CAROLE DENISE!

Tragedies happen all the time. Some may think that they are only considered tragedies if they happen on a large scale. I happen to think that anything that jars your life, changes your direction without permission in a way that can only be viewed as tragic can be considered a tragedy.

  

A bombing, an explosion or a diagnosis of an incurable disease. These are all tragedies, some just have more people involved. Before I delve into my own self-evaluation, I want to say that I hate tragedies and I wish we could avoid all of them. I pray for the people in Boston and also for the people in the tiny town of West, Texas. I also pray for all of my PC family. We have all experienced our own very similar levels of tragedy.

It is a given that there will be more. It is a given that people will die and those of us left here will be awarded the difficult, often impossible task of making sense and moving on.

The question is, how does one do that? That has been my task.

How am I doing that?

I’m sure there is more to it but I believe I can give much of the credit to my very patient husband. He might not agree but I do think that if it wasn’t for him, I would be sitting in a corner wondering what to do. He lost his dad a while ago, he knows what I have been going through. I think that has helped. He also knows the relationship that I had with my mom. He never made fun or criticized. He embraced it and became part of our little group

.

My mom absolutely loved my husband. He was a son to her and she loved to tell the story of how we met, fell in love and how he “saved” me from a less desirable relationship. He likes to say that he stole me away. Twenty years later, he still says the same thing.

I also believe that my friends and my Mom2 have saved me from the constant wallowing that I tend to get stuck in. I have met many people this last year, oddly enough through the social media that I loathe. Two stand out. They feel like family. They know how I feel and as sad as that is, it is so very comforting to this silly girl. Someday I hope to meet them and give them a hug. I hope you two know who you are.

As the anniversary gets closer, I find that I am having more trouble. I hate change and it seems that this year has been full of all the evil that lies within that word. 

Why should that day, that very terrible day be any different? Yes it was the day my mom breathed her last breath. It’s not like it was a surprise. I believe she left days before. Still, I’m sad. I’m tired of being sad.

I don’t know what I expected this milestone to feel like. I’m not there so maybe I’ll figure it out. I do know that I never expected to be dealing with this at this point in my life. I bet everyone says the same thing, “I thought we had more time.” Well I did and we didn’t.

So strange, one minute you are chugging along and then next, a doctor is saying there is no hope, then the next you are at the final gala, remembering. Oh the memories. That’s all we have when they leave. Good thing and I am so very glad for that.

I long for the advice my mom would so willingly give. I long for a hug, a smile and a simple pat on my hand. I would even welcome the heart stopping way she would say “CAROLE DENISE!” Funny, just typing that makes me shudder. It almost always meant that I did something I shouldn’t have. The good thing is that most of the time when I walk through the memories I find myself smiling. That is definitely progress. My tears come when I let myself remember how she went from a lively, energetic and self-sufficient mom to a quiet, exhausted and dependent victim of pancreatic cancer. That’s the tragedy here. Surprisingly enough, it isn’t that she left, it is the pain and suffering that lead up to it. Most PC victims go through it. Tragic.

This has been a dark and lonely year that I had hoped would never come. Through it all, through all of the tears, I have kept my feet moving. I think that is the key. This year isn’t over and I really don’t know how the next couple of weeks will play out. I intend to just live the best I can. We will see.

Life goes on whether we like it or not. It’s what we do that separates us from our own successes and our heartbreaking despair. 

 http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

I Am Lacking Gumption and I Won't Pee in the Woods

I seem to be at a loss for words these days. I know it’s hard to believe, but sometimes I just don’t know what to say.

I knew this past year was going to be hard. I think I didn’t have a clue how hard. I’ve marked each milestone and analyzed every feeling, emotion and event. Today I don’t know where I am in my process. Maybe that’s why I feel a little quiet. The problem is that I don’t know where I am supposed to be right now. Should I be over her death? Should I be hanging on to every moment spent without her? There isn’t a clear picture here. 

The fact is, I am not over her death and I don’t hang on to every moment that I spend here without her. 

In the beginning it was constant. I was sad and I was lost. After a while I was sad but not every second of the day.  Now it comes in waves and it comes when I’m not expecting it. This is just a guess but I think at some point, way down the road, I will only feel sad on certain days. In a strange way, that makes me sad.

The other day we were cleaning up our video camera. I am a picture person so looking at videos isn’t something that I typically do. My husband told me my mom was on the camera. Without thinking, I started watching. It was my children’s third birthday party. It was the last my mom would see.

There she was, doing what she always did. There on that tiny screen, was my mom. So full of life, so full of energy. She was alive. She was smiling.

Without my realizing it, the tears started flowing. All I could say was, “there she is.”

I say I don’t need pictures or videos. All I have to do is close my eyes. I see her, I hear her. I loved that video. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year. She was beautiful.

I have not seen my mom in almost a year. Wow! Those are words I never thought I would type, say or even think. I have not seen my mom in almost a year. How many times can I type that before the reality hits. I can’t tell you how powerful that sentence is at this moment. More tears. The words are just hanging. The emptiness is back and my stomach feels like it dropped. Until this very moment, I have not thought about how long it has been since I’ve seen her. 

For the second time I say, I am at a loss for words. 

I don’t know if watching that video was the right thing to do. It doesn’t matter because I watched. I don’t feel any worse but I also don’t feel any better. I don’t know how I feel. I do know that when I was watching, I didn’t see anyone else except her. She was the main character. 

I miss my mom.

We talked every day of my life.

I don’t feel like analyzing my feelings here. They are whatever they are and all I can do it put one foot in front of the other in the hopes that I make progress. 

I do know that I am disappointed in myself. I am not looking for pity or even a pep-talk. I feel how I feel. 

Over the past couple of months I have let go of Million Dollars for Mom. I haven’t asked for money, ideas or help. I haven’t worn purple much and I have avoided the tragic stories that sound identical to mine. I retreated inside my bubble. I’ve been oddly warm and cozy. I could stay here but then the disappointment that I feel would eat at me. I’ve let a lot of people down and I am so sorry. 

A million dollars is the goal. Someone said it was a lofty goal. I think it is a necessary number. It means more than anyone will ever know. I lost my momentum, I’ve lost my drive. Somehow I have to get it back. I have no clue.

My friend is walking across America in the name of PC awareness and research. He has momentum and drive. I can’t and really don’t want to do what he is doing. It takes a special person to commit to that. Also, this silly girl doesn’t pee in the woods or stay in motels. He is making a difference in a dramatic way. I am proud of him and I hope he can bottle some of his gumption and loan it to me. He is an inspiration.

No, I’m not going to walk across America. I am going to keep asking and I am going to raise a million dollars. I hope that once that goal is reached, someone will be able to use it to find a cure. PC scares me, but it also drains me. I’m tired of it and I have to get moving again. 

I miss my mom and if PC had not invaded her body, she would be here to tell me which school my kids should go to. She would be picking out fabric for my house, she would be alive. I hate all cancers but mostly this one. It’s evil and almost 100% of the time, it kills.

If you haven’t donated, please click on the link below and do so. If you have donated, do it again. Give until it hurts. I am.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

What Did You Do Last Easter?

We were sitting in church yesterday listening to the announcements for the upcoming week. I’m not involved in this church yet (not even members yet) so I let my mind drift. (I will explain the first part of that sentence later). 

Easter is coming.

It hasn’t been a huge holiday in my family for a long time. Oh sure we would gather at my mom’s, eat a spiral ham and hunt eggs. That was about it. The religious meanings were mostly absent. I never understood why. My mom was our spiritual leader, the rest of us just sort of followed her lead and blindly did what she told us to do. Probably not the best situation, but for some reason, I knew God was with her but we never discussed details. We didn’t casually talk about religion. Questions were answered if asked, but for the most part they were never asked. We casually went to church, that she picked out. We weren’t faithful church attenders. When we did go, it was uncomfortable for me. I never felt like I fit in at the churches she chose. I never blamed her, she was trying to get us to church in the hopes that we would learn and accept. I understand that especially now.

We grew up going to Baptist churches and being “saved” was the way to go. I remember hearing horror stories of folks that said no to being saved and on the way home from church they were killed. God scared me. Letting go of my control scared me. 

I was “saved” in the eleventh grade. I was not baptized and that bothered my mom. I understood but I couldn’t join a church that I didn’t feel comfortable in. 

I searched for many years.

A couple of years ago we found an okay kind of church. We visited a lot and thought it was the best we could do. We talked about joining, but still we weren’t faithful churchgoers. 

September 20, 2011. My mom was diagnosed. Suddenly being baptized took on a whole new meaning. 

Over the next year I watched my mom become more outwardly spiritual. It was what I needed. I had been studying various aspects of Heaven, the Bible and meanings for years. She knew that and we would talk off and on about what I was discovering. It was the part of our relationship that I grew to love. We never dug deep, but we talked and that was enough. During her battle, we dug. We read and talked. We talked a lot about Heaven and a lot about what life would be like, after. She knew I was searching for a church home. She knew I was struggling with where my family belonged. She knew about the okay church. My not being baptized was heavy on her heart. 

Yesterday I realized what I was doing a year ago on Easter Sunday. My kids and I were baptized. It was a different baptism than I grew up seeing, but we were baptized in a private ceremony in the pastor’s office. My husband set it up. He explained what was happening in our lives and the pastor was honored to give us and my mom this gift.

Mom wasn’t there. She had begun to decline and was saddened that she couldn’t come.

But in classic “Mom” fashion, she said she was going to need proof that we went through with it. I understood what she meant and as soon as I could, I showed her our certificate and picture.

My mom smiled. At that point, smiling wasn’t something she did much of. 

I made my mom smile. What more could I want.

It has been almost a year since she left here. I have spent that time searching for a church home and answers to my questions. I’ve found a church home. It is where I am supposed to be. I have questions like most and I am reading to find the answers. So far I am making progress. We are going to join and our intentions are to get involved in as many activities there as we can. Our kids need this, we need this. 

My husband will tell you that he is proud of all the searching that I have done over the past year. He will also tell you that I have worked hard and come a long way. I don’t know if he is right, but I am trying. I have questions about God, Heaven and the Bible. I am looking for answers. One question that bothers me is this, if my mom had not had pancreatic cancer, if my mom had not suffered, would I be searching so hard for those answers right now. That one is tough. She told me to be a good Christian. Twenty years ago I would have shrugged that off. Today, I understand. It doesn’t mean I am making good on her request, but I am a work in progress and I will keep working.

This has been the longest year of my life. I would say that it has felt like a lifetime but I’m not at the end of my life yet. We/I have been through so much. Some I have shared, some I have not. I’ve struggled, cried, complained, moaned and groaned. Through it all I have wondered, “what was the point?” I still don’t know. There are lessons everywhere to be learned. I can’t figure this one out. If my mom was still here, life would be complete. She isn’t here. Instead, she died a horrific death from a deadly beast that has no cure. We watched as it starved her of everything.

 What is the lesson? God knows. I’m going to keep asking. 

On a lighter note, thank you for the prayers for my son. He was given a clean bill of health today. No rheumatic fever, just a strange reaction to the medication. He did get to see his heart and that made his day. He asked what the white stuff on the ultrasound was. We told him the outer edges of his heart. The he asked what the black spaces were inside. I told him that was where his heart stores all the love. 

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

A Little Prayer for a Little Boy

Things are never as they seem. You will never know someone’s story unless you are willing to listen and they are willing to tell you. Sometimes all it takes is a simple question from one person to another. I think we all get caught up in our daily lives. Oh we ask the question, “how are you?” Do we really want to know the answer? Would we really listen if the other person told us. I try to listen, but sometimes my day to day life gets in the way.

I’ve told you all about my mom, at least a lot about her. I’ve told you little bits about my life. I’ve left the major stuff out because I feel terribly uncomfortable sharing so much. I’ve left off the drama and the present real-life things because they are private and I love my bubble. Without knowing, I’ve retreated back into my bubble. 

As uncomfortable as it is, I feel like I need to ask a favor to all who read.

It requires a little story.

Earlier in the year my son was sick. No big deal, just strep. I had it off and on all my life. Your throat hurts and you go to the doctor. They cram a cotton swab down your throat and then you get medicine. You get better. So did my son.

A couple of weeks ago, the weather started changing. Spring is coming. It is the time of year that we all get colds. My son ran a fever, then my daughter, then my husband. Finally it was my turn. I’m still getting over mine. Last week my son started running another fever and he said his throat hurt. I know what that means so I took him to the doctor, they did a strep test and sent us home with medicine. By late afternoon he started complaining that his knee and ankles hurt. He didn’t have a fever and he said his throat hurt only a little. By bath time, his knee was swollen and he was covered with a rash. My first thought was that he was having an allergic reaction to the medicine. My husband rushed him to the after hour doctor. After what he felt like was a thorough exam the doctor said that he had rheumatic fever. She gave him a shot and told us to contact our pediatrician the next morning which I did. During that call, his rash turned to giant hives and his knee began to swell. We rushed him to his doctor, they agreed that it was rheumatic fever. More medicine and a referral to see a cardiologist.

So here we had a little boy that was super itchy and two parents thinking the worst. His doctor assured us that it was just precautionary. She also added that our son was only the second case she had ever seen. She felt like he would be just fine and sent us home.

The fever left but the hives took a few days. We have an appointment with a cardiologist for next week. I’m not terribly worried, but you never know.

I don’t like to ask for help. I like to ask for donations.

Today I am asking for prayers. Not for me, for my little boy. Again, I believe he is fine. I believe God is taking care of us. I also believe that sometimes God’s plans are different from ours.

My babies are gifts. We prayed for a long time for a baby and God decided that we needed two. We have two miracles who have amazing stories to tell when they are older. My kids have a purpose that is yet to be realized by them. My kids are destined for great things. Those that know my family know the story and know I am right. 

We are experiencing a tiny little bump in the road. Yes, there could be damage to his heart and yes it will be treatable. I believe that he will be given a clean and clear heart report. But then you never know.

Prayers. That’s all I am asking for. I believe that you should be specific when you pray and now, if you choose, you can. 

I’m not comfortable because I feel that I have revealed too much about my son and our life. I also feel that God needs us to work together. I have been trying so hard for so long to do it myself. I am worn out. 

I am reading the Bible in a year. Spreading His word is important and it always has been. I don’t’ do it because my relationship with God has always been private. I think it is time that I stop trying to do it by myself. It is time that I ask the village for help.

So, please, before you close your eyes to sleep tonight will you ask God to take care of my little boy? More specifically, will you ask for God to let him be just fine? 

I am grateful for those who choose to read my ramblings. I am grateful for those who include my son in their prayers.

I’ll keep you posted.