That is how long it has been. 3, 703 days since I have put any words to paper, articulated my thoughts, shared my heart. In that time, I have laughed, celebrated, cried, and been devastated. However, none of those days could have prepared me for my current stay of being. They say, eventually you will loose your parents and then you are the adult. Like, I won't have an adulterer adult to turn to. I won't have anyone in my head telling me to figure it out. All I will have is the desperation of trying to remember what a voice sounded like, the inflection, the tone, the lilt in your voice. Instead, it will be a memory. Right at the very moment, my heart is being squeezed, as if someone is trying to get the very last drop out. My mom is sick. My best friend, my mentor, the one who taught me how to cook, how to to "mom" properly, how to hang laundry on the line in the proper order, how to fold a fitted sheet (I can do that in my sleep).A skill, that has gone the way of the do-do bird.
Lung cancer. Are you happy universe? I said it. What stage? I don't know.What kind? I don't know that either. What I DO know (get ready for a plot twist) She has not 1, but 3 leaky heart valves. She's in stage 3 renal failure. She's 83. She was not able to have a PET scan b/c it would have destroyed her kidneys. That being said, how the hell is her body going to handle the poison of chemotherapy that will course through her body in order to heal her. I think if it were just a diagnosis of cancer I would be "ok" but when you add in all the "extras" it becomes almost too much. If I thought I could not breathe when dad was sick, and that was enough to break me, this will send me to my breaking point for sure.
I did something the other day, I went back and I reread some of my posts. I don't ever do that, because some of them hurt so much and it brings me right back to where I was, what I thought, what I felt and it is still as gut wrenching now as it was then. It's like the band-aid was re-applied only to be ripped off again. What made it harder, was the fact that she ALWAYS read my blog and left me comments so I knew that she was there, and that when I could do nothing, I could articulate rather accurately how we both felt even though she was too brave to let it show. I think I get my grit from her. No, strike that, I KNOW I get my grit from her. I guess now, when I put all these thoughts and feelings out in the universe, it's safe. I know they won't be read by her, because it's been so. damn. long. since I have written anything. But this one? Panic attack on going please. I am angry. I am scared to death. I am wanting to be hopeful, but remain realistic.
Mom remarried you know. After dad died. A really nice guy who takes care of her and looks after her. I am currently 50 and I have a step dad. Odd feeling, for sure. But, Super nice guy and I can only hope that every one gets a Howie of their own. He tells dad jokes, has the same ones in his set list. The kids love him. We love him. He takes care of her, makes sure she has what she needs and even things she doesn't need. He's thoughtful, and kind and generous.
I cannot imagine a world with out her in it. The fact that my brain is even considering this is crazy. Like What the hell. I would say fight. But the reality is, I am not sure what is a safe fight. What's fair. There are a few plot twists in all of this. She has an 8cm mass surrounding her adrenal gland and there is a 50/50 chance it's cancer too. They can't biopsy that adrenal gland bc she would either stroke out, have a heart attack, or die. She can't have it removed as she's not a candidate for major surgery. :/
There is so much more, more that makes my heart hurt. More that I just don't want to deal with. At some point, I know I will need to, but for now, I will save those thoughts for later.
Peace out, Girl Scout.
