Time passes. Life altering moments come at you from behind and steal your breath and your sense of purpose and re-route your life trip so fast it's hard to keep your feet on the ground. The mundane and sometimes foolish things you do today may impact significantly in the blink of an eye.
I am growing up. I do not like it. I don't have a choice about this anymore. In the deepest recesses of my mind I can no longer retreat as a child or define myself as a daughter. I am officially, legally and hesitantly........ an orphan. I am no longer any one's daughter.
Feels empty. Hope this isn't what it feels like to be a real adult. Sucks.
My Mom was 87 when she left our living world on April 30, 2008. She wasn't always my Mom. At some point a very long time ago, I suppose she was Mommy. Then she was, at her request, Mother. For a very long time she was only my brother's mother because I bowed out. For another very long time I allowed her to torment my soul. She got older. I remained stuck in the place of years past and expected her to be the force of the world. I seldom thought of her as elderly and never frail. When she was in pain I wanted to tell her to buck up and deal with it. When she was fearful of falling I thought she was a ninny. Then one day, she really needed me to be there for her in 2001. It was much more comfortable when I didn't like her and she didn't need me. I grew through it and she grew to become my Mom.
For the last six years we have been living closer to one another than we have since I was 12 years old. We grew to know, love and cherish each other more in six years than we did for the previous 40. Seldom a day went by we didn't talk or see each other. Our lives were blended.
Twenty-eight days. Twenty-eight too short days from the date our lives were turned upside down with diagnosis of metastasized breast cancer into her bones to the day she died. She had a very small stage 0-1 breast cancer in 1997. She had a lumpectomy, removed and cleared several lymph nodes and had prophylactic radiation. She faithfully took her Tamoxfen for seven years. She had yearly mammograms and check-ups. She remained cancer free. When she started having compression fractures of her vertebrae it was confirmed with x-ray severe osteoporosis and she took medication for that. The fractures kept happening and we never thought to look further. March, 2008 she was staying with us as the pain medication for her continuing fractures made her too unstable to be at home alone. I found out about a procedure to repair her current fracture called vertabroplasty. A CT scan was required. Since we live in rural paradise, we have to travel quite a distance for involved medical procedures. We had the scan done and left the next day for Lewiston, Idaho with high hopes of having a pain free time soon.
We had grown to love our road trips. Usually we would make a point to bring along a bottle of wine and partake before turning in for the night in our hotel room. We had books on tape and listened to mysteries. We got to have dinner out -- at a restaurant! Something she missed since moving from the big city of Denver to our rural paradise. We had borrowed a folding wheelchair for this trip so we could do some shopping! Something else she missed. Once again she would be healed and life would continue as normal forever and ever.
I feel so sorry for the doctor who had to tell us that they could not do the procedure. I understood his words. I even understood the words he didn't say. Mom was remembering the last time she had cancer and how it wasn't any big deal. I understood I didn't want to know what I knew. What had started out as a road trip quickly turned into a meeting with an oncologist. Over the years I've met many doctors in my life. I never wanted to meet an oncologist up close and personal. I'm sure they are very nice people and probably enjoy BBQs and a game of cards as much as us regular folks. I never wanted to tempt chance by adding one to my circle of acquaintance. I must say the Cancer Treatment Center at St. Mary's in Walla Walla, Washington is a very caring, beautiful and peaceful place. Mom was chilly while we were in the waiting area and the volunteer brought her warm blankets. A small gesture of comfort. I was still in the mode of trying not to be a bother. If I'd known what I know today I would have been grateful for the volunteer's gesture instead of apologizing for being such a bother.
Treat or don't treat – now THAT is the question. New drugs. Breast cancer. Metastatic. What the hell are you talking about BREAST CANCER? She's had mammograms every year. She had x-rays and CT scans and nothing NOTHING N O T H I N G was there eight months ago. WHAT??? what what what what what.
how?
why?
Dammit.
Damn it all to hell.
I love you Mom. Thank you for needing me. Thank you for getting to know me. Thank you for letting me get to know you.
I'm sorry Mom.
