and spirit, and even body feel so full of missing people--Mom and Andy in particular--that it doesn't feel as if there is any room left for anything else.

Every thought that I have relates back to one of them. And while there is joy in that, there is pain right now too.

It is very wearying.

Perseveration

2005-09-23T19:34:00.000-07:00

We have been so inundated with the mantra 'smoking causes cancer' (especially by the American Cancer Society, but that's another rant entirely) that any time the words "Lung Cancer" are introduced, it's all we can think of.

As a result people suffering from the disease or loving someone who is suffering with or has suffered from the disease are constantly bombarded with questions of "Are you a smoker?" "Did they smoke?" etc, etc.

I get it all the time. Today during my "Exercise with the Old Ladies" time at Curves, the manager was asking me about my Mom.

Now this lady was a Kindergarten teacher in my town for the last 30 years or so, and because of this she vaguely knows just about anyone who attended grade school here, or had a child do so. As such, I guess she feels more comfortable probing into areas of life that most acquaintences wouldn't touch for the sake of manners.

So today she was asking me about Mom. "Did your mother smoke?" was already covered during another exercise session, but it came up again today.

"If your Mom knew five years ago that she would go through what she did, do you think she would have given up smoking?"

Now what kind of a question is that??? Number one, I have no idea. Number two, given the statistics (See the post, "Let's Talk Lung Cancer Stats"), even if she had, because she was a former smoker, she still would have been at risk. Number three, given previously mentioned stats, even if she HADN'T SMOKED she still would have been at risk. (Especially with her family history)

I tentatively took the approach of, "Lung Cancer is bigger than smoking," and listed different factors that could have contributed to my Mom, or anyone getting sick, and tried to underline again that even NON-SMOKERS are getting Lung Cancer at an alarmingly increasing rate these days (I mentioned this in the previous conversation as well, and she answered, "Because of second-hand smoke, you mean?).

Now this lady is a breast cancer survivor, and she is deservedly proud of this fact.

And a very mean part of me wanted to say, "How would it make you feel if I started asking questions which strongly insinuated that you were to blame for your cancer?"

Or

"I find it interesting that when a person is diagnosed with Breast Cancer the first thing people say is, "How can I help?" but when a person is diagnosed with Lung Cancer the first thing they say is, "Did he/she smoke?"

I just want to scream until people listen, "STOP BLAMING THE VICTIMS OF THIS TERRIBLE DISEASE!!!!!!"

I will not deny that smoking isn't good for you. I won't deny that smokers are at a higher risk for lung cancer.

But when a person has lung cancer--or worse has died from it, isn't it time to stop with the broken record, "Smoking causes cancer" crap????

Why do we perseverate on the issue of blame with this disease? Why do we forget compassion? Why is the image of a cigarette hanging out of a person's mouth the only thing we can let flash through our minds at the words, "Lung Cancer?"

Things have to change. Attitudes have to change. Yes, it would be great if smoking rates changed as well, but we'd still be dealing wiht lung cancer for years down the line.

Compassion. Bring back the compassion when thinking of this disease. Get rid of the blame.

No one deserves to be blamed for their own illness or worse, death from an illness.

And people who have suffered a great loss shouldn't have to constantly defend the honor of the one they loved and lost.

It is just wrong.

Seasons

2005-09-22T10:09:00.000-07:00

It's the first day of fall. This day snuck up on me. The fullness of this last year has caused me to be confused about what season I was in or what day it was most of time.

For some reason this realization hits me in a strange and difficult way. In some ways, it felt as though this summer would be eternal. It felt as though it would go on and on and on being summer. Life would still be about being with Mom, caring for Mom, losing Mom, grieving Mom.

That is not the case, and I find my heart full of grief because I just left the last season that I had with my Mom. Part of me feels that if I can't be with her physically, I at least want to be close to her chronologically. This is just another symbol that though it feels like everything should still be stopped and taking notice that my Mom is dead, life is going on.

It is right that it should do so, I suppose. I am going on. I continue loving on Carolyn and watching her grow and conquer one milestone after another. I'm thinking of new directions for the future, and investigating how to go those ways.

But today... I just want to stay here for a little bit. I don't want to get any farther from my Mom. I guess it doesn't matter. She is still gone today. I'm still not with her. If I was going to freeze time I should have done it a few months ago, or better yet, last summer before cancer had robbed my mother of her ability to do the normal tasks of living.

But we didn't know how precious and fragile life was then.

If I'd frozen time, I would have missed all of the good of this year as well. There would be no Carolyn. I would have been in Washington far away from my folks, and I wouldn't have had the time with them that I did. (And then there would be the perpetual morning sickness..... perish the thought!)

I guess it is right that the seasons will keep on changing, but there is a sting in it today.

Mama Drama

2005-09-14T19:02:00.000-07:00

I was down in the basement here at Dad's today. I passed by an open Tote box full of textbooks from college. I decided to go see if there was anything worth reminiscing over.

Tucked in amongst the textbooks was a semi-cheesy looking book. I didn't think much of it at first, but then I saw that the title of it was Mama Drama. I picked it up wondering, "Was that book mine? Was it Mom's? Did she get it to figure out HER Mom? Or did Mom give it to me to figure her out?"

I opened the front cover and discovered that she must have sent it to me at college. And it had an inscription that read,

"Val an instruction book--Not that you need it. After all, I'm so easy to get along with!! I love you very much. Mom"

So I lugged the book upstairs. I fear it may become a talisman of sorts. It's hit me in all kinds of strange ways. It was so wonderful and comforting to see the words, "I love you very much. Mom" in her handwriting--her steady, wonderfully Mom handwriting and wit.

It seems like a symbol. A symbol of what I did have, but don't now. A symbol of how wonderfully, frustrating and complicated Mom and Daughter relationships are and my relationship with Mom was. A symbol of how I took her for granted so often just shrugging her off with an "Oh Mom..."

I lost her when I was just starting to get out of the "What does Mom know?" phase and into the, "I better ask Mom" phase... When I was finally interacting with her as an adult to an adult. In the last few years, she had become my first and best confidante and my closest friend. She helped me figure out the world.

And of course she could irritate me faster than anyone on the planet. She knew JUST how to push all the right buttons. And I'm realizing, though maybe it's me idealizing her, that I loved even that. It was how things were 'supposed to be.'

It also made me think about all that I went through with Mom--Being the adoring little girl... The unsure pre-teen, the surly adolescent, the tentative college student (who turned into the college student who was always homesick the last two years), and then the young woman who counted on her Mom to be there to call for help with a recipe or to vent about crazy people, or to discuss West Wing, and then... being the one who helped Mom to the bathroom, and clipped her toenails, and helped her with her water.

It made me wonder how my relationship with Carolyn will mirror what I lived with Mom. How will it compare? Do I REALLY have to go through the surly adolescent years???

All in all, the book makes me feel happy. It makes me remember what a great Mom I had. Make that present tense. Have. She's just not HERE. I never expected that 'Mama Drama' of the last year. If it had to be this way, I'm glad I was able to be with her as much as I was. I'm glad I was able to say I love you out loud and by doing things like rubbing her feet, and laying on her bed and just talking.

I just wish she was here to be easy (or not) to get along with.

Declaration

2005-09-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

~~A Declaration of Today~~

I am not ok.

I don't want to be ok right now.

My Mom died. My husband is floating around in the ocean. I just got done travelling over 2000 miles with an infant.... Twice. I'm adjusting to new living arrangements.... Again.

And on top of that, I'm having a bit of a 'who am I and why am I here to take up space on this earth' phase as I seek to answer the question of 'what direction do I go now?'

So... I might cry at the drop of a hat right now.

I might seem distant or dazed.

I might not laugh as much as I usually do.

My temper may be aroused more quickly.

In fact....

I may just mope around and quit lying to people when they ask me how I'm doing.

I might just answer, 'excrementally, and you?'

If that's not ok, frankly, I don't know what to tell you because I claim my un-okness and give myself permission to be in it right now.

~~End of Declaration~~

Computer's Grand Adventure

2005-08-28T09:55:00.000-07:00

This computer will begin a grand adventure very soon... So I will be blog light or non-existent until mid-September when I will be reunited with old, pokey, turtle computer (unless I write some today). Promise to miss me.

Willie Nelson

2005-08-23T23:39:00.000-07:00

I always thought it was weird that Mom liked Willie Nelson so much.

All of a sudden I want to listen to "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain," and "Poncho and Lefty" over and over again.

She's still making me look at things a second time, and changing my tastes.

Ok Mom--but the intro to "Poncho and Lefty" is still really cheesy.

Invitation

2005-08-23T23:03:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, after a relatively harmless exchange with Andy, I found myself with my head in my hands.

I was really feeling Mom's death and the hole that's in my life now. I was consumed with sadness over Andy's impending departure. I was feeling all in all bereft.

I sat there like that for a while assessing the pain, probing it like a nasty bruise. I held my breath and named it. "I’m in pain." "I’m alone in my pain. Alone." My soul whispered to Jesus, "Please... Come... Be in my pain. I can’t bear to be alone in it anymore. Come be in my pain. I don’t know what else I’m ready to let you into, but please, Jesus... Be in the pain or else I won’t survive."

It was the longest I'd talked to him in a long time--not because I'm mad at Him and not on speaking terms (I'm not and haven't been), but because it hurts to talk to Him. Lately I'm content just knowing He's with me. I acknowledge that and go on. That might make me something akin to a heathen, but in general I don't mind that.

What followed was the most raw expression of emotion that I've allowed myself... ever...

It's scary to invite Him there. He won't let me smother my pain with chocolate (mmmm... chocolate covered pain), or stay busy and ignore it. He'll make me feel it.

I believe ultimately it will be good, because He is good.

I'm sure there'll be days of consuming chocolate covered pain and partaking of other such coping mechanisms, but the invitation has been issued and I'll be drawn back by grace eventually.

This is one of those posts that I hesitate to push the 'Publish Post' button on. And yet, I think it is right to do so. At the very least it's not wrong. It seems cheap to only share the sanitized version of the story of my grief. It feels misleading too. I get frustrated at the 'shiny-happy' label people try to put on Christianity. If I try to put a 'shiny-happy' face on or offer only a watered-down version of my thoughts, I rob others who might need to know they aren't alone of potential fellowship... and I mislead everyone.

So post I will.

A Month Ago...

2005-08-18T22:29:00.000-07:00

My last day with Mom was a month ago. It was a quiet day. A long day. It started with me on the phone to airlines trying to get Andy home. When that was taken care of, I went in and sat beside Mom and that's where I stayed for most of the day. Mom's friend Sarah and our pastor came and sat with us. We talked casually about Dad's airforce days, and Carolyn's growing fast. We cried. I played some music for Mom. Carolyn played in her room. I found out for the first time that the doctor's didn't even think she would be able to have kids....

The nurse's aide came over and gave Mom a bath that afternoon and used Lavender and Chammomile bath soap.

I said in my other blog once before Mom died, that the smell of Carolyn after a bath with Lavender and Chammomile bath soap was the smell of heaven...

So, I guess I was right.

(Even so, I can't use the stuff for Carolyn anymore. The smell of heaven makes me sick to my stomach now)

We waited knowing it would be soon, and I was suprised that she didn't leave us that day. Andy got there, and said hello to Mom, and we sat a while longer. I kissed her good night, told her I loved her and then went to sleep.

Only a month ago... It still feels so new, and so very, very raw. I feel like a month should give me the feeling of some distance. But it doesn't. Not at all.

Shut-Down Confession.

2005-08-16T23:31:00.000-07:00

A few days before Mom died, a friend of mine helped me understand my coping strategies. She very succinctly said, "You cope by shutting down."

Well... I must be full out coping.

Here comes the confession: It's 11:30 p.m. and I'm in my p.js which wouldn't be unusual except that they're the ones I put on last night.

I've done nothing today and I have a sink full of dishes to prove it. Laundry desperately needs to be done, a few other basic clean-up tasks would be helpful. I *might* get some dishes done and do some clothes transfers with the laundry, but I'm not expecting a whole lot else to happen tonight.

I don't know if I should feel guilty for not doing anything, worried about myself slipping into unhealthy habits, or just be gentle with myself and figure this is how I got through *today* and I'll get through tomorrow in tomorrow's way.

In my defense, Carolyn has been very demanding all day long. Maybe it's teething. Maybe it's an earache coming on. Maybe it's a growth spurt. Maybe she senses that Mommy is "off." Whatever it is, every bit of oomph I had was devoted to calming her or playing with her. As for the rest of life, I'm oomphless.

This is a hard place, this spot between Mom's dying and Andy's leaving. I suspect that the spot after Andy's being gone will be even harder. Sometimes I think I'm doing ok. And sometimes I think I'm pathetic.

Eh... we'll get through this.

2005-08-15T14:51:00.000-07:00

Yep. Laughter is still heard around here. Carolyn makes sure of it.

Ok, So Let's Talk Lung Cancer Stats...

2005-08-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling kind of fiery about lung cancer awareness right now. I don't think it's a bad thing as long as I don't let it get in the way of my grief. In fact, I think it's really important.

So here are the shocking stats for those who might be even remotely interested:

Over 160,000 people will die this year from lung cancer. 70,000 will be women.

Lung Cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in the United States.

Lung Cancer will claim more lives than breast cancer, prostate cancer, colon cancer, liver cancer, kidney cancer, and melanoma COMBINED.

Over 50% of new lung cancer cases will be diagnosed at a very late stage—Stage IIIb or IV— and only 5% of those diagnosed are expected to live past five years.

It's JUST a smoker's disease? Check this out:

Current smokers: 35-40% of new lung cancer cases
Former smokers: 50% of new lung cancer cases
Never smoked: 10-15% of new lung cancer cases

Even if ALL smoking were stopped TODAY we would still face decades of people suffereing with this disease.

The survival rate for lung cancer hasn't improved in over 20 years. It is roughly the same as it was in 1971 when NIXON was president.

Over 50% of lung cancer cases are diagnosed in the late stages when a 'cure' is rarely thought to be possible.

There is virtually no process in place to screen for lung cancer. The only thing commonly done is chest x-rays which are a fairly unreliable way to detect lung cancer--especially in the early stages when more could be done to stop the disease. (However, it CAN catch it, so if you think you might be at risk or are experiencing symptoms by all means GET ONE!)

Lung cancer claims the lives of 85 percent of newly diagnosed patients within FIVE YEARS. That's a 15% survival rate That is a stark contrast to the 80% of those diagnosed with breast cancer who will survive five years or more.

What is perhaps most staggering though is the lack of funding lung cancer research receives. The figures break down like this:
$13,953 per breast cancer death
$10,318 per prostate cancer death
$4,618 per colorectal cancer death
$1,723 per lung cancer death

Pretty crazy, huh? Noise needs to be made, and I'm planning on making some.

I'd also like to add that it's not just Lung Cancer that gets lousy funding. There are all sorts of other types that are marginalized and under-researched. My friend Bob is fighting pancreatic cancer right now. The statistics are just as grim and the funding just as light.

However, I think the biggest part of our problem is the stigma associated with lung cancer. I find that VERY unfair. People think they are doing something for lung cancer when they start or support smoking cessation classes, but as the stats suggest above, former smoker are STILL at risk. More needs to be done for folks who actually GET the cancer without placing the blame ON THE VICTIMS.

If after suffering through all of these stats you'd happen to be interested in more information check out:

www.lchelp.org

or

http://lungcanceralliance.org/facing/facts.html

I think it's worth being educated about and worth DOING something about. There are lives at stake.

One more thing--

If you happen to be reading this and struggling with the disease remember that YOU are more than these statistics. YOU CAN beat the odds! Be proactive and don't let numbers get you down. You are a person with fire and spunk, NOT a statistic.

Hehe. That's it for my friendly public service announcement.

2005-08-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life feels rather like this.

Addie and Cindi and Fay A. and Justakid Everyone Else

2005-08-12T13:07:00.000-07:00

If you are one who prays, PLEASE pray for my friends at LCSC (Lung Cancer Support Community). The news there has been particularly dismal in the last few months. My Mom's passing was one of so many recently, and some long time much beloved members are just getting horrible news.

Pray especially for those that are having huge bumps in the rode. These folks are seeing recurrence, new staging, new mets, and all that goes with all of that. The collective heart of that online community is SO VERY heavy. All of us, but especially those whose battle has just become so much more intense, need many many prayers.

http://lchelp.org/

My heart just aches.

She's Just Doing Dishes?

2005-08-11T21:40:00.000-07:00

I actually tried to get some housework done today. I've been in a bit of a housework slump. Of course I didn't get the inspiration to get said housework done until Carolyn was very awake and on the verge of fussy.

So I'm doing the one armed Mom thing balancing Carolyn on my hip while putting away dishes and reloading the dishwasher. Carolyn is getting pretty heavy and my arm was getting tired, so I put her down just outside the kitchen door on the carpet.

Now, I set her down in such a way that when she wiggled just a bit her head was in a place that she couldn't see me anymore. All of a sudden she was not in my arms and she couldn't see me. She was frantic. Tears were rolling down her face, she was kicking her little legs, and that horrible little pouty lip wail came on with all of it's heart-tugging power.

I tried to reassure her, "Carolyn honey. Mommy's right here. You maybe can't see me, but I'm right here."

And... I burst into tears. All I could think of was Mom. "I'm right here, Val. You can't see me or touch me anymore, but I'm right here."

Once upon a time I thought I had this afterlife stuff figured out. I used to think I had a lot figured out. Now all I know is that I don't know. But somehow I believe that while I am certain Mom is in the place of no more tears, maybe in some way she is checking in.

But gosh what I wouldn't give to just feel her hold me one more time.

Dana Reeves

2005-08-09T08:44:00.000-07:00

And now Dana Reeves has been diagnosed with Lung Cancer. Will the beast never stop?

I know Dana Reeves knows a thing or two about beating the odds. I pray that she will do so with this battle as well.

As horrible as it is for people like Dana Reeves and Peter Jennings to have had to suffer with this blasted disease I am glad that it is finally getting some press.

But at the same time I'm irritated because the news can't get away from blaming it on the patients. Yes smoking increases one's chances of getting lung cancer. But I will never, ever understand why the first words out of people's mouths when they find out a person has lung cancer is, "Did they smoke?" It's so much bigger than that.

More people die of lung cancer each year than from breast cancer and prostate cancer. Yet Lung Cancer gets FAR LESS funding for research. That doesn't shock anyone because the underlying feeling is that Lung Cancer is the fault of those who have it. That's poppycock. We fund research for those suffering from strokes and heart attacks when many of those can be prevented with a healthier lifestyle. We fund research for other cancers that can be linked to poor lifestyles and food choices. But since smoking is an easy target, we think it's logical for us not to fund a 'preventable disease.' That's a stigma plain and simple folks. It's wrong. It's unfair. It's hurtful to people suffering from such a debilitating, devestating illness.

I think my new mantra is We need a Cure. Not a Stigma.

Too Much Perspective

2005-08-08T10:53:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I am totally out of perspective and I allow the things I am dealing with to just look so huge.

Other times, though, I feel like I have TOO MUCH perspective. I guess it goes back to me needing to keep my eyes on my own paper rather than playing the comparison game. Really if this is the comparison game it's a pretty twisted version of it.

I look at what other people are struggling with and minimize my own feelings. Like right now with Mom being gone and us being on the heels of this deployment with Carolyn only five months old--that's hard. I mean, I think that's legitamitly hard. But then I think of a person I know whose husband died in Iraq while she was pregnant with their first child. I think of people who've lost both parents. I think of people who lost their Mom when they were really young. I think of Andy losing his Dad our freshman year of college and how he didn't even get to see Andy get married, and didn't have the chance to even know Carolyn would be on the way. I think of how much harder it would be to lose my husband or my child.

I see all those things and yes I do the thankfulness for the things I have, the time I've had with Mom, and the time I've had and will have with Andy thing, but somehow in my strange little head I get to thinking that along with being thankful I shouldn't feel pain about my own losses and struggles. I allow that to short-circuit my own feelings. Maybe it's a convenient excuse. Maybe it's an over-developed guilt complex. I'm not sure. And I am sure it's not the only thing contributing to my 'stuckness.'

But some days I wish I didn't have so much darned perspective.

Peter Jennings is Gone

2005-08-07T22:13:00.000-07:00

Peter Jennings died of Lung Cancer today. Or at least, the news broke today.

That is another sock in the stomach.

So much loss... So much loss to this terrible beast.

I really, really hate it.

I Don't Know How...

2005-08-06T17:14:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I know how to grieve.

I can't figure it out. I don't know how to feel. I feel sad. But I can't seem to do anything about it. I don't cry. I don't talk about it. I blog a little about it.

Mostly I just go through my days like normal. That's worked so well for so long...

But what about *FEELING* this? My Mom just DIED. Why can't I cry? Why don't I cry?

In the last three weeks other people that I know, have lost people close to them. That has hit me like a ton of bricks. I feel those like a stomach punch.

But most of the time I equate the feelings I have about Mom with a casual head nod.

"Yeah. That happened three weeks ago. Sucks."

My emotions feel stuck. They have for a long time. I'm afraid to unstick them, but I think I probably need to.

Is it survival mode? Do I need to still be in that? Andy leaves in three weeks (found out today deployment got moved up... Bleh). Will I not survive if I kick out of survival mode?

I just don't know.

I don't even feel like I can write well because it's all stuck. I feel insecure about every word I put down. The feelings are stuck, so the words are stuck.

Do they have a manual for this? I'd think it was all canned and wrong even if they did.

2005-08-04T21:30:00.000-07:00

One of the last photos of us with Mom.

The Last Days

2005-07-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of thoughts banging around about our Last Days with Mom. It was a difficult, beautiful, grotesque, horrible, exhausting, stressful, miraculous experience to be there with her as she centered into herself, and let go of this life.

I was suprised at how unbeautiful parts of it were...how undignified. Mom was unresponsive for most of the last 4 days and all of the last two. She started having to fight for air. She had apnea and snored constantly and would go a long time between breaths. She stopped being able to focus. She lost her words and her ability to communicate. She moaned. At times I think she fought to hold on even though it was obvious that while she wasn't perhaps in pain, she was far from peaceful or comfortable.

When she stopped eating, I got a little worried. I thought we might see her eat a little bit more at some point. Then I remember getting to the end of the day and looking at the water glass we'd filled for her that morning. I had been comforting myself all day that she was still taking in water, if only by us squirting it in her mouth with a syringe. Then I looked at the mostly full glass and realized she'd had about 5 teaspoons of water the whole day. Then I knew we were at the end.

Death seemed to come gradually and like a huge freight train bearing down on us all at the same time. I say that because we really thought we had more time. We thought we had a month or maybe more of Mom still being Mom... Of pain control and maybe some time to make beautiful memories. Instead three days into her being on hospice I knew we were at the end. And six days after she signed on, she was gone.

There were moments where Mom gave us tremendous gifts. Three days before she left, I woke up and was with her, and she asked for Daddy. He came in and the look in her eyes was still just so loving... It was the look that I know she had when they were first married and she would gaze at him without him knowing it. It was still there.

It was brutal and ugly when only a few hours later she didn't know who Daddy was and only referred to him as "That Man."

Mom's last attempt at saying something TO ME she told me that she loved me. I was sponging her mouth off, and said as casually and commonplace as we always have, "I love you, Mom." And she said it back. It seemed an automatic response at the time, but now I know it was an amazing gift.

It was hard. Incredibly hard. It was hard when she saw me and thought I was someone else. I felt humiliated for her at some of the things we had to do. It was exhausing. It was slow and yet so fast.

And when I came in after Daddy came to get me after she'd died, the beauty was there again.

Mom was at peace.

Mom is at peace.

And I miss her and it hurts all the time. The feeling of her laughing and smiling has faded a bit. I know she needs to go on and not cling even to reassure us. I know she still is laughing and smiling... She just can't be constantly letting me know, now.

I know that she still is. And that makes me happy. But I miss her.

Plans

2005-07-30T11:57:00.000-07:00

Well, we leave tomorrow for Washington. Carolyn and I will be there for a month. We're driving out, but trying to take it nice and slow so as not to overwhelm Carolyn, and not to make it another horrendous trip of pushing too hard.

It was a hard decision, but when you lose someone to cancer, or to anything really, your perspective changes. The questions with the most weight stopped being, "What about the money? What about the logisitcs?" and started being, "How can we spend the most time together?" I know that sounds cliche.

I kept hearing Mom's voice in my head saying, "It's only money. I've never seen a Brinks truck in a funeral procession." I kept hearing her tell my Aunt Dar to "Get your priorities straight, woman!"

Searching for places to live was kind of interesting. We've settled on a vacation rental in a town not far from the base. It looks really pretty. Everything is furnished, and it says it has a view of the water. It sounds like a good place to find a bit of rest.

I feel sort of guilty. Dad is helping us quite a bit financially, and this place looks really nice. He said Mom would want this, and that he wants it too. I feel like a spoiled only child.

But I also feel that maybe this is the 'break' that I've been hoping to catch. I feel like this is a time to recoup and regroup before focus shifts from the big C of cancer to the big D of deployment. I think this will give me time to greive. I don't think this is something that I 'deserve,' or a return of goodness for the difficulty I've been thorugh. Instead I feel it's a serindipitous gift that should be enjoyed and fully lived. I hope that's what it is anyway.

So... off we go.

Constant Deciding

2005-07-27T20:42:00.000-07:00

I haven't been in one place for more than a year since... well since High School if you count the back and forthing between college and my folks' house.

Now I face another location decision.

I came back to my parents' house to be with Mom and to help care for her.

Now Mom is gone.

Andy is on land for another month and a half. He is back from this last detachment and they're gearing up for the actual deployment now. I want to be with him while I can.

But... our apartment is gone and in storage. Staying in a hotel for a month would be REALLY expensive.

I think it would be worth it for C and I to be with my husband. Especially since this is our last opportunity to be with him before he is gone for a long time. It would be a comfort to be with him as I start getting serious about this grief stuff. It hurts to know that Mom is gone and that DH will be away soon too. Being with him while I can just seems like the right thing to do.

But can we justify spending that much when we have a pretty modest income as is? All the travelling we've had to do this year has strapped us a bit already.

Mom would tell me that it's only money. I know she would.

I just long for a boring year with no moves, no deaths, no catastrophes, and no drastic decisions needing to be made every month or so.

I miss Mom. A lot.

Joy

2005-07-20T19:58:00.000-07:00

It's a suprise to me, but the feeling I feel most strongly since Mom left us yesterday is joy.

My Mom is free now. She had her first good day in 9 months yesterday. She doesn't hurt any more. She isn't stuck in a body that can't keep up with her mind and spirit. Being by her side as she went through her final days as such an amazing blessing, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done. The person who lay in the hopsital bed in her room those last few days seemed just a shell of the wonderful woman I knew as "Mom."

And yet... MOM was in there. That was what was excruciating. She was in there... Locked in a body that was non-responsive and suffering.

The look on Mom's face when I saw her after she passed yesterday morning was one of complete peace. I can only imagine that those first moments of heaven were full of such amazing joy and peace and release and relief for her. I can feel her smiling. I can feel her laughing. And it makes me want to laugh and smile too.

I grieve for what we will not have, and for the brilliant colors that left the world yesterday... But I am so very happy for my Mommy.

Mom's Birthday

2005-07-19T11:28:00.000-07:00

Today is Mom's new birthday.

She was born into eternal life this morning.

She is free now.

She died this morning, after Andy arrived, I believe, because she needed to see him again and know that he would be here to take care of me.

Carolyn knew immediately.

I miss her so much already.

The 'H word'

2005-07-13T17:01:00.000-07:00

So we're there. We're to 'The H Word.'

Hospice came today. The Doctor determined that Mom was not a good candidate for the clinical trial, that she was, in fact, no longer a good candidate for any sort of treatment to fight the cancer.

Comfort and Pain Management is the order of the day now.

As I said, In-home hospice came this morning. They seem very nice. They will take care of things like giving Mom baths and washing her hair, as well as providing her pain meds, and spiffy things like a hospital bed. The help is so appreciated.

The thing that scares us all is that when you sign on the dotted line for Hospice you no longer do blood transfusions. Mom's blood counts suck... All the time they suck. Without transfusions, I think things will go very quickly.

This hurts worse than anything I've ever experienced. I'm still 'marching on' with large quantities of sugar. You know what they say about a spoonful of sugar... Obviously, bucketloads are necessary now.

The doctor said Maybe three months, definitely not six. With the blood situation as it is, I'm not sure we'll even have that long. I am praying she makes it for her brothers to visit and until Andy's leave time.

I get the sense that in a lot of ways, each day is going to be harder than the last. There are moments that I'm not sure how I'm going to survive this.... but I know somehow I will.

Still Marching

2005-07-07T14:08:00.000-07:00

I had a good old meltdown yesterday. I guess I knew that was coming, but I so didn't want it to. I was tired from traveling to Kansas and back for Andy's grandfather's 90th birthday, and trying to get ready for my aunt to come in... And then I found out Mom was not liking the meals I've been fixing... Plus, I was so busy I didn't get a shower until almost 5 pm.

And let me tell you... There was major crumblage. I cried and cried and cried and yelled... The worst part was, I yelled while Mom was in the room. I didn't Yell at her. I yelled Near her. (There really is a distinction), but I still felt just horrible for doing it...

I wanted a hug from Andy so very badly. I'd have settled for one from anyone that I feel ok being a wreck around, but... those people are few and far between these days... So I mostly just bawled everywhere. I shared my woes with Carolyn, who is a very sympathetic listener. She also tends to think it's kind of funny when Mommy's face is all wet.

I'm better today. It's amazing what a little sleep will do.

We're still waiting on pins and needles to find out if Mom is approved for the Perifosine.... Mom says she cries every time the phone rings. I get antsy myself.

In other news, Carolyn rolled from her front to her back today!!! How fun! She's even putting all of her rolling techniques together to get places. She turns four months today... Gosh time moves fast with a baby!

Won't Eat

2005-06-25T18:59:00.000-07:00

Mom won't eat today. She's really, really, really sick to her stomach all the time. Dad Panics on days like today. It is distressing. Especially when she won't take in fluids (she has done some of that today). Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

It's hard though when she feels so badly. She's sitting in her chair right now, and she will just hardly even respond. That scares me. I always wonder if we should be calling an ambulance or something. Boy would that piss Mom off.

Mostly I think Dad and I feel cagey because we feel helpless. Feeling helpless sucks.

Scans, Plans, and Smelly Boats

2005-06-21T21:32:00.000-07:00

Well, so we got the CT Scan results back today.

Not so good...

The original tumors in the lung are growing and there are more tumors there now. There is growth in the lymph nodes, most of the bone spots are the same with some growth in a couple areas and now the cancer is in Mom's liver. In the words of my favorite Carolyn toy, "BLEH!"

Needless to say that's not the news we wanted to hear, and we're done done done with Alimta. The doctor wants to start on a drug called Perifosine now. It's an oral drug (which Mom thinks is a perk) and it's brand-spanking new. The doc even had to check today to make sure that it was approved for use with Lung Cancer. It's still in the trials phase and they're messing around with dosages.

Some paperwork has to go through and Mom has to be officially approved. As long as that all happens, we're good to go with this stuff.

I was discouraged to hear the news about the scans, but encouraged that Mom seems to want to keep fighting. It made me really proud of her... and it makes me feel less scared. This stuff might not work either, but at least we're DOING something.

Mom also gets to go another couple weeks without treatments. Hopefully her blood counts will go back up and she can get a little stronger, and.... I'd still take some GOOD--I mean unquestionably GOOD days.

Andy is on the smelly boat now (Really smelly according to him.... Gross). Apparently he got some really yucky sheets... covered in--well you name the body fluid, and it's there. Lovely! I'm glad that our servicemember are so well taken care of, aren't you? *sigh* Also, someone stole his cardboard box. Not the stuff inside of it, just the box. What is it with random items of his walking off? And why in the world would you steal a cardboard box? I just don't get it.

He called tonight one last time before they are 'out there' on this Det. That was sad and hard, especially on the heels of our other bad news. On the sort of upside, it looks like this IS just going to be a Detachment which means that he will *possibly* get to take some leave and come see us between this Det. and his deployment. It means more time away from us in the long run, but another chance to see him in the short run.

I still feel like I'm made of steel sometimes. I imagine one of these days though, the dam is going to break and I'll be a wreck for a while. I guess that won't make me any less strong. It'll just give me a wet face.

So, as I said, We March on...

So Much to Say

2005-06-15T20:32:00.000-07:00

There are so many things I want to blog about tonight... We're back at Mom's. Travels were ok. We came in last night, and Carolyn was delighted to see Grampa and Gramma. She talked and smiled and giggled and cooed and turned on ALL her charm.

Today has been... well, it's been. I've been kind of draggy and a little down, but I think both are to be expected. I feel somewhat discontented and uncomfortable here. Like maybe I don't fit. I was thinking that I would just stay here at my folks', now I'm again toying with the idea of getting an apartment here for a while. I just feel kind of emotionally crowded.

David C. from my lung cancer message board passed away today. He was only 37 and has a beautiful little girl.... This makes me really sad.

Mom will have a doctor's appointment to discuss her latest scans on Monday. I am praying for good news. The way she is talking today, it sounds like if there is not significantly good news, she feels it's best to stop fighting. I'm not sure how to support her here. I want her to know that I DO support her regardless of her decision at this point, but I also want to encourage her to keep fighting, and to help her to know that there is hope. At the same time, I can see how it must seem so futile to fight so hard and still feel so very bad. She said she thinks that it would be easier for me if she lived, but she's not sure what would be easier for Dad. I told her whether she decides to fight or not she needs to make the decision for HER. Incidentally, that was a conversation I never wanted to have, and yet I did have it... calmly and rationally... Sometimes it feels like I'm outside myself watching these things.

Mom has an 'alien mark' on her arm. It's really weird. It's dark red... Like a bruise but nastier. She was told by the nurse at the doctor's office it was just a bruise and not to worry about it. So, she's just decided that the aliens are coming to get her and that they've branded her before hand. ;)

I miss Andy. But I am coping. I think Carolyn misses him too. I know they're not supposed to 'know things' like this... but she knew her daddy instantly when we went back. It only makes sense that she would know that he's NOT here and miss him. But maybe I am just projecting onto her.

So... we march on.

Last Night Here...

2005-06-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

*Warning... huge whine ahead*

It's my last night here... Our last night with Andy for six months, probably nine months, or even more. I can't figure out why the cards are stacked against us. What did we do wrong? Why does the pile only get bigger and bigger?

They have a stupid safety stand-down tonight. He was supposed to be home an hour and a half ago... He's not. I guess they all went on a break and no one has come back yet... He's trying to figure out where to go and what to do and when he's allowed to go home.

He got a room at the Navy Lodge here for us.. But the house is nowhere near clean despite all the work Jamie and I put in today. I know Andy has the rest of the week to get it done, but he has a lot of other stuff to do as well. I hope he gets it cancelled because we'll never get there in time, and I want to wake up in THIS HOUSE again tomorrow. I can't stand a new place tonight with all that is happening.

It's our last night. We have to leave at 8 in the morning tomorrow. I just want him to come home so we can eat dinner, and cuddle, and be together. He probably won't even get to see Carolyn awake today.

I don't want to leave tomorrow. I really don't. I don't want to be away from him for so long. I don't know how I'll do it. I'll essentially live the most difficult year of my life without him. No... No... I don't want to.

This is the first time I've really felt like saying, I can't do this. I'm not sure I can. I suppose the strength will come back sometime. Maybe I'll even be coping tomorrow as we navigate through the world of travelling as Mommy and lap-infant yet again. But right now... I just want to hold my husband for a little bit. And I can't. And I want to quit.

2005-06-10T22:49:00.000-07:00

Proof that the glove fiasco didn't spoil our time... It's so good to be the three of us!

Well...

2005-06-08T21:42:00.001-07:00

He's home... No gloves. They just didn't want somebody to get hurt and then have the BIG GUYS have to answer to somebody....

Tomorrow a new CO takes over and they have a big ceremony so Friday is a day off... Unless they renig on that for just the ATs, he should be able to have some distance.

More Glove Effect

2005-06-08T16:19:00.000-07:00

Andy called.

They're making them work back to back double shifts until the gloves are found. That means 20 hour days and I'll see him when he is allowed to come home to sleep at 4 a.m... or later.

I have no idea what may be happening for Andy personally... but this doesn't sound good.

So much for seeing any of my husband this last week of my being home before I go back to Mom's and he deploys.

:(

The... Glove Effect???

2005-06-08T11:38:00.000-07:00

Who ever thought so much trouble would come from a pair of gloves?

So you've heard of the butterfly effect right? The idea that if a butterfly flaps her wings in Seattle that it'll start a hurricane over in the Carribean or what not?

With the Navy, apparently the culprit is gloves.

Andy got a pair on Monday, used them at work on Tuesday, layed them down in a safe place in the shop (Far away from any planes), and went on a lunch break. When he got back they were gone.

Now, they were nice gloves. He wanted them back so he mentioned they were gone. Of course, no one knew where they are.

There is this obsession that the aviation community has with something called FOD. I'm not entirely sure what the meaning or origin of the word FOD is except that it's loose stuff that can get stuck in airplanes and cause big problems... Andy's gloves were considered FOD.

First they ripped the shop apart looking for them. Then the plane. Day shift stayed late. Night shift worked on it. No gloves.

Andy calls after they finally let him come home and says--Were they in the planes I worked on? Nope...

We thought we were in the clear after that, but then a Chief called. *Note not only is it not good that a Chief was in the shop in the evening, it's never good when one calls you at home.* They had cancelled the Flight Schedule for the night. Six planes were on the ground because of a stupid pair of gloves that mysteriously walked off.

Andy went back in to work. They checked and rechecked and quadruple and quintuple checked EVERYTHING. No gloves. They're gone. Poof. The planes weren't flying. The brass was pissed. Bad juju folks.

It's not unheard of for people to have some significant disciplinary action as a result of something like this... including loss of rank.

Andy was sick... Angry, frusterated. The only thing we can figure is someone inadvertantly picked them up... or not so inadvertantly did... And you know they're not going to fess up anytime soon. Not when a perfectly good scapegoat and object of blame is in place.

We think it's going to be ok. Andy will be spending a lot of time with fellows in Khaki today that won't be any too happy with him... We are praying for a softening of their hearts and a little understanding--People put down their gear in the shop all the time. But it sure made for an awful night for us last night, and we shall see what will come of it.

I just can't help but wonder... When can things just be normal for us with no crises in the midst of our doing something that is already difficult? It's stressful enough to pack up and say good-bye without a pair of gloves derailing us into madness. Things could be so much worse. I know, but sometimes... When I'm not feeling like a big girl, I just want to go off into a corner, Pout, and shout, "IT'S NOT FAIR!"

But really... Six flights cancelled and a career possibly tarnished over a silly pair of gloves. Is life not bizarre?

Streams....

2005-06-05T17:14:00.000-07:00

It's the strangest thing... Really, it's a mystery to me.

Things are hard all around right now. There's no hiding that. The burdens and worries I carry at present are heavy loads. It's not easy to say goodbye to one's husband for months at a time, and to know that part of that good-bye comes from MY choice and not just the Navy. It's not easy to be focusing my heart and mind on doing all that I can to love my Mom as she continues in her fight to survive. It's not easy to pack a suitcase, and a small car and move me and C out to live with my folks to help with the day to day there and to squeeze in all the time together we can muster. It's not easy to be a first-time Mama on top of all of that. It's really not.

And somehow... weirdly... in the deep rooted parts of me I can't shake these undercurrents, or streams of... cosmic okness. I feel this peace and joy there. It's this place that I can get to to take a deep breath when I feel suffocated, and where I can take a dip and relax into the cool waters to find some rejuvenation.

I can't figure out how they got there. I'm grateful that they're there. I don't remember really cultivating that part of me... though I guess I have to an extent. I never imagined I would have these strams while standing on these different precipices of my life. But... I find that they are indeed there.

The only thing that I can figure is it's Abba. It's his grace. His love. Carrying me through. That's not to say things don't hurt damn bad a lot of times....

But even then the streams are there.

Tired...

2005-06-05T16:50:00.000-07:00

WOW I'm tired. The kind of tired that almost hurts and makes it really hard to function. I think it's just the stress, but it's kind of hit me out of nowhere.

I keep looking around our apartment going... How are we going to get this done in a week and a half? It will have to happen some way.

I so wish I could just take a nap. Not a Baby's napping so I can too, nap either. One where I don't have to have my Mommy ears on in case the munchkin wakes up. Where I can sleep as long as I want to sleep and wake up and take a shower and just feel good.

I've struggled some with some resentment and jealousy of Andy, but I know it's neither rational or fair. Bless his heart. He's working, packing up the apartment, and trying to give me a break now and then. He has a 000-800 watch tonight. Bleh... That means he'll be down for the count most of tomorrow even though he'll likely be here.

I'm still plugging along ok. It's just these smaller things like being tired, and wanting a break from the baby that keep biting me in the butt. Ahh well....

*Edited to say it's not the baby that's biting me in the butt... it's the 'smaller things.' I never was good at those... Dangling... or misplaced... whatever they are.*

The Right Choice

2005-06-01T09:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I made the right choice. I'm confident in that now. Carolyn and I needed so badly to come back and be with Andy. We arrived on Monday and yesterday we took time to just be the three of us and it was just something critical that we all needed.

I keep tearing up when I see Carolyn and her Daddy together. She giggles for him like she giggles for no one else. She just loves him. She knew him the instant she saw him again and they were able to simply pick up where they left off.

I needed my husband as well. There is no one else in the world with whom I can more simply just BE with. I can allow him to support me and care for me and listen to the goods and the bads and know that he'll still love me in the morning. I can put all the brave fronts down and just cry and I can share with him the ways that I feel I'm changing in this crucible and know he understands.

Being together again we both see just what a tremendous amount of coping we do in our away times. We both just keep putting one foot in front of the other and somehow numb the feelings of aching for the other while still keeping our marriage and togetherness at the front of our minds. We immerse ourselves in the world of now, but never forget that we are still together. We choose not to feel some of the hurt and loneliness and do our best not to think of the other, and somehow at the same time we cannot experience a moment without somehow sharing it.

So I am here, and I know we will thoroughly enjoy being together.... and we will also work our butts off packing up this apartment and putting it into storage. I do hope it's doable in the time we have.

Carolyn and I will be back to be with my Mom and Dad soon. For now I am content and resting in the knowledge that here is where we need to be--as the three of us.

Just Tear Me in Two...

2005-05-26T13:01:00.000-07:00

So I go back to Washington on Monday...... I think.

I so badly want to see Andy, and he needs so badly to see his baby girl. We will be packing up the apartment and putting it into storage as well, and I don't want to leave that all on Andy who will, of course, also be working.

But things just feel tentative and crappy here. Mom is in the midst of some really lousy days. She's in pain ALL the time and she's dealing with some nausea as well. The pain meds she's on don't seem to be knocking it down to the degree that she seems to need. She just hasn't felt well at all these last few days.

And then there's Dad.... He went to the doctor yesterday and he needs a colonoscopy, a mammogram (of all things), and they've run some tests due to a tingling sensation and numbness in his legs (they think that is due to his cholesteral medicine). What's going on with my Dad? The thought that he could be sick too just terrifies me. He needs all these tests. I want to be here for him. Some of the tests will wait until I get back...

Mom will start radiation again in a week and a half or so to hopefully again reduce the pain she is feeling in her shoulder. But again there is more busyness.

And then there's just the fact that, though Daddy is trying really hard... He's so scared and angry right now that his tactic is to stay busy. It works for him, but Mom needs someone to just sit with her and talk sometimes.... about scary stuff, and fun stuff, and normal stuff. Daddy seems to be so afraid of stopping his activity that he isn't doing that. I wonder who will tuck the covers in around Mom and sit with her and hold her hand on the nights that the pain is bad while I'm gone...

It's only 2 weeks... but if time is limited, how can I NOT be here?

And yet... I know I need to go. I guess that tells me what to do. The "voice" says 'you need to let your husband see Carolyn once more before the long months without him begin.'

It's just very, very hard. I used to find it comforting that I could only be 1 place at a time. That freed me to stay in the now. But things are so pressing in two parts of the country... If only I could leave part of me here and take the rest to see Andy.

In happier news... Carolyn is trying SO hard to turn over on her own. She's done it once with only a little bit of help. She is also jabbering up a blue streak. I love her little sounds. They sound like bell-songs in the morning.

Bad Day

2005-05-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

I thought about calling this post 'stormy day,' but I decided I like storms too much to connect the two things.

It was a rotten day for everyone today. Mom had to go in to get 3 units of blood. She and Dad went in mid-morning and Carolyn and I went in early afternoonish. Things were going ok at first. Mom was even starting to feel perkier with all that new good blood in her. We were playing trivial pursuit and Carolyn was turning on the charm.

Then Mom started getting chills. That's pretty normal so we just kind of went on. Right before I was getting ready to leave to go visit some friends, somehow or another Mom pulled the line out of her Port. Blood was dripping all over and I think Mom was scared she'd messed up the port. The nurses came in and fixed her up. That hurt. And then she fell apart feeling awful about all that she is having to go through and feeling like she'd really messed up, and then feeling bad for feeling bad in front of me. I held her hand and told her it was an honor to be able to support her and Carolyn and I are so glad we can just be with her to love her... And she cried and said, "I need it so badly right now."

Once things were settled again, Carolyn and I went ahead and left to see our friends who are expecting their first son in September. They were going ot meet Carolyn and I was going to see how cute my friend was pregnant. About halfway there, Carolyn started whimpering. By the time we got to their house she WAS NOT Happy. She looked around like, "Um... Mom... This isn't home. I'm done. I don't want to play anymore." Well, this only escalated. She added some spit-up and some choking and sputtering and was basically the definition of inconsolable crying. My friends tried to help. They even put together their future son's bouncy seat to try to help Carolyn settle down, but it just wasn't happening. Just as we were getting ready to head home, Carolyn scratched the inside of her mouth or something and a small little drool puddle with blood mixed into it landed on her shirt. Well, I stayed calm but blood coming out of your kid's mouth is pretty scary. We looked her over (expecting Dad friend is a paramedic, so I was watching to see if he looked like he thought I should be worried) and couldn't find anything wrong with her. I came up with the mouth scratch hypothesis and got us headed for home.

Well, I still WAS worried and was trying to figure out what to do so I called my dad for advice... And he was headed up to the hospital because Mom's fever had spiked and they'd stopped doing the transfusion until it went down. Well, about this time I lost it. (I think I'm more than entitled).... Dad said to take C home and check her temp and go from there and that he'd keep me posted on Mom's situation.

So that's what we did. Carolyn did some more crying when we got home, but nursed her way to pretty peaceful sleep, and she didn't have a fever.

Andy called and he had had an awful day was well. It just seems to be a theme. Neither of us really wanted to talk about our awful days and so that made for an awkward upsetting conversation too.

But in the long run.... I think everyone is ok. I am ok. Just worn out. Carolyn seems fine (and believe me I keep going in to make sure her little chest is still rising up and down). I think she was just overwhelmed with the day and needed to be in the familiar again. Mom's fever is down and she is ok, but not home yet. And Andy is alright too.

But for all of our relative okness, it was a pretty crappy day.

But back to the 'storm' issue. On the way home there was a brilliant electrical storm. Great streaks and bolts of lighting kept arcing through the sky so bright that the single bolts alone made it seem like daylight when it flashed. It was absolutely breath-takingly beautiful.

It made me think that in general, life hurts. But all in all it is as beautiful as that electical storm.

I hope tomorrow is better.

So Hard...

2005-05-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling really down today. Mom has been feeling really down as well. I'm afraid that she is losing her resolve to fight the beast. I can't blame her... She just wants a few good days, and some good news. Last night, she was whimpering as she was getting ready for bed. I went in and tucked her in, and she was crying. Dad is having a hard time, and so he is short with her, and she was feeling really hurt about that, and I think that is as corrosive to her as anything right now.

She's turned into my Grandmother... She's said it a couple of times, but I'm starting to see it. She walks the same frail walk that my Grandmother did when she was getting weaker... hunched over, clutching at her nightgown, struggling for the breath to keep going.

I'm so angry today that this is hurting her so badly... and that my mother has gotten so old at such a young age.

This is just so hard.