From Yesterday

A year ago today, right now, I was either on my way to the hospital or was getting ready to go up.  My mom had stopped opening her eyes spontaneously; she only responded when spoken to or tapped on the shoulder or arm.  That was the start of her rather rapid decline; well, I guess the start really was when she went into respiratory failure. I knew when that happened that she would never come off of the respirator.  My sister, unfortunately, kept holding out hope – even when the doctor told us there was nothing they could do, she was still tugging at every straw she could to find a way to save my mom.  She had me call the Cancer Centers of America to see if they would do a case review, in hopes that they could treat her while still on a respirator.  She was too far gone at that point and I knew that.  My dad didn’t want to let her go, no matter what I or any doctor said.  Sometimes my realistic nature makes me seem like I’m a cold-hearted bitch but I look at things the way that they are.  My mom was sick and I knew she was terminal the day she walked into her doctor’s office; I had hoped for longer time with her but that didn’t happen.  And when she went onto the respirator, I knew that either she would go quickly on her own or we would have to do it.  I prayed she would go on her own; it may sound heartless but again, it was realistically the best case scenario.  But that didn’t happen.  It’s horrible to admit it but I would go to bed praying to get a phone call that she had gone into cardiac arrest and couldn’t be revived.  It would have been so much easier on my Dad if that’s how it had played out, and that was my main concern.  But instead, he sat next to her day after day praying for a miracle that never came.

I can remember being so mad on the 6^th, which was a Monday, after speaking to her nurse because she told me that my mom was unresponsive.  It didn’t take long to go from limited responses to none at all.  I thought her morphine was too high, or the sedative they had her on was too high so I was ready to go into that ICU and rip someone a new one over the obvious mistake of over-medicating her.  But later that day I found out that wasn’t the case.  They really couldn’t pin point what caused her to shut down like that, but a nurse told me that it happens often with people that are terminal.  Their bodies start to shut down anything that isn’t necessary in order to keep functioning, so she may not have been able to hear us, she may not have understood anything that she heard if she heard anything at all.  Her body was too busy trying to stay alive to support her opening her eyes, moving her hands, her arms, etc.

This is all very surreal to me. I can remember those days as if I am reliving them frame-by-frame in my head.  I sat here at this same desk, in this same chair, taking phone calls and making phone calls and sending and receiving texts; I remember the drive to the hospital, the calls and texts I would have to return once I got there.  The calls I made from the waiting room, or even from outside of her room – I knew she couldn’t hear me even when she was responding.  Yesterday, I thought to myself – why didn’t we ask to have her hearing aids put in.  If there was any chance of her hearing us, it would have been with those in.  I feel kind of stupid for thinking of it now, a year later.  I don’t know if it would have made any difference for her, probably not, but for me it would have. I would feel a little more confident that she heard us, she heard my Dad talk to her and say whatever it was that he said when he left the night we turned off the machines.  I feel badly that she may have been able to hear us, but couldn’t because we forgot.   I feel pretty stupid about it, actually.  I should have thought of it and I didn’t and for some unknown reason, I feel solely responsible for missing it.  Just adds to the long list of things that suck about this whole experience, this whole year, this week.  I hate that the holidays will always have a cloud over them; I am hopeful that the cloud will fade a bit as time goes on, but I know that I will never forget and I will never feel the same again now that she’s gone and because she went the way that she did.  I swear if I ever get that sick, just put a pillow over my head.

It's been a Year Since I Last Heard Her Voice

I didn't know it then, but a year ago was the last time I heard my mom's voice. It was the last time we talked, the last time we laughed, the last time I kissed her and she kissed me back. She was lucid, to some extent, a few days later, but she couldn't really communicate. Nor could she remember things from five minutes before so we had the same conversation with her over and over for hours. I don't know how many times we told her that the tube would come out when her lungs were clear, and no she couldn't take it out herself and yes, it was Saturday. Yes, still Saturday. Daddy was okay, he was eating and doing okay. No, she couldn't get up and walk out yet, no she couldn't go home yet. It was a horrible, horrible day. I knew I was lying to her all day, over and over.

I miss her accent, the way she laughed at her really bad sarcastic comments about other people, the way she talked to my daughter. I miss her. Every day. And although I sit here, without tears in my eyes, my heart is still just as heavy as it's been before. Just as heavy as it was when I got the call that  day, telling me she went into respiratory failure and had been moved to ICU. I had hoped for some time with her, some more time for her to have with my daughter, but that wasn't in the cards. I miss her. I just miss her.

The Time I've Been Dreading is Here

I am an asshole.  I really am – no, I am.  I was supposed to call my Dad yesterday, see how he was, offer to bring Emily down to his house – he wasn’t allowed to drive due to a small procedure he had on his shoulder the prior day.  And I didn’t.  not once did I pick up the phone.  I thought about it, and I thought about driving to his house instead of going to the bookstore with Emily (we never made it anyway since she fell asleep) but I didn’t actually do it.  I did nothing but focus on myself and my kid yesterday.  And I feel pretty shitty for doing that.  But I did it so that I wouldn’t be a blubbering mess all day, or all weekend, or all month – I wanted to start off the month and the year the right way; meaning, not sad because of my mom.

Today, its been one year since my mom was admitted into the hospital.  I’m work, just like I was that day.  My dad has dialysis, which he’s thankful for because it’ll get him out of the house and it means that he’ll spend most of his day probably sleeping once he gets home.  I can’t believe it’s been a year since that day of meeting them at the ER, seeing how out of breath she was trying to go from the car to the ER waiting room – they got her a wheelchair as soon as they saw she had such difficulty.  It snowed today a year ago, it had been snowing already – I remember the slush and ice in the parking lot, and the way it snowed that night.  The snow started around7pm, and I left her room around 7:30 or so…my sister stayed until around 8 or 8:30.  The roads were horrible and I just wanted to get home.   I kissed my mom, told her I would see her in the morning, said I love you, said something snarky to my sister, and left.  I really thought we would talk the next day, but we didn’t.  She was sedated the next day, to keep her calm after having to be intubated.

Time is a cruel mistress indeed.  I feel like it happened yesterday, but it also happened so very long ago – so long ago that it doesn’t feel real (it still doesn’t, which I can’t explain).  A year went so fast – and so much has happened in a year.  Many losses, some gains, amazing surprises, happy times, sad times, all of it came and went so fast.  Just like she did, really.  I wish I knew then what I know  now, there are so many things I would have done differently or at least had tried to do differently.  But I can’t change the past, no matter how much I want to.  Today, on the 2^nd day of this new year, I am hopeful that the coming weeks and months will be easier, even if its just slightly.  And I am hopeful that I can get some semblance of myself back – this past year has sucked up a lot of who I used to be and, although I know I will never be the same again, I want to try to be the person I was before all of this happened.  I want to have more happy than sad days, I want to have less fights with my daughter and boyfriend, I want to be positive about life – some aspect of life – instead of just being sad.   Sad sucks, and I’m so very tired of it. 

I am also hopeful that, although I don’t want to forget, the memories will fade just a bit.  Right now, I glanced at my clock and remembered what I was doing right now a year ago – I was sitting in a chair, next to her ER bed, listening to her complain about how long she had been there and how much longer would it be before she had a room and she even threatened to leave at one point.  Yeah, that wouldn’t have happened but still, threatened she did.  I remember how lively she was that day, almost demanding something to eat, complaining non-stop at one point.  And I remember her voice when she was talking to the oncologist who came to see her, who would have treated her had her body not shut down so quickly.  He was lovely; a wonderfully kind man who treated her with such compassion, it was beautiful to watch, honestly.  And I can remember him asking what she was afraid of. Her response was “that I’m sick, that its cancer.  I can’t be sick, I have a granddaughter.”  Those words will stay with me forever, as will the look in her eyes when she said them.

New Year - Thank God

As I sit here, waiting for 2014 to end, it's hard to forget where I was last year right now. Physically I was here, in almost the same place on this couch. But in my mind I was somewhere else. I was still in my parents' house, where I had been earlier in the day, convinicing my mom to go into the hospital. We convinced her to go, after she spent I don't know how long refusing to see my sister and I and telling my father to tell us to go home. We sat at their kitchen table and told her that no, she wouldn't be on one those machines with the tube in her throat and no there would be no catheter. Little did I know that less than 24 hours - probably closer to 12 hours - after getting admitted that all of it would come true....making me feel like a liar. I still feel like one today.

I feel horrible about that day. And I don't know if I will ever feel normal about this day again. I'll always remember that conversation, her refusal to go, her reluctant agreement to going. And I will always feel badly about it. I think she knew for a lot longer than any one else did that something was wrong. I think she didn't go to the doctor, didn't tell the doctor, because she knew. She didn't want to have cancer, she didn't want to die the way her mother or grandmother did so she ignored it. Which ultimately led to her demise. I wish she was still here but the reality is that unless it had been caught almost two years ago, the outcome probably would have been the same.

I truly hope that 2015 is a much better year than 2014. It started with loss, continued with loss all year long. I am hopeful that the next year will bring happiness and a lot less tears of sadness. I need more happy in my life and I hope I can find it early in the year. I've had enough heartbreak and sadness in one year that I don't think I need more - I can use what I've got to spread through into next year.

Happy new year - May you be joyful, healthy and loved.

19 Days

I want the holidays to be happy, especially for my daughter.  I think I’m doing a pretty good job of keeping my chin up.  Rob and I are back to a happy place again, which is very nice since things have been tense lately for a whole host of reasons – my crankiness being one of them.  I’m not obsessing over things that have happened, although it’s hard to keep those thoughts at bay.  By this time a year ago, I knew.  I knew she wouldn’t make it much longer, and I had told Rob and my friend Brian as much once I left the doctor’s office.  I knew I would have to call my sister and tell her what was going on, and that I thought I had a road ahead of me that was much different than the one that we ended up on. I remember saying that I didn’t want to do this – the phone calls to doctors, the doctor appointments, the tests, the results, the treatments, possible surgery, the hospitalizations,  I didn’t want to do it but I would do it again because it’s my mom and someone has to step up and take care of it all.  I had prepared myself to get to know new doctors, find new doctors, schedule appointments and figure out how to make it work around my schedule  Little did I know what was coming up so very quickly – 19 days later, to be exact.  Although I guess she was really gone before that; the last time I communicated with my mom was January 4^th, the second day on the respirator.  She became unresponsive after that and never woke up again.  I try to find solace in the fact that she looked at pictures of my daughter and listened to the stories of her recent shenanigans and smiled and I hope that she remembers those stories and pictures, where ever she may be.

Right now I’m occupying myself with thoughts of baking and wrapping and cooking and holiday movies.  I’m not thinking about all of the other stuff, or at least I’m doing my best not to.  It’s very hard, impossible at times, to remember those last days with her before she became unresponsive.  I wish I had known that it would go so fast, the time that we had left with her.  I would have done things differently, I would have said and done more, I would have been there more for her and for both of my parents.  But I can’t turn back time no matter how much I want to.

So today, I will do my best to be okay.  Some days, I’m lucky to reach a level of ‘okay’ and today, I’m striving for it.  I miss my mom so very much – its incredible how much I can miss someone who drove me as nuts as she did.  And I wish that she were here this holiday to enjoy it, to celebrate it, and to see the little face of her favorite person on the planet light up when she sees her first bike.  I hope that she is with us that day, somehow. I know that I most likely won’t feel her if she does show up, it hasn’t happened yet and at this point I’m not holding my breath (although some psychic guy on FB told me that I have to believe I will hear from her and not just hope or doubt it because then she won’t come through – I know my mom and if I hope for it, she will most likely do the opposite just to be stubborn and defiant).  I just hope that she’s celebrating the holidays with people she loves, where ever she is and doing whatever it is that she’s able to do now that she’s somewhere else.  I miss her, and I hope she knows that.

And today, somehow, I found Emily’s missing Curious George and blanket by the side of the road.  I have looked there who knows how many times since we lost them the night of December 4^th, and today there he was.  I remember driving past that field so slowly that night, hoping to see them and they just weren’t there – I have blamed myself for almost three weeks and have felt horrible about it, I’ve cried over it.  And I found George this morning, his red shirt caught my eye and I threw on my flashers, jumped out of the car and got him out of the field he was lying in (almost directly across the street from Emily’s school).  And I went back in the afternoon, something told me the blanket was there and it was. Neither look all that worse for wear, which tells me someone dumped them there last night in the hopes that we would find them today – or some parent would find them and bring them to school, thinking they belonged to someone there.  I don’t know what it was, but I have to wonder if this is my mom’s gift to Emily this Christmas.  Today, a year ago, we found out she had a tumor on her kidney, with ‘some spots’ on one of her lungs and 19 days later she was gone.  It’s been 19 days since George and the blanket disappeared, the irony is not lost on me.  Not at all and I have to believe it was her – finally, I hear from her and I couldn’t be happier in what she has done for my daughter.  I’d hug her if I could.

No Expectations

I don’t expect everyone to remember what day my mom passed away. She was my mom, not my boyfriend’s mom or the mom to any of my friends.  So I don’t expect it – but I would expect someone, my boyfriend in this case, to ask if it’s okay that he’s out of town around that timeframe.  He should remember that it was not long after the holidays that she passed and that it might be important for me to do something like go to the cemetery or to church with my dad. He should remember that it was in early January, January 2^nd to be exact, that she went into the hospital and it was just a week later that she died.  But he didn’t.  He booked a trip that weekend to see his kids.  Now granted, he is staying home for Christmas so that I can work both the Friday and Monday after the holiday and he’ll be home the following weekend because flights are just too expensive.  But he went and booked it, no questions asked.  In fact, he was sitting there booking it this morning when I walked up and asked what he was doing and he said booking flights, I asked for when, and that’s when he told me.

And just now, he asked if I can get the babysitter for Saturday – to which I responded I would ask her and I also  need to ask her about the 11^th. He responded only to talk about this weekend, no question as to why I needed her on the 11^th.

I don’t expect it to be an important day to him.  I don’t expect him to sit and look at the clock and feel empty inside, like I did that day when I looked at the clock when I took my seat by her side as she took her final breaths or like I did that morning when we left for the hospital, or like I did walking up to her room, or like I did when I told the nurse to order the morphine (I will never, ever forget that moment. Ever.  And I will never stop remember what it felt like to say those words, and how it feels to have been the one to say them.).  I don’t expect him to cry that day; I didn’t expect him to do anything with me that day at all.  I was going to go to the cemetery, go to the mass my dad is having said for her, and maybe do a little crying along the way. Okay definitely do some crying along the way.  But now, I’m not sure that I can do any of that.  Because it’s not important enough to him to remember it, and it’s not important enough for him to consider.  It’s important to me, which I think should make it at least important enough to ask about.  Again the grief and the mourning have made me feel alone, again someone who doesn’t understand has made me feel like this is my burden to bear.  I didn’t expect him to remember, but it sure as hell would have been nice if he had.

I Miss Vacation

We went on a week-long vacation with family to the Dominican and, I must say, it was lovely.  It was warm while it was cold and snowing at home. It was nice to sleep in, without waking to an alarm.  It was fantastic walking to breakfast and seeing peacocks and flamingos and beautiful flowers blooming everywhere. Sure there were toddler tantrums and judgmental sister-in-law issues but whatever – I was in the sun, in the pool, and I had a cold adult beverage whenever I needed or wanted one.  And there was barely a hint of the impending holidays which may have been my favorite part, aside from the free drinks at the pool of course.

As soon as we got home, literally on the way home, it hit me that it wasn’t the summer, fun time was over – it was Christmas time, and I needed to stare it in the face as the flickering lights and reindeer and snowmen lit up the highway.  I cried.  It was hard not to, remembering all that I had in front of me.  And I have tried to avoid it all, very much on purpose, because I don’t want to deal with it.  I don’t want to remember last year’s holiday, I don’t want to remember that I have to go through this year without my mom and with the family that is still mourning her.  I don’t want to start a new Christmas tradition of missing her annual lasagna, although I guess that started last year.  I just don’t want to deal with it.

But – I have to.  I have a child who deserves a happy holiday. I have a significant other that deserves the same, and a family who deserves to at least see me attempt to be jolly.  I have to do my best to not look at the date, to not remember what I was dealing with just 365 days ago, and to not focus on the fact that she’s not here.  It’ll all be okay once I’m on the other side of all of this – which is February, but still.  And yes, if I could sleep and/or drink my way all the way through all of it I would do that happily, but I can’t.  My job frowns upon drunkenness in the workplace (bastards).  I struggle with the idea of a Christmas tree with lights, I struggle with the idea of decorating while watching a Charlie Brown Christmas; I struggle because of the memories she won’t be a part of anymore.  The ones that I have I’ll continue to hold onto, but there won’t be any more stories of how excited Emily was when she opened a certain gift and how happy that made my mom.  There will be no stories of how happy my mom was to see Emily eat her lasagna and ask for seconds and thirds.  That makes my heart and my head and everywhere in between sad.  But I have to suck it up, at least on some level, and make sure that the holiday is as happy as it can be (I type this as one of my mom’s favorite Christmas songs – The Christmas Song sung by Nat King Cole – plays on my radio.  I miss my mom, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her and missed her.  I would lying if I said that I didn’t almost cry at least once while on vacation and I tried to pretend I was talking to my mom when I told him all the details about the vacation (I normally would gloss over the details for him because he doesn’t really care, while she wanted to hear all about everything and everyone, so I tried to find a happy medium for myself).  I wish she was here; I know I can’t bring her back, I know that I can’t change what happened and I know that even if she was diagnosed earlier she most likely wouldn’t be here now.  But it doesn’t make it hurt less.  And it doesn’t make it easier.  The Christmas songs hurt, the decorations hurt, it all hurts.  I guess I just have to find a way to make it hurt as little as possible, or at least make everyone think that I’m not hurting as much as I am.