As parents, we've had a lot of hopes and dreams for our children as they've gone through each stage of their lives. I could list so many points here, but I won't get into all that because it might require more words than my two previous blog posts!
Since they've left our nest though, Dave and I hope they will all continue to: remain healthy, support themselves through a fulfilling employment situation, have comprehensive insurance coverage, make good choices consistent with upstanding morals and values, and ultimately find happiness along whatever life path they decide to pursue. You know ~ grab all the good stuff out there! If their direction includes finding another person to spend the rest of their life with, then WOW ~ bonus!
Thank goodness they've all been pretty successful in the above endeavors, and I have some really exciting news to share.
The eldest recently hit the BONUS round!
THERE'S GOING TO BE A WEDDING IN AUGUST OF 2011.
CHRIS ASKED TASHA TO MARRY HIM, AND SHE SAID YES!!
Tasha and Chris began dating about three years ago, and she readily won the hearts of each of us during that time with her outgoing and vibrant personality, her confident disposition and her considerate and supportive manner throughout the challenges of the past several years.
OUR FAMILY IS THRILLED ABOUT THE NEWS.
Here's to you, Chris and Tasha!
I was just thinking about these lines from the movie "When Harry Met Sally" ~
I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
During times of stress, the pines in our back yard often provide a serene focal point while I reflect on unpleasant situations and make decisions regarding matters of importance. Such has been the case over the past few days.
It's unfortunate that "anonymous" chose to make a personal situation a public spectacle, and the inappropriate manner in which she voiced her displeasure elicited quite an outpouring of opinions ~ both in posted comments and through the emails sent by those in support who preferred to express their concern in a more private setting or, in one particular case, contained 4096 characters and exceeded the limit allowed by Blogger. Imagine that one! Over the course of the past few days, I was repeatedly drawn back to the words I wrote near the end of that post.
These days I work diligently to straddle the gap that is my existence, attempting to find balance between the world where I once so-happily lived and the life I was forced to enter almost four years ago on December 15, 2006. Much initiative is required to maintain relationships, and on many days the scale tips heavily one way more than the other. It's an ongoing learning process, an enlightenment in the natural tendencies of the human race.
Some natural tendencies of the human race presented themselves in outstanding fashion; among many, the inclination
~ to be critical and unkind when one feels threatened
~ to allow bitterness to dictate better judgment
~ to have one's protective instincts rise to the occasion
~ to rally together in support of one whose character has been attacked
~ to make the choice to remain silent
~ to focus on love
... and obviously the list could go on.
Erin's cancer diagnosis, and the world into which I was forced as a result, has caused me to be a different person in so many ways, and that is often difficult for some to understand. My life is every mother's nightmare and I can't possibly be who I once was, but I can't say that I'm disappointed or ashamed of the individual I've become. I won't bore you with a list of my character traits, both positive and negative, but I think through my writing you can get a pretty good idea, and many of you reside in the community and therefore have known me on a personal level for years. To state the obvious, my whole world changed as my mostly-tidy life that I didn't fully appreciate at the time fell apart with my daughter's cancer diagnosis. When my primary focus became Erin, my relationships with nearly everyone I knew had to change, some very dramatically, because there just was not enough of me to be distributed around any more.
Life now often presents the challenge of figuring out where I belong again, and I'm sticking my big toe out to test the waters of the world that just keeps moving whether I'm on for the ride that day or not. Most of the time it's up to me to jump into the driver's seat, but often it can be really scary, especially since I've fallen flat on my face several times in recent months under a variety of circumstances.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The events of yesterday are a prime example of the way I continue to shift my balance from one foot to the other between the two worlds I straddle, and as a result I often wind up feeling pretty weary by the day's end.
After again reading the blog comments written by family members and friends both old & new, I checked my inbox and found emails (yes, plural - she is the one who has trouble staying within Blogger's character limit) from the friend of a friend. While I've never even laid eyes on this woman and she's blessed with healthy children, she somehow GETS IT, an uncanny amount of IT. She has been a persevering voice of strength and encouragement during some of my most difficult times ~ her blog comments and emails, another hand stretched toward me in the dark... my friend from Ohio.
The words and an old photo in my post gave a friend from high school, from whom I'd not heard in quite a while, the gentle nudge she needed to finally just pick up the telephone and call me. That teary phone conversation resulted in the two of us spending yesterday together; laughing, reminiscing, updating one another about our family members and talking about Erin. This woman, with whom I'd once shared a part-time job at the corner drug store, boy troubles and my clothes, is now the mother of four, her youngest ~ a daughter, Erin's age... my dear friend.
The Prosch Pharmacy girls, summer 1975.
Finally, last night I was curled in a ball on the couch while I spoke on the phone with one of the mothers I mentioned in the post, whose daughter had been admitted earlier in the day to the hospital for pain control. And my heart just hurt as I crawled into bed holding Erin's blanket... oh God, my friend ~ who today is shuffling down that hall to that break room with that stinky microwave, while I'm home sipping my fresh coffee from my favorite mug. My friend's beautiful name? Hope...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While truly grateful for the support of everyone who "had my back" due to the comment, I've found myself sad that this unfortunate situation evolved into the prominent attraction of my blog post. My intention when I wrote it was to express my deep appreciation for the eclectic nature of the population of both the old and the new friends/acquaintances in my life.
I wanted to share the impact of those with whom I've developed relationships within the realm of the cancer world, and highlight images as they now present themselves in a way I couldn't see at the time due to my head-down-and-forge-ahead mission necessitated by Erin's needs throughout those years. That world stands in vivid contrast to the venues before those of the general population ~ the life where I once comfortably resided and developed those other cherished friendships about which I wrote; during my school days, in the bleachers of sports events, in places of employment and in the homes of the surrounding community.
I've walked in both worlds, actually still do, and I'm so blessed by the diversity of the individuals and the unique experiences of both environments that combine to make me the person I am today. I struggle to bridge the gap between these mediums of existence because while they're often in stark contrast, I'm trying to make one a complement of the other because that's where I now have to find a way to live... and be happy!
A place where, on the majority of days, the Advil of daily distractions only temporarily masks the pain caused by the removal of that part of me that was supposed to be here until I died.
A world filled with images which once looked like this
Christmas 2005
and have now become this.
Christmas 2009
Everyone is entitled to exercise their Constitutional right to Free Speech, and due to the public nature of this forum people can certainly say what they want, how they want. However, I would prefer to exercise my Pursuit of Happiness in this special blog space I've created among those who will either constructively criticize, share their own personal experiences and advice or offer hope-filled thoughts and words of love and support.
Together, let's exercise the more honorable character traits of the human race.
Thank you so much.
As you're growing up, you might make friends with classmates
or with the girl who lives next door.
You find common interests,
and the groups can change over time.
If you get married and have children,
you might spend time with the mothers of their friends.
You may be fortunate enough to still gather occasionally
with girls you met way back in grammar school.
Perhaps you find yourself ringing in the New Year
with some members of your community.
Friends. Acquaintances. They're everywhere.
Throughout this whole process, you latch onto some with whom you feel a certain connection, a deep-rooted camaraderie or fellowship that exists on that extra level that draws you to those individuals who become your REALLY special friends. The handful that stays with you no matter what... even when the unthinkable happens. Isn't it wonderful to have those individuals in your life? Whatever would you do without them?
When you're the mother of a child with cancer though,
you find yourself communing with folks in the oddest places.
For instance, there's a woman across the room from you in the waiting area of Radiation Oncology. You're both sitting with girls who appear to be about the same age. Each of you has a smile plastered on your face as you chat with these young ladies, and you're flipping through the pages of magazines dated February 2001 while trying to think about something other than the fact that they're going to call these dear girls back to those rooms that house awful machines the size of garbage trucks and shove each of them inside one. And because the young lady you're sitting with is braver than you, she says ~ Mom, you don't have to come back with me anymore. I'm not scared. It doesn't hurt. I'm FINE!! ~ so you keep that beaming smile glued to your face when you'd really rather throw up right on the ugly table holding all the outdated magazines.
The minute your precious girls are led away, one right after the other, you lock eyes with this woman, and before you know it the powerful forces that emanate from the wombs of mothers who have birthed babies who go on to receive THE diagnosis pull you to seats right beside one another, and you're quickly blurting out ~ My daughter is 18. Yours too? She has metastatic sarcoma. Oh my God, yours too?! The tear ducts automatically switch to free-flow mode as you clutch one another's hands, and in those few minutes that it takes for those machines to swallow your daughters, blast them and spit them back out again you share your souls. You quickly rummage through your purses to find scraps of paper to scribble phone numbers and email addresses on, blow your noses to pretend you haven't been crying so that when your girls emerge they don't say ~ REALLY MOM? ... and you've made a friend.
Or another popular venue ~ the break room in the hospital ~ that mecca of "the regulars" that vaguely resembles your kitchen back home. The destination that breaks the trance-like state you've entered from staring at your child who's been lying in a bed with chemicals dripping into her for hours and hours and hours... hung by nurses wearing gloves and gowns to protect them from accidental contact with one drop of the poison, while you ponder the irony of ~ I consciously chose drug-free childbirth to protect her?! The room where newspapers strewn about might actually give you a clue as to what day it is. The space eventually found by dazed folks who shuffle down hallways wearing ratty T-shirts, slippers and pajama pants with elastic waists that have become the style of choice because they kindly accommodate the gain or loss of weight that accompanies the good news/bad news ride you've all been on for longer than you care to remember.
And while the normal population is still at home sleeping, you've again just risen from a bench that's maybe a foot wide and wiped crust from the side of your mouth ~ those remnants of drool that trickled out during the couple of hours when the familiar rhythmic sound of the IV pump eventually lulled you into blissful oblivion before you had to spring to attention to bar the door from the entourage of white coats trying to enter the peace of your predawn space again to question your sleeping teenager about the regularity of her bowel movements. Really? Who gives a shit at 5:32am?!
Now that your daughter has been spared the invasion, and from experience know that the precious state of serenity you'd achieved is broken and rumination will begin shortly, you've wandered down the hall to that room. While you're standing, waiting for your coffee to heat up in a microwave that stinks like blown up burritoes, in stumbles someone dressed like you. Your eyes meet, focus and you share that all-knowing glazed-over look of ~ Oh God, MY child has cancer too ~ and you sit down, begin to sip the coffee than now tastes like burritoes, and you barely notice because... you've made a friend.
You understand when the mother who called on the phone the other day says ~ Mary, I'm SO TIRED. ~ Oh God you know THAT kind of tired. The kind that results from trying to be the pillar of strength for the family for so long. The kind that gradually engulfed you like a thick fog while you attempted to take ALL the hits for your child so she didn't have to, even though you logically knew you couldn't but because you're the mother you WANTED to. The kind of tired that came from lying awake for three years while working to anticipate any danger lurking around the corner so you could intercept it before it DARED to affect her life any more than necessary.
I'm trying to let her make decisions, but I want to make sure she truly understands what will happen if she makes that choice. I know she's a young lady, an adult, but she's still my child and I want her to know how I feel, but it's her body and her life. Her life... the one that's so unlike that of her peers who are now blissfully off at college while she's home, pretty much forgotten. The life that consists of pain and drugs and machines and choices even much more complicated than ~ Should I sleep with him this weekend?
And you know, because you've watched your own daughter live that same lonely life and struggle to make those same complex decisions, the ones no one should be required to make at the age of 18. And so you listen and try to comfort your friend on the other end of the phone, and you can't say ~ everything will be fine ~ because everything is SO NOT FINE, and so you say ~ I KNOW. ~ and ~ You're a GREAT mom. ~ because she is... your friend is.
You understand when another mother, the one you met over three years ago when similar nightmares were beginning for both of you, doesn't have the energy to respond to your emails because she has recently updated her daughter's CaringBridge site after mustering the energy required to take a deep breath and spew the latest atrocities caused by the insidious brain tumor that has resided in her now-18-year-old's beautiful head. At the end of her summary, she states ~ I'm in Survival Mode ~ and you know EXACTLY what that means because that's precisely where you were a year ago.
The time beginning in August, when things began to spiral out of control quickly... downward, and now that you're a year away from it, you can view the roller coaster scene of ~ The cancer is going everywhere. but She's going to college! and We had to go for more radiation to (enter today's body part.) but We went to the state vollebyall finals with a brain tumor in her head making her lip numb and her right side weak! ~ with a clarity that didn't exist then.
Looking back, you feel a strange sense of gratitude, for without realizing it at the time you were numbed by the protective spell of a weird novocaine concoction of fear, acceptance and exhaustion ~ that awful shot of painful reality to the roof of your mouth that stings all the way up to your eyeball, but then renders you blissfully anesthetized as the drilling process, the REAL agony, begins. That insulating shield that causes you to walk around with a swollen face, an inability to eat properly and the propensity to drool all over yourself if you're not careful, that also allows you to SOMEHOW move forward with single-focused energy to do whatever it takes to make things the best they can be for your child who is going to leave you soon. You loved her more than life itself - that's how you did it all.
And she's doing this now... my friend, while I'm desperately trying to find my way in the next level of Survival Mode, where the shot is wearing off and my tongue can't help but search constantly for the missing tooth that was once there, I thought a permanent part of me, in that now-gaping hole of emptiness... my daughter, gone forever.
As the mothers of children with cancer, we've learned to perform the duties we thought only trained nurses did until our children got sick. (There should be some kind of GED equivalent to the RN degree for us.) Then we're taught to set pumps and connect bags of hydration fluids and chemotherapy drugs. We can free-hang Zofran and adjust the drop-rate with the flick of a thumb. We learn how to flush a port with saline and heparin to prevent clots and maintain good venous access. Our children's NG tubes run smoothly and we can clear a plugged catheter in the middle of the night after only a bit of mild hysteria. Proper timing of pain meds? Piece of cake! Over time, I developed a deeply personal love/hate relationship with Decadron.
And we've mastered the art of administering injections. Anyone out there need someone to give them their Neulasta shot? You know, that $3000 mega-hit in a vial that's delivered to your doorstep in a box (looks just like the package from Pottery Barn containing your new candlesticks, so be careful) by the Fed Ex man, guaranteed to boost your immune system so you can prepare for the next crash caused by your upcoming cycle of, oh say... that nasty Doxorubicin (the "red devil" that can cause heart damage) and Etoposide (watch those platelets bomb too) and Vincristine (so what if your toes are numb)? Step right up, I'll do it! No problem - No charge!
Feel free to Squeeze Erin's Teddy Bear and/or Dog.
I'm told the shot does burn,
and they both have lots of experience.
And then there are my Internet friends... and I consider them my friends even though we've not really met. In effect, we've sat across the country from one another in our own homes, sometimes at our desktops while typing purposefully with the determination to move forward and forge our new paths, and at other times while wrapped in our children's blankets curled up on the couch while pouring our grief into our laptops, wallowing in the all-consuming heartache of having watched our babies die before our eyes.
We find one another on CaringBridge and through blogs and referrals from others who have happened upon both our preaching, purging rants and our hope-filled intentions to make our children proud of the way we're still living, doing our very best to survive.
I treasure their narratives for they often articulate thoughts and lend valuable perspective when my guts are aching, my nerves are raw and my brain is straining to form a coherent sentence. Their personal stories of stoicism give me courage and their experiences help me feel less isolated. Sometimes they write a blog comment ~ I stand with you. or ~ I remember when my daughter/son ... ~ and in the dark hell of aloneness I can feel their hands reaching for mine.
It seems our aggregate wisdom is the sum of our shredded parts, as we unite on the common ground of having given our children over to a Higher Power, never dreaming this would be asked of us. Yet here we all are, reminding one another to breathe and live in the moment.
These days I work diligently to straddle the gap that is my existence, attempting to find balance between the world where I once so-happily lived and the life I was forced to enter almost four years ago on December 15, 2006. Much initiative is required to maintain relationships, and on many days the scale tips heavily one way more than the other. It's an ongoing learning process, an enlightenment in the natural tendencies of the human race.
and all of our beloved in whatever way you feel comfortable
~ through formal church services or while walking outside ~
~ with special thoughts, through private prayer ~
in recognition of the pain of our loss
and with gratitude for the ways
in which our lives will forever be touched by them...
We light the first candle for our sadness.
The pain of losing you is intense, and the grief we feel is often hard to handle. We want you to know that we miss you so much.
We light the second candle for our memories.
There is so much we remember - your smile, your laugh, the good times and the bad ones too - all those times that never could have been lived
with anyone but you. We want you to know that we will always remember you.
We light the third candle for our determination.
Knowing you has brought us strength. We are changed because of you. Your life has made a difference in our lives. We want you to know that we will take the energy of your living to help us move forward in our own lives.
We light the fourth candle for our love.
The specialness that we shared with you can never be replaced. Our love for you will always shine as brightly as this candle. We will pass that love on to others, and as we do, our hearts will smile because of you. We want you to know that we will always love you.
~ with thanks to the Ministry of Care & Compassionate Care Ministry of St Cletus Parish for the above words
Feeling very much loved HERE, by my dear friend...
and don't be gazing at that mountain or river in the distance
and saying, "How shall I ever get over them?"
but keep to the present little inch that is before you
and accomplish that in the little moment that belongs to it.
The mountain and the river can only be passed in the same way
and, when you come to them
you will come to the light and strength that belong to them.
~ Kelty
This photo, snapped yesterday as we celebrated Dave's and Chris' birthdays, was taken the exact same day as the photo in my previous post was when we gathered a year ago for the same event.
The hours were filled with good food and drink, birthday cake, presents, the girls ruling in the Taboo competition (as usual), a pathetic Bears game on TV, jokes and laughter, and especially, the joy of being surrounded by Chris & Tasha and Sarah and Matty & Beth.
Dave and I love it when all the kids are home,
the best part of his birthday celebration he later remarked.
But as the thrum of yesterday's energy fades into the stillness of today, as I remove the leaf from the dining room table, wash the glassware and try to figure out what's for dinner tonight, my insides ache as I pull these photos into my post and stare at the gaping hole left by the lack of Erin's presence, and I wonder how I'll survive each occasion in the future.
Much of the time it's a struggle to imagine doing so, and I desperately hope that "the light and strength that belong to them" ~ the goodness and love of our beautiful family and the united front borne of our common bond ~ will sustain me through each event that occurs in spite of this chasm left by the death of my youngest child, especially as these days edge toward the upcoming holiday season that I look at with growing dread, and I keep repeating to myself ~ stay in each little moment, Mary. A day at a time... each little inch.
I'm publishing my blog post today at 5:23pm in celebration of a big event.
On this date 30 years ago, after working awfully hard,
my labors paid off,
and I gave birth to our first-born, Christopher David, at 5:23pm.
How can it be? 30 years ago?!
Was he really that tiny?!
From an early age, Chris' personality traits were quite evident.
He sets high, yet attainable goals for himself,
finding it necessary to regroup at times,
but always strives to do his best
with the task at hand.
Arming himself against potential villains in his path,
with protective head-gear and a quick get-away steed in place,
(one can never be too careful)
he forges onward and never shies away from a challenge.
He is not afraid to voice his opinions in clear, concise tones
so that all can appreciate his views.
Pooh Bear was waved for emphasis in this particular situation.
Insert a textbook or clipboard at present.
On occasion though,
he feels a more in-your-face effort
is required to make a point.
At times he winds up with his foot in his mouth.
Not to worry, you're in good company!
Through the years, his younger siblings have occasionally found themselves questioning important matters or are at a loss about what to do in certain circumstances.
Chris, considering his position in birth order a very serious responsibility, takes pride in paving the way for the younger ones.
He is confident with his responses as they look to him and ask,
"What Would Chris Do?"
Hanging on his every word, they're rarely disappointed.
At an early age, with the help of his Irish grandfather,
he learned to kick back and enjoy a cold one.
(Guinness was a little too heavy back then.)
Thank goodness, as this is an important outlet
during a disappointing football season.
And... every once in a while
he gets kind of crazy!
While holding those good memories of past celebrations pretty close Chris,
I wish you a very
that will enable you to coast, and then change course.
In a previous blog post I extolled my ability to multitask with a high energy level and near-neurotic attention to detail, and among my character traits listed a passionate enthusiasm for things with substance; the most prominent at this time ~ a focus on the cancer world and the effects of the disease on its victims inspiring my desire to smooth the path for those presently in the throes of it all.
I also talked about the way I typically dive into my passions head first or jump in with both feet depending on the circumstances. Yes, it's true. And it's also true that sometimes when that is either my instinctive reaction to a situation or my planned route of choice, I end up leaping in a less prepared fashion than I should. This carries the potential of a rougher-than-desired meeting with the ground if things don't line up as expected.
Well, with respect to my recent job endeavor, that rocky ground loomed with growing clarity each day as I tried very hard to deny what my gut was trying to tell me. In effect, I crash-landed with the harsh realization that I WAS WRONG! I resigned from my position at the end of last week.
Just when I thought I knew myself so well, I wound up discovering a whole lot more over the past several weeks, which really only serves to reinforce the awareness that I am not the person I was before December 15, 2006. This is certainly not a new self-revelation, but merely a vivid presentation in a new area due to my recent endeavor of leaping into full-time employment after not working in that capacity since before the day of Erin's cancer diagnosis, and doing so in a field I've only experienced on the receiving end.
I discovered the hard way that things are a whole lot different from the perspective of the patient, as opposed to the nuts and bolts of what actually happens on the other side of the counter. Yes, the nurses and other staff members about whom I previously wrote absolutely made our lives bearable, and most certainly did inspire me to pursue this avenue of employment, but an entirely different world exists from this other point of view, and I found myself unprepared for a good deal of it. I wouldn't have truly understood all this had I not taken the chance when this employment opportunity arose.
Through many a sleepless night, a DVD of valuable lessons played in my head. I had to hit the Rewind button on several, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
~ Things/jobs are not always what they appear to be on the surface. (a real no-brainer)
~ I am prone to having idealistic views of the way I WANT things to be as opposed to the way they really ARE at times. (take off the rose-colored glasses Mary, sometimes reality bites)
~ In a new situation, I have to walk before I can run, and at my age and after everything I've been through over the past four years, I'm only going to run toward something fulfilling. (there was not enough Gatorade offered on the job site to provide support for increasing dehydration)
~ I can still multitask with the best of them only when given the proper tools with which to do so, and I don't want to work all day every day at a frenzied pace because that environment doesn't afford the opportunity to be in the present moment with the people whose lives it is my goal to touch. (because the moments wound up being too fleeting and the setting too frantic)
~ I don't want to spend 10 hours away from home every day and return feeling so exhausted that there is nothing left in me to do anything except get things ready for the next day and go to bed. I've run on that hamster-wheel in the past, working 12-hour-plus days, and I just don't want to do that anymore. (there really IS life after the age of 50 and after 30 years of marriage)
~ In spite of hiding the Chivas from Keenan, I continue to find more evidence of shenanigans :)
Some may question a decision made too hastily without enough time given to adjust to my new surroundings and responsibilities. My response is to rest assured that even though I may not know exactly what I'm meant to do next, I DO know what doesn't feel right. The pace and setting of this particular job won't allow me to fulfill my professed intention to walk the walk and instead would only serve to run me ragged, and I have very strong convictions about my right to be as happy as possible after all I've endured.
You know, the great thing about wile e coyote (with a little help from the cartoon animators bestowing powers of super-human resilience and invincibility) is his ability to resurrect himself from the numerous crash-landings he encounters in his pursuit of the roadrunner. Yes, he often does wind up in a heap, but then he simply picks himself up, comes up with another brilliant plan and tries again. He hasn't caught him yet, but someday... who knows?
Stupidity or unfailing tenacity and resolute determination?
When your child has cancer, you learn to devise some brilliant plans in order to survive each crash landing and roadblock encountered as the disease stubbornly progresses through its stages. Those years taught me the value of heap-recovery and redirection of intended paths.
So, I'll go with tenacity and determination.
For now, I'll put on my lime green wings and coast,
and in time I'll figure out what comes next.
And yes, today marks 10 months...
Thanks to those who remembered.
As I walk through each day now, amidst vivid memories of the dramatic shift that began to occur a year ago at this time, I gather the images of Erin strewn before me like a bread crumb trail on the path of my daily existence, following where they lead my heart.
My ever thoughtful friend Karen forwarded this poem to me one day, from The Writer's Almanac.
Oh, to be carried in a pocket when one feels so raw...
Morning Song
Marcia F. Brown
Here, I place a blue glazed cup where the wood is slightly whitened. Here, I lay down two bright spoons, our breakfast saucers, napkins white and smooth as milk. I am stirring at the sink, I am stirring the amount of dew you can gather in two hands, folding it into the fragile quiet of the house. Before the eggs, before the coffee heaving like a warm cat, I step out to the feeder- one foot, then the other, alive on wet blades. Air lifts my gown – I might fly – This thistle seed I pour is for the tiny birds. This ritual, for all things frail and imperiled. Wings surround me, frothing the air. I am struck by what becomes holy. A woman who lost her teenage child to an illness without mercy, said that at the end, her daughter sat up in her hospital bed and asked:
What should I do?
What should I do?
Into a white enamel bath I lower four brown eggs. You fill the door frame, warm and rumpled, kiss the crown of my head. I know how the topmost leaves of dusty trees feel at the advent of the monsoon rains. I carry the woman with the lost child in my pocket, where she murmurs her love song without end:
Things have sure changed a lot around here lately. Mama is still waking up very early, but now instead of spending the morning together doing a lot of writing like we've done for months, she only sits with me for a little while as she drinks her first cup of coffee. Then she dashes upstairs and gets in the shower. I follow to see if we're getting ready to go somewhere, like for an early morning walk, but instead of putting on her sweats and gym shoes, she puts on some fancy clothes that she recently bought at the store, grabs her purse, gets in the car and drives away - WITHOUT ME! I'm having trouble understanding a lot of what's going on. She's using the words WORK and JOB a lot, and there seems to be a pattern developing. She leaves in the morning at about 7:00 and doesn't get home until 5:00. Good thing my bladder is big!
It's such a long day without her here, and sometimes I get really scared that she won't come back... just like Erin. Erin used to go to the hospital a lot for treatments and sometimes she even spent a whole week there, but eventually she came home and I was always so happy to see her. But, one day she went away and didn't come back. I was in the room that day when she had to go away. Mama and I talk about that day, and together we repeat She's really not coming back to one another. We get very sad and she still uses my mane when she can't find the kleenex box. I like it when she hugs me like that.
I still love to carry Erin's socks around the house, so they always leave a few pairs on the floor for me. Mama says we are all making adjustments and finding our new way, and change is difficult
and we all have to work through the things
that are different and scary and sad.
I guess she's right, but sometimes I just have to snuggle up with a little reminder of Erin and sleep on all those thoughts.
I have to say that Mama has been looking a little disheveled lately. She's been studying big packets of papers with a lot of writing on them. They've been teaching her about the words and pictures on them at that place she calls WORK. I often find her sitting at the island in the kitchen and talking about things like a Recurring HAR and EEV and Medicare Coverage and Interactive Face Sheets and P/F Guarantor Accounts and Primary Care Physicians and Referrals and... blah blah blah!
Over the two-week classroom training period, she had to take six assessments on the things she was taught. She says, "Who do they think they're kidding? Assessment really means TEST!" She hasn't taken one of those so-called ASSESSMENTS since college and all students have to score a 95% or better just to PASS the assessment! She was a little stressed out, but she did it.
On some mornings, she tells me her tummy feels a little yucky because she's nervous. I understand. My tummy has been a little yucky too. I threw up on the rug once when she was at work. I think I was just missing her a lot. She cleaned it up when she got home and told me it was OK. She said a patient threw up at work one day too. Accidents happen.
She walks around and babbles, Dr So-and-So is this type of oncologist and is in the Clinic on Mondays and Thursdays, and you in-basket this nurse for these three doctors, and they'll do scans at this location but they can't at that location, and you can schedule appointments in the lab by clicking on this button and... blah blah blah! She's trying to remember so many new things.
I've been thinking a lot about the way they used to help me remember how to sit and stay and come. They used treats and praise, and it took a lot of practice to get everything right. I used to get very confused about what they were telling me to do, but they were very patient. Mama says everyone at work is really patient and nice, and they help her because there is so much to learn, and new things come up everyday. She's working with ladies who have been there for many years and they know everything. I tell her she'll know everything someday too. I'm going to tell Papa to get some Peanut M & Ms at the store next time he goes, and I'll use them to reward Mama when she gets the right answer. That should help her learn faster!
She shocked me one day when she came home and said, "Keenan, my dogs are barking!" I wondered what the heck she was talking about. I'M her dog and I wasn't barking! I usually don't because it's rude. I was pretty jealous because I thought she'd met other dogs at this new job of hers that she hadn't told me about, and then I finally figured out she was referring to her feet! It's because of those SILLY GROWN-UP SHOES with heels she has to wear now rather than her gym shoes.
One day while she was studying the phone rang, and she answered it and said, "Cancer Center - Clinic B, this is Mary, how may I help you?"! What the heck is wrong with her? This isn't a Clinic, this is our house! DUH!
She tells me about all the nice nurses she's meeting, and about how they're so compassionate toward the patients. We talk about how Erin would have been such a great nurse. We used to say, "No one understands better than one who has been through it." and we'd both tell her she was REALLY going to understand her patients, but Erin never got the chance to do that. Then, Mama buries her face in my mane.
Erin had a blood pressure cuff, and one day she was messing around and I let her check to make sure mine was OK
in spite of all the treats I was getting.
Whew - I was fine! 120/80 ~ perfect.
Bring on those table scraps!
We're both having trouble with the fact that we can't spend as much time together doing things we know Erin would like. During the summer we used to go down to the lakefront, and while we walked the path and looked at the water we thought about a lot of important stuff, and Mama would stop and write those things down in her journal. I was always consulted.
The weather today is really chilly, which reminds me that winter is coming soon. On weekdays, we often walked the trails in the woods when no one else was there. It was so pretty and quiet without the crowds that fill the paths on the weekends. Mama and I stopped and talked about Erin a lot while we were out among those trees. We felt really close to God out there too. Now, our time to do that will be limited and it bothers us.
We'd often walk through the woods and over to Bronswood and spend time under Erin's pine tree. We felt a sense of peace while sitting in the snow and breathing deeply in the crisp air. Now we can only go on the weekends, and that's hard too.
But, Mama says she is really happy about her decision to go to work. Even though she can't be "in her head" with Erin in the same way, she feels as though Erin's spirit is in her heart as she walks into the Cancer Center and interacts with everyone. On her most-difficult days, and even when she has come home in tears a couple of times because she's felt overwhelmed, she knows this is what she wants to do. Every single day when we all sit together and talk about her day, or when the three of us go for our nightly walk, she says, I LOVE THE PATIENTS. This is what I need to do. This is where I want to be.
So yes, there have been changes ~ a lot over the past twelve months. Erin was still in college a year ago at this time... and now look where we all are. Each of us is adjusting ~ finding our way. Mama really misses spending time with her friends, and she's trying to find more time to write. There are so many thoughts swimming in her head that she wants to write about, but when she gets home she is too tired to put together sentences that make much sense. Instead, she tells me all about them and jots down notes, and then composes at a later time, usually on the weekends. That may change as she gets more accustomed to things at work.
These days, Papa usually gets home before she does, and he lets me out the front door so I can run to the end of the driveway and look down the street to see if her car is coming yet.
Then, he calls me back up to the porch, and on nice days he pours a glass of wine and we wait together for her on the front steps. She's always so happy to see me that she doesn't notice when I take a couple of sips.
So, it's all good. We're taking things a day at a time, and we're all learning how to do it together. Papa has even been cooking dinner most of the time, which makes Mama really happy. I think he's doing a great job ~ those table scraps are delicious!
