Grab Bag of Thoughts

Dear Mom,

It’s been a little over two months. On nights like these - when things have died down, when silence is deafening, when the world seems to stand still - I think of you. A lot. I miss you more than anything. I look at your pictures, I listen to the last voicemail I have from you, I relive those last days… hours.. and everything in between and after.

It brings me closer to you - just for a few minutes - even if it means breaking my heart each time.

It’s worth it.

Love you,
Jen

As I was getting ready to step out for a bit tonight, I stopped by Mom to see how she was doing. I was grateful to see her lying there with open eyes and seeming alert. I knelt by her to say I was there and would be going out for a bit - and for the first time in what feels like FOREVER, she consciously reached out to hold my hand.

She had such a strong yet loving grip - much different from the last few weeks, even months where it felt limp. Her voice sounded a little stronger as she told me to have fun and be careful and tell Paul she said hello. It only lasted a few minutes, but these moments where she is awake and alert hardly happen anymore. She looked like she was going to cry, but maybe she was just happy to be able to do that too.

By the time I came back home, it was back to normal, with her back under the meds and not even stirring as I gently told her I was back home. Those few minutes though.. I’ll be holding onto them in the weeks to come.

It’s been 4 months since my last actual babbling entry - so much for my intentions to chronicle everything. :P Simply put, we’re now in the waiting period.

We had a scare last week, and my dad sincerely thought my mom wouldn’t make it through the weekend. That is the closest we have ever come to that, and Friday night was a huge reminder - as well as an awakening.

Anything left that I wanted.. needed to say to her came pouring out through tears. Thanking her for fighting. Assurances I would take care of dad. Promising I would make her proud. How much I loved her. Etc., etc. I didn’t leave her side through most of the night, though I finally succumbed to sleep around 4am and got back up at 6am. The weekend was a blur, with most of it was spent by her side. A priest came Saturday morning, and the rest of the fam came up and stayed through the weekend.

Things are semi back to normal, which really just means 24/7 pain and nausea with a lessened hint of “omg she’s going to go any minute”. It’s hard to find a balance between the responsibility and desire to help out here, and trying to get out when I can - even for a few minutes… I’d say the split these days is 80/20. 

But this “waiting”.. it’s so incredibly hard. Watching her go through each day, constantly in pain and nausea as the tumor takes over her body. She’s pretty much stopped eating, definitely under 90 lbs. now.. needs help to sit up in bed, shift around, etc. It just all seems so… cruel.

I’m often afraid to go to sleep.. and to leave her side. I lie in bed, scared and worried that I’ll hear my dad’s footsteps coming up to tell me… you know. I toss and turn wondering if this is going to be the night. I’ll rack my brain thinking of anything else I need to say, or anything else I can do to help make it easier for her. 

And after 6 1/2 years, I still wonder EVERY night why this had to be. Why did this have to happen to her?  She is an incredible person, she always put others first, she took care of herself and completely devoted to God… it just seems unfair and I am angry for her. And for me too, I guess. I break down a little more often these days… and maybe that’s okay. Maybe I’ve done an okay job at trying to be brave and graceful through all of this, and it’s just time for me to break down a little more often in order to keep staying strong.

I spent so long bargaining for holidays and occasions. September was an amazing month for her - her birthday, her anniversary, her reunion with her brothers. She even made it to my birthday too. But as I spent the last hour of my birthday with her - sitting in a chair at her bedside, because she couldn’t really talk to me - I realized that maybe it was time to let go of the bargaining. As thankful as we would be, what is the point of her suffering each day to make it to a holiday that she couldn’t enjoy? I’m sure in a way she’d be happy, but it starts to feel it serves our purpose more than hers. And at this point, that honestly feels selfish. I just don’t want her to suffer anymore.

And so now…. we wait.