One year ago
today my phone rang and it was my mom with the worst news I had ever heard.
One year.
Before I
know it, I will be saying that it has been one year since my mom passed. I hate
that word. I hate not having a mom here.
This last
year has been the toughest of my life and I hope we never see a year like it
again. I can only speak from my experience with pancreatic cancer and I know
how tough it was. I imagine all cancers are tough. Many can be treated and
cured. I hear, about other cancers, “the prognosis is good,” or “the survival
rate is really high.” I never heard that from a single person. My mom never
heard that either. Can you imagine what it must have been like for her? This
woman, strong and courageous, was told from day one that there was absolutely
no hope. She was told that she was going to die. She said she wasn’t scared,
but how could you not be? Maybe not scared of where she was going, but she had
to be scared of what was happening.
Everyone
knows that my mom chose to fight. Some might find that a strange statement, but
if you know anything about this particular disease then you know that is a
choice that must be made. One road takes a person straight to the end of this
life but still requires heavy medication. The other road can buy time, one
month, two months, a year maybe three, maybe more. There is just no way of
knowing. Life is full of uncertainties. That is what makes it hard. I
personally like to read the end of the book first. It is just my way. My mom
didn’t want to know until she made her way through all of the chapters. You can
probably guess which road I wanted my mom to take. I am proud of the decision
she made. She wanted to make sure she tried everything she could just on the
chance that she could be the one who could beat it. I didn’t want my mom to
die, but I didn’t want her to suffer. Who would? I knew what my path for her
would mean. But, I wanted quality, something she didn’t really have. No
regrets, never. My mom is a hero. It was just her time.
People told
me that they were amazed at how I handled everything and how they would have been
a wreck. I had them fooled. I didn’t fool my mom, but I didn’t fall apart very
often around her either. Instead, I fell apart at home. I did my best to raise
her spirits, encourage her and I told her all about Heaven. Haven’t been there
yet, but I have read a lot and one of my best friends has ministered to me when
I have asked. He has read a lot too. I wanted to make sure that my mom
understood what was happening and I wanted her to know what was waiting for her.
Most of those discussions happened during the last month. No, I didn’t handle
it well and I feel like I am sort of paying the price now. My mom didn’t need
to worry about me; she needed to believe that I was okay. That’s actually funny
now that I think about it. I am terribly emotional and my mom knew it. I wonder
how different it would have been if I had not tried so hard to keep it all in.
Look, I knew in my heart that this disease was going to take her life. No
matter how much I wanted it different, something inside told me that I needed
to accept that every day during the last year was going to be the last date that
I was going to have her here. I couldn’t change it.
No, I am not
strong. I am just a good faker. Nothing has changed inside me over the last
year; I just don’t have the hurt of seeing her suffer. I have the hurt of not
seeing her. I can’t figure out which is worse. So many little tiny things
happen and her smiling face pops up in my head. That’s hard. I don’t cry all of
the time but then I never did. I cry hard in spurts. I miss my mom but then
I’ve said that a time or two. I wonder what I hope to accomplish by repeating
myself. I don’t like repeating myself, but on this subject I just do. Mom isn’t
coming back. I don’t really need her to, I just want her to. And I know I am
not alone, it just seems like a very lonely club I belong to. I wasn’t ready to
join but here I am.
I keep
writing because I think that one day a light bulb will go off and my grieving
will be over. Maybe by putting my words out “there” I will force myself to keep
going and ultimately I will be okay. Sometimes, I’m just not okay. Words don’t
help. It just hurts. I do kind of hope that maybe my pathetic self could be
helping someone else that is going through the same thing. I know how many
people read, I have even heard from a few. So if I can’t figure out myself then
maybe you, or you over there, are saying to yourself right now, “that sad girl
is hurting just like me. I’m not alone.”
One year
since the diagnosis. It has been long and short. I haven’t been back to the
grave. I’m not sure I will ever go. She isn’t there. I have only been back to
my parent’s house twice. I think that makes me a bad daughter. The last time I
was there, I looked around and couldn’t absorb anything. I really thought she
would come down the hallway with her crossword puzzle complaining that she only
needed one more word. I need to go. I need to help clean out her closet. I said
I would but now, it’s easier to stay away. The heart of that home is gone.
My mom is
still gone. I hate pancreatic cancer. I wish everyone did.
I should be
proud of my fundraising for this disease. Instead, I feel I haven’t been able
to honor my mom properly. However, with the help of a wonderful person at
PanCan, my city has written a proclamation declaring November Pancreatic Cancer
Awareness Month. All I did was send the prewritten letter to the mayor. But, I
am telling myself that because of PanCan and because of me, my city is honoring
my mom in November. (I know that isn’t the reality). My mom would be so proud.
Now I feel I have made a difference. Silly isn’t it?
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