This grieving process is definitely something new for me. Yesterday was mom's cemetary service. I felt an incredible amount of peace having her finally at rest. I felt that sense of peace for most of the day. I thought that maybe I was moving forward. I thought I was making good progress.
Then the sun went down. As I laid in bed last night with the world quiet all around me, my head started spinning. It almost felt like a movie was playing in my head. You know when you watch a movie and they show you all the things flashing through someone's head? That was my head last night. I was seeing the hospital room where mom got her paracentesis performed. I was seeing the way she looked at me. I was seeing the color of the fluid for the first time when it changed to red and I knew something was up. I was seeing her at home the last couple of times I saw her before she died. I was seeing her wither away. I was hearing the sounds she made in her final moments. Intermixed with all this I was seeing little moments from times when I was growing up. It was all just a second of a glimpse of everything and it was moving fast and around and around. And then I was seeing dad all alone in their house. He told me he was lonely last night. I hurt for him. I saw happy times of them together. All of it was just spinning and spinning around in my head.
And then the tears came. And I didn't want to let them come. I have said here before that I cry. It's what I do. At mom's funeral I was a blubbering mess. I couldn't stop crying. I thought maybe I had let most of it out. But rationally, I know that's not true. Last night I just didn't want them to come though. I felt like it was going to be a waterfall of emotions and I wasn't ready. And so I pulled it together and somehow willed myself to sleep.
Today I am tired. So tired. Emotionally and physically.
When I teach labor to parents I explain that it is a full body experience. It involves your body, your mind, your soul. It's not just physical pain. It is truly a full body experience and people have to respect that in order to get through it. I explain the same thing about postpartum. A woman's body is recovering. She may feel good, but she has to remember to take care of herself because her body is recovering from a major transition.
It seems this is the same with grief. I've just started the process, but it is obvious to me that it is a full body experience. It's not just my mind involved in this. It is my physical body and my soul as well. Getting up in the morning is HARD. I don't have the energy to work out even though I know I need to.
I started my new classes on Sunday and am struggling with putting together sentences. I'll get through it, but it's harder than it once was.
Yesterday I thought I was doing well. Today, I feel so sad again. Maybe today is the hardest because Olly is back to work for the first time since Friday and it has been a busy few days. Friday we went up to Arlington, I picked up mom's ashes, we stayed in a hotel and spent time with family. Saturday was mom's funeral. Sunday was actually a day of rest, but Olly was home with me. Yesterday was mom's cemetery service.
Today really is day 1 of moving forward. It's been two weeks since mom died. Two weeks ago I was making the trek up to spend some time with dad and help him with mom. And she died.
In those two weeks, I have also done a birth, taught two classes, did 4 doula related appointments, took 2 finals, finished my first term at school, and started my 2nd term. What I probably haven't done enough of is rest and mourn. I know I probably should. But my mind just doesn't want to do it.
Two weeks. It honestly seems like an eternity in some ways. So much has happened in those two weeks and now life starts to return to "normal". Even more normal than the last 6 months. There are no more paracentesis appointments. There is no more waiting and wondering. Although I'll still be calling and checking in on dad twice a day, I'm not terrified of making that call. Life will return to a new normal. A normal where my mom is no longer here on this earth. It's not really a normal I want, but it is what I have.
And perhaps that normal is what terrifies me now. But it may be the thing that gets me through this. Tomorrow is the last of my 8 days off. It went fast. Right now, I'm not feeling ready to get up in front of a class and be "on", but I know that once I'm there I will fall right back into it. I have already noticed that some stories I tell that include my mom will change. I can't, and don't want to, pretend that she is still alive. So, even my work will change. But it is my work. And I love what I do. I have 3 births coming up. I'm ready for those. I'm looking forward to them. I need them. Those births remind me about the beauty of LIFE. I had planned to take December off, but may pick up one more birth simply because I want to.
And so as life returns to it's new normal, I am thankful for all that I have to keep me busy. But it's obvious that the grief will find it's way in when it can. At night. In the silence. And then I think about dad who doesn't have all that I have to keep me busy. I told Kiersten that it seems so unfair that we have so much to keep us busy that we can't stop to grieve and my dad needs something to keep him busy so he doesn't have to sit alone in that house only thinking of all he has lost.
Nonetheless...we all have to grieve. We can push it away and push it away, but it will find its way in. And I have to allow it in if I want to work my way through it.
It is a full body experience, and like labor, you have to work with it and not fight against it.
It's not easy in labor. It's not easy with grief. But the really important stuff in life is never easy.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Mom's Funeral (w/video link and copy of eulogy)
It is the day after my mom's funeral. It's still feeling awfully surreal and I am processing SO much. Her service was so beautiful. She and my dad are loved by so many people.
Olly and I went bowling last night because I just couldn't stand the idea of staying in. I needed to see people living life. I, myself, needed to live a little of my own life. I realized yesterday that it has really been on hold for the past 6 months. I've been afraid to have fun. I've been afraid to live. I've been paralyzed with fear over the idea of losing my mom.
And now that loss is a reality. And I have to figure out how to move forward. Tomorrow is mom's cemetery service where she will be given her final resting place. After that...I need to start taking forward steps. Slowly, but deliberately. It is what my mom would want.
I decided last night that every June 6th (mom's birthday) and every October 13th (the day mom died), I will make a trek to one of our local casinos and I will bring a roll of quarters. And I will play until they are gone. I am not a gambler. I work too hard for my money to stick it in a machine and watch it disappear. It always made mom a little sad that I didn't have the gambling gene. ;-) So, twice a year, I will sit at a draw poker machine and gamble a little bit with my mom. I know she will be sitting right beside me cheering me on.
Thank you to all of you who made it a point to tell me how much this blog has meant to you. I was touched. I did start it for myself. For my own personal therapy. And it has served me well. But I'm glad that many of you have received something from it too. I intend to keep blogging as I make my way through the grieving process. I hope you will all share that journey with me as well. It gives me comfort to think I'm not walking this path alone.
For those of you who were at the funeral and asked for copies of Michael's Eulogy and mom's video...and for those of you who weren't there and who might like to see the video that Olly and I put together and read Michael's amazing eulogy (I wish we would have videotaped it...his presentation was incredible)...here you go...
Mom's Video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxfhCYkL8PA
(The first song is Address in the Stars by Caitlin & Will and the 2nd is Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy)
Michael's Eulogy
This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.
Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.
I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.
It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.
This operates against logic, against human will.
To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.
When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:
You fight it with all of your strength.
Go in swinging, go down swinging.
Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.
But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.
And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.
Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.
She let go.
This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.
I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.
She went to the casino.
She ate pizza.
She even drank beer.
She let go so she could live.
With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.
In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.
Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.
I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.
But she did it.
She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.
“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously
And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”
I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.
Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.
I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.
I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.
Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:
Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.
When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.
Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.
Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.
I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.
I understand why you didn't want me to play football.
I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.
I understand why you spoiled me.
I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.
I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.
I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.
I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.
I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.
Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.
I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.
And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.
I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.
Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.
I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.
I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.
I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.
I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.
I understand why you had a well stocked bar.
I understand how much you cared for us.
I understand how much you loved us.
I finally understand all the sacrifice. And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.
To be selfless.
To sacrifice for those you love.
To be loyal to your friends.
To be loyal to your family.
To love your family almost to a fault.
To know when to stand and fight.
And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.
Olly and I went bowling last night because I just couldn't stand the idea of staying in. I needed to see people living life. I, myself, needed to live a little of my own life. I realized yesterday that it has really been on hold for the past 6 months. I've been afraid to have fun. I've been afraid to live. I've been paralyzed with fear over the idea of losing my mom.
And now that loss is a reality. And I have to figure out how to move forward. Tomorrow is mom's cemetery service where she will be given her final resting place. After that...I need to start taking forward steps. Slowly, but deliberately. It is what my mom would want.
I decided last night that every June 6th (mom's birthday) and every October 13th (the day mom died), I will make a trek to one of our local casinos and I will bring a roll of quarters. And I will play until they are gone. I am not a gambler. I work too hard for my money to stick it in a machine and watch it disappear. It always made mom a little sad that I didn't have the gambling gene. ;-) So, twice a year, I will sit at a draw poker machine and gamble a little bit with my mom. I know she will be sitting right beside me cheering me on.
Thank you to all of you who made it a point to tell me how much this blog has meant to you. I was touched. I did start it for myself. For my own personal therapy. And it has served me well. But I'm glad that many of you have received something from it too. I intend to keep blogging as I make my way through the grieving process. I hope you will all share that journey with me as well. It gives me comfort to think I'm not walking this path alone.
For those of you who were at the funeral and asked for copies of Michael's Eulogy and mom's video...and for those of you who weren't there and who might like to see the video that Olly and I put together and read Michael's amazing eulogy (I wish we would have videotaped it...his presentation was incredible)...here you go...
Mom's Video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxfhCYkL8PA
(The first song is Address in the Stars by Caitlin & Will and the 2nd is Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy)
Michael's Eulogy
This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.
Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.
I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.
It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.
This operates against logic, against human will.
To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.
When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:
You fight it with all of your strength.
Go in swinging, go down swinging.
Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.
But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.
And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.
Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.
She let go.
This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.
I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.
She went to the casino.
She ate pizza.
She even drank beer.
She let go so she could live.
With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.
In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.
Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.
I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.
But she did it.
She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.
“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously
And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”
I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.
Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.
I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.
I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.
Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:
Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.
When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.
Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.
Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.
I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.
I understand why you didn't want me to play football.
I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.
I understand why you spoiled me.
I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.
I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.
I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.
I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.
I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.
Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.
I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.
And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.
I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.
Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.
I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.
I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.
I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.
I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.
I understand why you had a well stocked bar.
I understand how much you cared for us.
I understand how much you loved us.
I finally understand all the sacrifice. And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.
To be selfless.
To sacrifice for those you love.
To be loyal to your friends.
To be loyal to your family.
To love your family almost to a fault.
To know when to stand and fight.
And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Perspective and more pain
I have mentioned here before that a Doula acquaintance of mine has been struggling with a terrible, aggressive cancer in her 14 year old son. His battle has been going on about as long as my mom's. His name was Sam. And Sam lost his battle today.
I am heartbroken. I never met Sam except through his mom's blog. But I feel his loss.
And it is bringing up so much pain. And anger. And yet, there is perspective. My mom was too young to die. She just was. She had so much life yet to live.
But 14??? That doesn't make sense at all.
The pain I feel at the loss of my mom is sometimes unbearable. But the idea of losing one of my children is a pain my heart and brain refuse to let me even try to imagine. I grabbed both my boys and held on for dear life tonight. I can't imagine my world without them in it.
I am hurting for this Sam's family. His mom and dad and brother and sister. I am hurting for myself and my family. I am hurting for the loss of two people that should still be here. I'm questioning so much right now.
And yet, I am also envisioning my mom welcoming this young man into Heaven...telling him she is new too and showing him around.
None of it makes any sense. All my wounds feel open and raw tonight.
I am just so incredibly sad.
I am heartbroken. I never met Sam except through his mom's blog. But I feel his loss.
And it is bringing up so much pain. And anger. And yet, there is perspective. My mom was too young to die. She just was. She had so much life yet to live.
But 14??? That doesn't make sense at all.
The pain I feel at the loss of my mom is sometimes unbearable. But the idea of losing one of my children is a pain my heart and brain refuse to let me even try to imagine. I grabbed both my boys and held on for dear life tonight. I can't imagine my world without them in it.
I am hurting for this Sam's family. His mom and dad and brother and sister. I am hurting for myself and my family. I am hurting for the loss of two people that should still be here. I'm questioning so much right now.
And yet, I am also envisioning my mom welcoming this young man into Heaven...telling him she is new too and showing him around.
None of it makes any sense. All my wounds feel open and raw tonight.
I am just so incredibly sad.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Firsts
I apparently am now defining my life in the "first since my mom died" moments. There was the first night trying to sleep after my mom died. The first morning waking up without my mom. The first class taught since my mom died. The first grades since my mom died. The first birth since my mom died. Today was my first grocery trip since mom died.
It's odd...it's how I define everything these days without really even thinking about it.
The grocery store was tough today though and reminded me that it's time to start going easy on myself. My stress level is incredibly high and my patience level is incredibly low. I don't have time for the rudeness of people. I found myself taking lots of deep breaths just trying to make my way through the process.
It's as if my life stopped and started over the day my mom died. There is my life WITH my mom and my life WITHOUT my mom. And they are two completely different worlds. At some point, far down the line, I assume they will meld together in some ways. But right now, they are so starkly different.
And my shoulders...my poor shoulders. I have always carried my stress in my shoulders and by about this time every day, they are just aching. I am trying SO hard to deep breathe and release stress, but the stress is winning. I am wiped out every day by about 3pm. I sleep hard and am refreshed by morning, but ugh...it's getting to me. I can't run much longer.
Tonight is a prenatal appt with clients and tomorrow I teach and then I'm done for 8 days. Done. Completely done. I hopefully will even be done with school for this term. I finished one class today. I hope to finish my other tomorrow. And then I can let go for a bit. I can just feel all the things I'm trying to avoid right now for fear that if I start to melt, I just might not stop and I still have things to do. But the emotions are building, bubbling...just waiting to erupt. I'm afraid of what this is going to look or feel like. I've seen bits and pieces. It's something I've never felt. It's so new and scary. All of it. And yet, what choice do I have but to make my way through it?
The funeral planning continues. It's odd planning my mom's funeral while birthing and visiting with clients and doing my finals. Again...it's like two different worlds.
One day I'm going to laugh and really feel it again right? I mean, I have laughed. I have smiled, but it doesn't feel the same on the inside...as though the pain just eats the happiness up from the inside out. I assume that will get better. I know my mom would want me to have happiness. I know she wouldn't want me sad all the time. But it's not as easy as that. I underestimated this pain. I really did. It has a life of its own and it's powerful. I'm trying to be stronger than the pain, but it seems like a battle I can't win.
And so I just keep experiencing the firsts. I keep seeing this world through different eyes. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Heck I even did a small workout this morning. But everything seems so different. And lonelier. I can't even imagine what it's like for my dad. I have my kids and Olly to keep me company. He just has phone calls. It makes me really sad to think about it. We both talked yesterday about how we think of things to tell mom and then instantly are reminded she's not here to tell. I hate it.
Olly is working hard on a beautiful photo montage for the reception after the funeral. I picked the music and the pictures, but he's done the majority of the work. And I have yet to be able to get through the first few pictures without bursting into tears. Mom's funeral is 5 days away. I don't know how to get through my mom's funeral. It terrifies me. But, as with everything else, what choice do I have? It still feels all so surreal. My head feels so foggy all the time. Decision making is impossible. The little things don't feel little.
I WILL get through this. I know that. But this is harder than I imagined. Harder than I expected. And sometimes it just seems too much.
I feel like I can't miss her any more than I already do...and then each day, I still miss her more.
It's odd...it's how I define everything these days without really even thinking about it.
The grocery store was tough today though and reminded me that it's time to start going easy on myself. My stress level is incredibly high and my patience level is incredibly low. I don't have time for the rudeness of people. I found myself taking lots of deep breaths just trying to make my way through the process.
It's as if my life stopped and started over the day my mom died. There is my life WITH my mom and my life WITHOUT my mom. And they are two completely different worlds. At some point, far down the line, I assume they will meld together in some ways. But right now, they are so starkly different.
And my shoulders...my poor shoulders. I have always carried my stress in my shoulders and by about this time every day, they are just aching. I am trying SO hard to deep breathe and release stress, but the stress is winning. I am wiped out every day by about 3pm. I sleep hard and am refreshed by morning, but ugh...it's getting to me. I can't run much longer.
Tonight is a prenatal appt with clients and tomorrow I teach and then I'm done for 8 days. Done. Completely done. I hopefully will even be done with school for this term. I finished one class today. I hope to finish my other tomorrow. And then I can let go for a bit. I can just feel all the things I'm trying to avoid right now for fear that if I start to melt, I just might not stop and I still have things to do. But the emotions are building, bubbling...just waiting to erupt. I'm afraid of what this is going to look or feel like. I've seen bits and pieces. It's something I've never felt. It's so new and scary. All of it. And yet, what choice do I have but to make my way through it?
The funeral planning continues. It's odd planning my mom's funeral while birthing and visiting with clients and doing my finals. Again...it's like two different worlds.
One day I'm going to laugh and really feel it again right? I mean, I have laughed. I have smiled, but it doesn't feel the same on the inside...as though the pain just eats the happiness up from the inside out. I assume that will get better. I know my mom would want me to have happiness. I know she wouldn't want me sad all the time. But it's not as easy as that. I underestimated this pain. I really did. It has a life of its own and it's powerful. I'm trying to be stronger than the pain, but it seems like a battle I can't win.
And so I just keep experiencing the firsts. I keep seeing this world through different eyes. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Heck I even did a small workout this morning. But everything seems so different. And lonelier. I can't even imagine what it's like for my dad. I have my kids and Olly to keep me company. He just has phone calls. It makes me really sad to think about it. We both talked yesterday about how we think of things to tell mom and then instantly are reminded she's not here to tell. I hate it.
Olly is working hard on a beautiful photo montage for the reception after the funeral. I picked the music and the pictures, but he's done the majority of the work. And I have yet to be able to get through the first few pictures without bursting into tears. Mom's funeral is 5 days away. I don't know how to get through my mom's funeral. It terrifies me. But, as with everything else, what choice do I have? It still feels all so surreal. My head feels so foggy all the time. Decision making is impossible. The little things don't feel little.
I WILL get through this. I know that. But this is harder than I imagined. Harder than I expected. And sometimes it just seems too much.
I feel like I can't miss her any more than I already do...and then each day, I still miss her more.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Be nice to your kids...plan your funeral.
So, today I made another trek up north to go through the funeral preparations with dad. I stopped at the cemetery on the way up to sign some papers. The person at the cemetery sat with me for some time and then took me out to the area where mom and dad had purchased their niche for their urns. I wasn't sure I was ready for it. I was all alone and unprepared. But I am SO glad I did it. The cemetery is absolutely beautiful. Even in the very ugly weather we had today, it was incredible. I felt such peace. I see myself spending many days up at that cemetery walking the grounds with my mom's spirit right beside me.
My parents arranged for everything. I remember not wanting to hear them talk about it back in 2001 when they purchased their niches and paid for everything at the funeral home. I remember feeling it was morbid and I just didn't want to hear it. But, wow... everyone should do this for their children. There have been no questions of what mom wanted or where she wanted her final resting place to be. They handled it all years ago. It has been an incredible blessing for Michael and me. Please, please do this for your children.
The funeral service is pretty much taken care of. Today dad and I just needed to pick out readings and psalms, etc. Just a few things have to be handled and then it's done. The church provided a very simple template and it was fairly easy.
Dad and I went out to lunch afterwards and we talked and cried together. The cemetery gave me a wonderful handout on grief and it was the best thing I've read about what it feels like to grieve. It discusses that it can be months before you feel like you can tackle the little things. That none of that stuff is important. That was good for both me and dad to read. It also mentioned you can often feel like your head is in a cloud of cotton. That was sort of stunning for me because I haven't been able to explain how I feel, but THAT is it!
I have arranged for a day off tomorrow, unless my client goes into labor. I'm looking forward to that. I may just stay in my pajamas and do a little studying and a lot of just "being". Michael and Kiersten will be visiting with dad which makes me happy.
Today was an okay day. I did a lot of crying on my trip up and back alone in my car. Spending time with dad was good for both of us. I'm slowly learning to take better care of myself. I feel a great desire to laugh. We're planning a little get together on Friday night with family to simply laugh before mom's funeral the next day. It is what my mom would want and it will be good for all of us.
Mom's obituary comes out in the paper tomorrow. That will be hard. But none of this is easy. Each step forward is a good one.
Although, I seem to miss her more every day.
My parents arranged for everything. I remember not wanting to hear them talk about it back in 2001 when they purchased their niches and paid for everything at the funeral home. I remember feeling it was morbid and I just didn't want to hear it. But, wow... everyone should do this for their children. There have been no questions of what mom wanted or where she wanted her final resting place to be. They handled it all years ago. It has been an incredible blessing for Michael and me. Please, please do this for your children.
The funeral service is pretty much taken care of. Today dad and I just needed to pick out readings and psalms, etc. Just a few things have to be handled and then it's done. The church provided a very simple template and it was fairly easy.
Dad and I went out to lunch afterwards and we talked and cried together. The cemetery gave me a wonderful handout on grief and it was the best thing I've read about what it feels like to grieve. It discusses that it can be months before you feel like you can tackle the little things. That none of that stuff is important. That was good for both me and dad to read. It also mentioned you can often feel like your head is in a cloud of cotton. That was sort of stunning for me because I haven't been able to explain how I feel, but THAT is it!
I have arranged for a day off tomorrow, unless my client goes into labor. I'm looking forward to that. I may just stay in my pajamas and do a little studying and a lot of just "being". Michael and Kiersten will be visiting with dad which makes me happy.
Today was an okay day. I did a lot of crying on my trip up and back alone in my car. Spending time with dad was good for both of us. I'm slowly learning to take better care of myself. I feel a great desire to laugh. We're planning a little get together on Friday night with family to simply laugh before mom's funeral the next day. It is what my mom would want and it will be good for all of us.
Mom's obituary comes out in the paper tomorrow. That will be hard. But none of this is easy. Each step forward is a good one.
Although, I seem to miss her more every day.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Grief & Mourning
The stages of grief are defined as:
Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
Anger (why is this happening to me?)
Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
Depression (I don't care anymore)
Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes)
Until this week I thought they were linear. I thought you moved through each one and then...pop!...you were done grieving.
What I now know is that you can enter one stage and go back to another and back and forth and back and forth, really within minutes of time.
I truly thought I was ready for this. I thought I had completely passed through the Denial phase. I was wrong.
I told my SIL that I currently feel like a 2 year old having a temper tantrum in front of God. "I want her back!!!! Give me her back!!!!" Stomping and kicking my feet the whole time. Because I want her back. That's what I want. Unrealistic or not. That's what I want.
And the anger...well, that has been there all along, but it's pretty large at some moments. I have screamed and yelled at God. I have simply just screamed and yelled. Usually alone in my car. But I'm mad. I am really, really, damn mad. This is wrong. This is not fair. Not my mom. She didn't deserve this. My dad shouldn't be so sad. He shouldn't be so lonely. They are good people. Why? Why? I want some answer that just doesn't exist and it makes me so mad.
Perhaps I've done my bargaining. I did so much over the last 6 months and none of it worked. I feel like there's nothing left to bargain for anymore.
The depression is certainly there. Always. Underlying everything. Underlying the denial. Underlying the anger. The world doesn't seem to be a happy place to me anymore. The depression is constant. The world isn't okay when your mom is no longer in it.
I have to believe the acceptance will come. But I think it's far away.
I have so much work to do. Work I didn't understand until the moment my mom died. I guess that's normal.
But I have to say there are a couple of things that have struck me these past couple of days. I just need to say this and hope no one takes offense...but I no longer want to hear that my mom is in a better place. That doesn't help. I know it's what we say. I've said it plenty to other people in their times of grief I am sure. But it doesn't help me. I know my mom is better off. I watched her die. I watched her wither away to just a shell of her former self. I know she is better off. But that, in NO way, makes me feel better. Maybe my faith isn't strong enough. Maybe it's just all selfish. But I want her HERE! I know it was just a body. I know her soul is somewhere else probably looking down on me. Probably looking out for me. But I want her HERE. I want to feel her hug. I want to talk to her. I want my mom, dammit and I am NEVER going to have that again, so yes, I know she is better off. But I also know she didn't want to die yet. That she had so many good years left. And I think it's wrong that she is gone. I really, really do. I admire those who can find comfort in their faith and the belief that their loved one is happier. But I'm not there. Maybe I will be, but I'm just not yet.
And I've found social networking to be an interesting piece in the grieving process in the 21st century. I have received huge support through my Facebook friends. I have posted my mom's obituary there. 25 years ago, when you were grieving you had to wait for a phone call or letter for support...not to even mention years and years before that. Now, the support is instant through e-mail and social networking sites. At the same time, the world goes on in those places. Everyone else's life keeps moving forward. Silly things are posted. Trivial things. Funny things. And for someone that is grieving, it is interesting to see my first response to those posts. They make me mad. And it's really just jealousy. I want to live in the world where trivial posts are fun and something to break up the monotony of the day. I don't live there right now. I'm sure I will again. But today, I don't. And I'm jealous of others who do. And maybe at the same time, it gives me hope that we do continue forward. That's all we can do.
And I guess that's the reality. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other every day. Thank goodness for my wonderful boys. They keep me going. They give me smiles and laughter. Christopher gives the greatest, most meaningful hugs. He expresses feelings that a 7 year old can't put into words through his hugs. It is incredible. They are my lifeforce right now.
I always imagined that my world would stop when my mom died. I'd cancel appts., have back up doulas take my clients, etc., etc. But instead I just keep going. I had a prenatal appt last night. I'm sure if my clients knew that my mom had died just a little over 24 hours prior they would have been upset with me that I was there. But they didn't know. Their life is consumed with their new baby on the way, as it should be. And they hired me to support them. And I will. Today is homeschool bowling. Tonight I finish a childbirth class series. I can teach. It's what I do. Tomorrow another prenatal. Saturday back up to spend some time with dad and work on the funeral service. I have to stop at the cemetery on the way up and sign some papers so dad doesn't need to make the trip down. Sunday, a meet and greet with potential clients. Monday, another prenatal. Tuesday, I teach. Somewhere in all of that, I will most likely have a client have a baby. And I have to finish up my classes. This term ends next week. The day before mom's funeral. I keep going. Once next Tuesday ends though, my calendar is open. I'm scared of that. What happens when I have nothing to keep my mind busy? I'm actually a little terrified of next Wednesday. But I know I'll keep going.
And I'll just keep walking back and forth through the stages of grief until I find that acceptance somewhere at the end...and then probably still walk back a few times...
I miss her so much. It's physically painful how much I miss her.
Nancy Lee Barr - 6/6/36 - 10/13/09
http://nkctribune.com/obituary/
My world will never be the same without her.
Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
Anger (why is this happening to me?)
Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
Depression (I don't care anymore)
Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes)
Until this week I thought they were linear. I thought you moved through each one and then...pop!...you were done grieving.
What I now know is that you can enter one stage and go back to another and back and forth and back and forth, really within minutes of time.
I truly thought I was ready for this. I thought I had completely passed through the Denial phase. I was wrong.
I told my SIL that I currently feel like a 2 year old having a temper tantrum in front of God. "I want her back!!!! Give me her back!!!!" Stomping and kicking my feet the whole time. Because I want her back. That's what I want. Unrealistic or not. That's what I want.
And the anger...well, that has been there all along, but it's pretty large at some moments. I have screamed and yelled at God. I have simply just screamed and yelled. Usually alone in my car. But I'm mad. I am really, really, damn mad. This is wrong. This is not fair. Not my mom. She didn't deserve this. My dad shouldn't be so sad. He shouldn't be so lonely. They are good people. Why? Why? I want some answer that just doesn't exist and it makes me so mad.
Perhaps I've done my bargaining. I did so much over the last 6 months and none of it worked. I feel like there's nothing left to bargain for anymore.
The depression is certainly there. Always. Underlying everything. Underlying the denial. Underlying the anger. The world doesn't seem to be a happy place to me anymore. The depression is constant. The world isn't okay when your mom is no longer in it.
I have to believe the acceptance will come. But I think it's far away.
I have so much work to do. Work I didn't understand until the moment my mom died. I guess that's normal.
But I have to say there are a couple of things that have struck me these past couple of days. I just need to say this and hope no one takes offense...but I no longer want to hear that my mom is in a better place. That doesn't help. I know it's what we say. I've said it plenty to other people in their times of grief I am sure. But it doesn't help me. I know my mom is better off. I watched her die. I watched her wither away to just a shell of her former self. I know she is better off. But that, in NO way, makes me feel better. Maybe my faith isn't strong enough. Maybe it's just all selfish. But I want her HERE! I know it was just a body. I know her soul is somewhere else probably looking down on me. Probably looking out for me. But I want her HERE. I want to feel her hug. I want to talk to her. I want my mom, dammit and I am NEVER going to have that again, so yes, I know she is better off. But I also know she didn't want to die yet. That she had so many good years left. And I think it's wrong that she is gone. I really, really do. I admire those who can find comfort in their faith and the belief that their loved one is happier. But I'm not there. Maybe I will be, but I'm just not yet.
And I've found social networking to be an interesting piece in the grieving process in the 21st century. I have received huge support through my Facebook friends. I have posted my mom's obituary there. 25 years ago, when you were grieving you had to wait for a phone call or letter for support...not to even mention years and years before that. Now, the support is instant through e-mail and social networking sites. At the same time, the world goes on in those places. Everyone else's life keeps moving forward. Silly things are posted. Trivial things. Funny things. And for someone that is grieving, it is interesting to see my first response to those posts. They make me mad. And it's really just jealousy. I want to live in the world where trivial posts are fun and something to break up the monotony of the day. I don't live there right now. I'm sure I will again. But today, I don't. And I'm jealous of others who do. And maybe at the same time, it gives me hope that we do continue forward. That's all we can do.
And I guess that's the reality. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other every day. Thank goodness for my wonderful boys. They keep me going. They give me smiles and laughter. Christopher gives the greatest, most meaningful hugs. He expresses feelings that a 7 year old can't put into words through his hugs. It is incredible. They are my lifeforce right now.
I always imagined that my world would stop when my mom died. I'd cancel appts., have back up doulas take my clients, etc., etc. But instead I just keep going. I had a prenatal appt last night. I'm sure if my clients knew that my mom had died just a little over 24 hours prior they would have been upset with me that I was there. But they didn't know. Their life is consumed with their new baby on the way, as it should be. And they hired me to support them. And I will. Today is homeschool bowling. Tonight I finish a childbirth class series. I can teach. It's what I do. Tomorrow another prenatal. Saturday back up to spend some time with dad and work on the funeral service. I have to stop at the cemetery on the way up and sign some papers so dad doesn't need to make the trip down. Sunday, a meet and greet with potential clients. Monday, another prenatal. Tuesday, I teach. Somewhere in all of that, I will most likely have a client have a baby. And I have to finish up my classes. This term ends next week. The day before mom's funeral. I keep going. Once next Tuesday ends though, my calendar is open. I'm scared of that. What happens when I have nothing to keep my mind busy? I'm actually a little terrified of next Wednesday. But I know I'll keep going.
And I'll just keep walking back and forth through the stages of grief until I find that acceptance somewhere at the end...and then probably still walk back a few times...
I miss her so much. It's physically painful how much I miss her.
Nancy Lee Barr - 6/6/36 - 10/13/09
http://nkctribune.com/obituary/
My world will never be the same without her.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
And so this is how it ends...
I think everyone that reads my blog already knows that my mom died yesterday.
208 days.
In some ways that is remarkable because I remember hoping and dreaming for 100. But in most ways in my head right now it is so incredibly painful.
I was there with her when she died. It's strange since I had reconciled with the fact that I wouldn't be there. It was a blessing and a curse. Mom's last 1/2 hour was not quiet. But I'm so glad dad wasn't alone.
I will share the story soon. Right now, it's too much. I just got home and am typing this with my mom's wedding ring on my hand.
The pain I feel is sometimes unbearable. And the relief I feel is painful in and of itself.
I hurt in a way I assume you only feel when you lose your mother. I can't believe I'm living in this world without her. I miss her so incredibly much.
I love you Mom. I will love you and miss you for the rest of my life.
208 days.
In some ways that is remarkable because I remember hoping and dreaming for 100. But in most ways in my head right now it is so incredibly painful.
I was there with her when she died. It's strange since I had reconciled with the fact that I wouldn't be there. It was a blessing and a curse. Mom's last 1/2 hour was not quiet. But I'm so glad dad wasn't alone.
I will share the story soon. Right now, it's too much. I just got home and am typing this with my mom's wedding ring on my hand.
The pain I feel is sometimes unbearable. And the relief I feel is painful in and of itself.
I hurt in a way I assume you only feel when you lose your mother. I can't believe I'm living in this world without her. I miss her so incredibly much.
I love you Mom. I will love you and miss you for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Day 208: Strength and Depression Combined
The last 6 months has taught me a lot about how strong I am. I know I am strong now. I can take care of my dying mom all while being on call 24/7 and doing long, overnight births and homeschooling my boys and starting back to school myself and teaching childbirth classes and keeping a house up (sort of) and being a good mom. I can do all of that. I know it's there within me.
But right now, I don't want to do any of it. I don't want to be strong anymore. I want to give it all to other people and just fall into a heap. I feel like I'm falling into a depression and I'm trying to hang on to the edges of sanity and not let go. Happiness and laughter are things that seem so far removed from what I think I'll ever feel again.
The only thing that I know is a good sign is that I do know there is another side to this. I do believe someday I'll find my way out. It's not fully depression if you know that right?
I thought I was ready for this. I really did. I thought I had these wonderful 6 months to prepare. People keep telling me how lucky we were to have them and I know that. But none of that makes NOW easier. None of it. I am NOT ready. I am SO incredibly sad and angry. I truly thought I was past that, but I'm not.
Last night it hit me out of the blue that I will NEVER talk to my mom again. Ever. And it nearly doubled me over. I can't explain that flashes that run through my head on a continuous loop. I hear conversations we've had in the past or things she would tell me or how we would commiserate over life together. I'll never have that again.
I don't know how to live without her. I really, truly don't.
I am so worried about my dad and my brother...and myself honestly. She was our rock. What do we possibly do without her?
I don't know why I bother with makeup anymore. It's a waste of time these days. When the tears start they are a flood. My eyes are swollen all the time.
My mom raised a strong, determined, self-reliant, stubborn woman. I know she is still there, I'm just having a hard time finding her these days.
But right now, I don't want to do any of it. I don't want to be strong anymore. I want to give it all to other people and just fall into a heap. I feel like I'm falling into a depression and I'm trying to hang on to the edges of sanity and not let go. Happiness and laughter are things that seem so far removed from what I think I'll ever feel again.
The only thing that I know is a good sign is that I do know there is another side to this. I do believe someday I'll find my way out. It's not fully depression if you know that right?
I thought I was ready for this. I really did. I thought I had these wonderful 6 months to prepare. People keep telling me how lucky we were to have them and I know that. But none of that makes NOW easier. None of it. I am NOT ready. I am SO incredibly sad and angry. I truly thought I was past that, but I'm not.
Last night it hit me out of the blue that I will NEVER talk to my mom again. Ever. And it nearly doubled me over. I can't explain that flashes that run through my head on a continuous loop. I hear conversations we've had in the past or things she would tell me or how we would commiserate over life together. I'll never have that again.
I don't know how to live without her. I really, truly don't.
I am so worried about my dad and my brother...and myself honestly. She was our rock. What do we possibly do without her?
I don't know why I bother with makeup anymore. It's a waste of time these days. When the tears start they are a flood. My eyes are swollen all the time.
My mom raised a strong, determined, self-reliant, stubborn woman. I know she is still there, I'm just having a hard time finding her these days.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Day 207: It's pretty much all just pain now...
So, Saturday I had to teach all day. I'm not sure I was actually there, but the class evaluations were good so I must have done an okay job. I know my head was certainly elsewhere.
Then Sunday it was back up north. Mom was significantly worse than she was Friday. It was so incredibly hard. Aunt Linda and Uncle Bill came up and Michael and Kiersten were there. Having family around is so comforting. Mom was barely lucid. I called Hospice to come over and check on her. The nurse that came was fantastic. She said that mom's heart was racing so hard. She suggested my dad stop moving mom from bed to chair and said it would help to get the hospital bed back in the house.
We're down to days I believe.
And so while I'm dealing with all of this yesterday, a client decided to have her baby and I had to leave my mom and head back. I got home at 4:45am this morning. It was a hard birth. And my emotions are running high. I honestly believe that God needed me to leave yesterday. That He knew I wouldn't go otherwise and that I needed to understand that I don't have to be there every minute. But it's still hard. I'm so conflicted today wanting to go up there and knowing I have loads of homework and probably shouldn't be driving in this state anyway.
Hospice is out again today. I'm waiting for a little bit to call dad and find out what they told him. I've called the 24 hour caretakers that we used back in April to see if we can get them to come in the overnight hours until mom dies so dad can sleep in peace. I've called mom and dad's church and put the wheels in motion so they know that we're going to need them soon. Say what you want about Catholics (I've said my share), but they do death well. Everything will be taken care of for us and that will be a blessing.
And so now it's a terrible, painful, horrible waiting game. My mom was breathing every 9 to 12 seconds yesterday. At this point, I just want her to go. I want her to have peace. I don't ever want to give her up, but I can't stand what she's going through. This kind of pain is so incredible and so wrong.
My dad is going through so much. He is losing his lifelong companion. How do you do that? And he's watching every minute of it. He is loving her so much through her final days. He is so patient even though his heart is breaking to pieces. It's the most painful thing in the world to watch your parent's heart break. It truly is.
So, I do homework today intermixed with phone calls. I have a visit with a client tonight and have another client due today. My exhaustion level is incredibly high right now. I know this is a transforming journey I am on. I can feel the transformation. But it is hard. And it is painful. And it is against my will. And yet, I have to walk through it.
Thank goodness for the love and support I have. To all of you who have sent messages to me through e-mail, facebook, phone calls, texts...I love you all and you are carrying me through this in ways I cannot explain. I don't know how to ask for help. I get that from my parents apparently. But all of you who have been showering me with love and support mean the world to me. You are my strength right now. Thank you to each and every one of you.
Then Sunday it was back up north. Mom was significantly worse than she was Friday. It was so incredibly hard. Aunt Linda and Uncle Bill came up and Michael and Kiersten were there. Having family around is so comforting. Mom was barely lucid. I called Hospice to come over and check on her. The nurse that came was fantastic. She said that mom's heart was racing so hard. She suggested my dad stop moving mom from bed to chair and said it would help to get the hospital bed back in the house.
We're down to days I believe.
And so while I'm dealing with all of this yesterday, a client decided to have her baby and I had to leave my mom and head back. I got home at 4:45am this morning. It was a hard birth. And my emotions are running high. I honestly believe that God needed me to leave yesterday. That He knew I wouldn't go otherwise and that I needed to understand that I don't have to be there every minute. But it's still hard. I'm so conflicted today wanting to go up there and knowing I have loads of homework and probably shouldn't be driving in this state anyway.
Hospice is out again today. I'm waiting for a little bit to call dad and find out what they told him. I've called the 24 hour caretakers that we used back in April to see if we can get them to come in the overnight hours until mom dies so dad can sleep in peace. I've called mom and dad's church and put the wheels in motion so they know that we're going to need them soon. Say what you want about Catholics (I've said my share), but they do death well. Everything will be taken care of for us and that will be a blessing.
And so now it's a terrible, painful, horrible waiting game. My mom was breathing every 9 to 12 seconds yesterday. At this point, I just want her to go. I want her to have peace. I don't ever want to give her up, but I can't stand what she's going through. This kind of pain is so incredible and so wrong.
My dad is going through so much. He is losing his lifelong companion. How do you do that? And he's watching every minute of it. He is loving her so much through her final days. He is so patient even though his heart is breaking to pieces. It's the most painful thing in the world to watch your parent's heart break. It truly is.
So, I do homework today intermixed with phone calls. I have a visit with a client tonight and have another client due today. My exhaustion level is incredibly high right now. I know this is a transforming journey I am on. I can feel the transformation. But it is hard. And it is painful. And it is against my will. And yet, I have to walk through it.
Thank goodness for the love and support I have. To all of you who have sent messages to me through e-mail, facebook, phone calls, texts...I love you all and you are carrying me through this in ways I cannot explain. I don't know how to ask for help. I get that from my parents apparently. But all of you who have been showering me with love and support mean the world to me. You are my strength right now. Thank you to each and every one of you.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Day 204: The Hardest Day
Today was, as far as I can remember, the hardest day of my life.
My mom is, for all sense and purposes, gone. There is nothing to her. Occasionally she would say something that would make us laugh, but for the most part, she is gone.
Hospice was there. Aunt Judy and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Marlene were there. It was good to have family around when Hospice discussed what happens from here. It's obvious they were preparing us for what is coming quickly. I read through the Hospice booklet and mom is exhibiting signs of someone with one to two weeks left to live.
Michael is working on a eulogy. I'm working on an obituary. My dad is spending his days keeping mom comfortable and wondering what he is going to do without her.
He has cried more in the past several days than I have ever seen him cry. And it breaks my heart.
This is it. This is the end. There is no getting better this time. And I'm lost. I'm just so lost in this pain.
My mom is, for all sense and purposes, gone. There is nothing to her. Occasionally she would say something that would make us laugh, but for the most part, she is gone.
Hospice was there. Aunt Judy and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Marlene were there. It was good to have family around when Hospice discussed what happens from here. It's obvious they were preparing us for what is coming quickly. I read through the Hospice booklet and mom is exhibiting signs of someone with one to two weeks left to live.
Michael is working on a eulogy. I'm working on an obituary. My dad is spending his days keeping mom comfortable and wondering what he is going to do without her.
He has cried more in the past several days than I have ever seen him cry. And it breaks my heart.
This is it. This is the end. There is no getting better this time. And I'm lost. I'm just so lost in this pain.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Day 203: Losing my mom
Things seem to be moving quickly. I talked to mom this morning and she sounded confused and anxious. I kind of had to talk her down on the phone. I was a mess when I hung up. Later today I had a long talk with dad. Probably the longest talk he and I have had in years. He is under so much stress. I'm so worried about him. I'm heading up tomorrow so he can get a few hours reprieve. He hasn't even been out to get groceries. Mom needs 24/7 care now. I told him we'd talk about Michael and I setting a schedule and maybe getting Hospice to help out or bringing in some other care givers now and then.
Although, it doesn't sound like mom is even going to be lucid much longer. Her pain is increasing. Dad had to give her 3 oxycodone in an hour today. He said he was so worried because he couldn't make the pain go away for mom. He has so much on his shoulders. Hospice is coming by tomorrow and going to get dad meds that last 12 hours instead of 4. Ultimately though, we may be looking at constant IV meds through mom's port. All of this means she's basically be unconscious.
This is all just so wrong and ugly. I hate this damn disease. I hate what it's doing to my mom. Dad was so upset tonight and said mom doesn't deserve this. He's right. No one deserves the way this disease takes you. And what it does to all those left behind in it's wake. It's horrible. Truly horrible.
I'm terrified about tomorrow. It's been about 3 weeks since I've seen mom and her hospice nurse has warned me that there is nothing to her. Somehow I have to hold it together as much as I can tomorrow. But it is not going to be easy.
I'm finding myself falling apart at random times during the day. In the shower, drying my hair, driving to work. There doesn't even have to be a trigger. Something hits me out of the blue and I fall apart. I taught class tonight and am amazed at how I can laugh and put on a brave face. No one would know my mom was dying. But then as soon as everyone clears out, I feel so lost. It all comes rushing back. God, I don't want her to die. It hurts so much!
I don't know how to live my life while my mom is dying. I just don't. I want it to stop. I want the world to stop rotating so I can just be with my mom. And I'm so angry I can't do that.
I guess I'm just angry and sad and hurt and scared in general. This is just so horrific. How do I go on without my mom? I just don't know how to do it.
Damn, it just all hurts so much.
Although, it doesn't sound like mom is even going to be lucid much longer. Her pain is increasing. Dad had to give her 3 oxycodone in an hour today. He said he was so worried because he couldn't make the pain go away for mom. He has so much on his shoulders. Hospice is coming by tomorrow and going to get dad meds that last 12 hours instead of 4. Ultimately though, we may be looking at constant IV meds through mom's port. All of this means she's basically be unconscious.
This is all just so wrong and ugly. I hate this damn disease. I hate what it's doing to my mom. Dad was so upset tonight and said mom doesn't deserve this. He's right. No one deserves the way this disease takes you. And what it does to all those left behind in it's wake. It's horrible. Truly horrible.
I'm terrified about tomorrow. It's been about 3 weeks since I've seen mom and her hospice nurse has warned me that there is nothing to her. Somehow I have to hold it together as much as I can tomorrow. But it is not going to be easy.
I'm finding myself falling apart at random times during the day. In the shower, drying my hair, driving to work. There doesn't even have to be a trigger. Something hits me out of the blue and I fall apart. I taught class tonight and am amazed at how I can laugh and put on a brave face. No one would know my mom was dying. But then as soon as everyone clears out, I feel so lost. It all comes rushing back. God, I don't want her to die. It hurts so much!
I don't know how to live my life while my mom is dying. I just don't. I want it to stop. I want the world to stop rotating so I can just be with my mom. And I'm so angry I can't do that.
I guess I'm just angry and sad and hurt and scared in general. This is just so horrific. How do I go on without my mom? I just don't know how to do it.
Damn, it just all hurts so much.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Day 202: Overwhelming Sadness
So, this is my 100th post in this blog. I slowed down a lot as mom improved and now I think I'm probably back to daily or close to daily posts again.
I talked to mom's hospice nurse today. I've talked to her a lot over the past few months. Today is the first time I heard her sad on the phone. She told me that she thinks mom has about a month left, maybe a little longer. But the reality is that that is mom's physical body. Her mind is already going. She is confused. Her mental facilities have declined an incredible amount in the past week and a half. She is not supposed to be left alone from here on out. That puts an enormous amount of pressure on my dad. Michael and I will have to figure out a way to make sure he is getting some relief. He needs to get out of the house. My plan will be to go up there at a minimum of one day a week to relieve dad for a few hours, but hopefully I can do a couple of days a week, or Michael can take a day now and then.
I mentioned to mom's hospice nurse that I'd told mom and dad to call me anytime and I would be there, but that I knew they probably wouldn't take me up on that. I mentioned that I didn't know if I should just show up on their doorstep uninvited. And she told me that this is the time to show up at the door. That said a lot to me. So, I'm going up Friday and will go up again on Sunday and will make a plan for next week from there. Of course, I have a client due in here too so that may change things a little, but I just have to believe it will all work as it should.
I talked to dad this afternoon and he said that the hospice bath aid had been there for about an hour and a half and had given mom a sponge bath and washed her hair and made mom feel so much better. And a hospice volunteer had been out and spent two hours weeding. I am so grateful for hospice. If any of you reading this ever need a place to donate money, please consider your local hospice organization. It's an incredible service.
I had a moment of reflection today as a local acquaintance of mine just posted on her blog about her son. He has been battling cancer for some time. He's 13. And this week the tumors in his brain came back and there is no more treatment for him. I am so lost and sad over the loss of my mother, but I cannot even fathom losing my child. We're supposed to lose our parents. We are not supposed to lose our children. It put things in a bit of a perspective for me, even though it doesn't necessarily lessen my pain. I also learned yesterday that another friend had a family member diagnosed with cancer and every time I hear it it makes me SO mad. We have to figure out what is doing this to us. Is it technology...our cell phones, our tvs and microwaves and computers? Or is it our food and the fillers? We just have to figure it out. I don't want my kids growing up in a world so filled with cancer.
But for now, my focus is on mom and dad. I took the boys to the zoo today. We needed an outlet. It was a beautiful morning and watching my kids at the zoo gave me moments of happiness and laughter. We all needed that. Tomorrow is homeschool bowling and I teach tomorrow night. Friday we'll head up and spend a few hours at my parents. Saturday I teach all day and then Sunday I'll head back up. Somewhere in here I'll be birthing. I have assignments and 2 papers due. There are moments when it is all so overwhelming. I have been staring at my paper that needs to be edited for about 2 hours today and can't seem to come up with anything. But I'll push through. That's what my mom taught me. This too shall pass. Except, honestly, I know when all this passes, my mom will be gone. And that doesn't make things seem any better at all.
I talked to mom's hospice nurse today. I've talked to her a lot over the past few months. Today is the first time I heard her sad on the phone. She told me that she thinks mom has about a month left, maybe a little longer. But the reality is that that is mom's physical body. Her mind is already going. She is confused. Her mental facilities have declined an incredible amount in the past week and a half. She is not supposed to be left alone from here on out. That puts an enormous amount of pressure on my dad. Michael and I will have to figure out a way to make sure he is getting some relief. He needs to get out of the house. My plan will be to go up there at a minimum of one day a week to relieve dad for a few hours, but hopefully I can do a couple of days a week, or Michael can take a day now and then.
I mentioned to mom's hospice nurse that I'd told mom and dad to call me anytime and I would be there, but that I knew they probably wouldn't take me up on that. I mentioned that I didn't know if I should just show up on their doorstep uninvited. And she told me that this is the time to show up at the door. That said a lot to me. So, I'm going up Friday and will go up again on Sunday and will make a plan for next week from there. Of course, I have a client due in here too so that may change things a little, but I just have to believe it will all work as it should.
I talked to dad this afternoon and he said that the hospice bath aid had been there for about an hour and a half and had given mom a sponge bath and washed her hair and made mom feel so much better. And a hospice volunteer had been out and spent two hours weeding. I am so grateful for hospice. If any of you reading this ever need a place to donate money, please consider your local hospice organization. It's an incredible service.
I had a moment of reflection today as a local acquaintance of mine just posted on her blog about her son. He has been battling cancer for some time. He's 13. And this week the tumors in his brain came back and there is no more treatment for him. I am so lost and sad over the loss of my mother, but I cannot even fathom losing my child. We're supposed to lose our parents. We are not supposed to lose our children. It put things in a bit of a perspective for me, even though it doesn't necessarily lessen my pain. I also learned yesterday that another friend had a family member diagnosed with cancer and every time I hear it it makes me SO mad. We have to figure out what is doing this to us. Is it technology...our cell phones, our tvs and microwaves and computers? Or is it our food and the fillers? We just have to figure it out. I don't want my kids growing up in a world so filled with cancer.
But for now, my focus is on mom and dad. I took the boys to the zoo today. We needed an outlet. It was a beautiful morning and watching my kids at the zoo gave me moments of happiness and laughter. We all needed that. Tomorrow is homeschool bowling and I teach tomorrow night. Friday we'll head up and spend a few hours at my parents. Saturday I teach all day and then Sunday I'll head back up. Somewhere in here I'll be birthing. I have assignments and 2 papers due. There are moments when it is all so overwhelming. I have been staring at my paper that needs to be edited for about 2 hours today and can't seem to come up with anything. But I'll push through. That's what my mom taught me. This too shall pass. Except, honestly, I know when all this passes, my mom will be gone. And that doesn't make things seem any better at all.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Day 201: The Beginning of The End
It looks like I wasn't wrong. As much as I wanted to be, I wasn't. Mom has been steadily declining since my last post. And I have been in a place where I couldn't even figure out how to string two words together in order to make this post.
The good times are over. Mom's hospice nurse saw her today and, although not saying it in direct words, told mom and dad that this is probably as good as it is going to get. I have talked to mom and dad 4 times a day for the past week and I can hear the progression just over the phone. Tonight mom sounded terrible. I can hear fluid in her lungs. She is declining so fast.
And yet, as her Hospice nurse said today, Mom hasn't been a classic case. She was dying and then miraculously (truly miraculously) she got better. The hospital bed and the commode and the walker and the wheelchair were all taken away. Mom and dad went to the casino, they visited with friends and family, they went out to dinner. And it was an incredible blessing. Our family was given the gift of time. I got about 170 more days with my mom than I thought I was going to have. Dad and I discussed that blessing tonight and then he said, through tears, "I just wish it could have been more." I asked him if he was okay, my voice cracking, trying to hold back my own tears. He said he thought he was and that he just hoped he was strong enough to handle what was to come.
And when we hung up, it came. From deep down inside it bubbled to the surface and I cried. It was a wail actually. The pain was overwhelming. I couldn't breathe. It was pain and fear and sadness and anger all muddled together. Olly heard me from across the house and came in to hold me. It's the only thing that helped me compose myself. But I know there is so much more to come.
Right now I don't know if mom has hours or days or weeks or months left. All I know is that in whatever time she has left, I need her not to suffer. I can't stand it. Dad said tonight what I've been thinking for days...basically that he hopes it goes fast...for mom's sake. And then he said, "maybe I shouldn't think that way" and I told him I completely understood. How do you wish for someone to die and want them never to die at the same time?
The wheelchair and the walker are coming back. They are signs of something I don't want to see. Don't want to admit.
I have a client due and I want to be at that birth. I need to see a baby born. The circle of life and all of that...Plus, I don't want to let my client down. At the same time I don't know how I just keep going day to day, doing schoolwork, teaching classes, attending births, cleaning the house, etc., etc., etc. when my mom is dying. I want the world to stop. I want it all just to stop so I can focus solely on my mom and dad. But it doesn't work that way. If I stop working, I'll be living out of a box. So, I keep going. I keep trying to find some sort of joy in my days. But always, ALWAYS, in the back of my mind is the constant thought...My mom is dying. This isn't going to get better this time. Unfortunately, it's only going to get worse.
All the reality is setting in. You'd think that would have already happened, but the mind is really an amazing thing. It knew that mom was dying, but it let me live in the happy world where things were okay. I didn't have to go to the scary side as long as the happy world existed.
Now, there is no happy world to go to. Now the reality is staring me in the face. Now every phone call to mom and dad ends with overwhelming sadness. Now Michael and I have to talk to dad about how he wants to handle things from here. We need to help him. And somehow we need to help ourselves. I honestly don't know how to be a Mother and a Childbirth Educator and a Doula and a student AND lose my mom. I don't know how to do it. And yet, from past experience, I guess I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and I keep moving forward.
Last spring, shortly after mom was diagnosed, I was hired to be a Doula for a lovely woman named Kelly. We chatted a bit as we got to know one another and I learned that her mom, Nancy, had died many years previously from Leukemia. I remember the shock I felt at the time. I remember just knowing I was supposed to be her Doula. Her daughter was born in July and her middle name is Nancy. Kelly knows I've been struggling as of late and sent me an e-mail of support yesterday. In it she said, "Losing one's mother is as transforming as coming into the world with her." Although I haven't quite passed over that threshhold, I am certain she is right. Today as I was recovering from my eruption of emotions, I said to Olly that I don't know how anyone goes about living on this earth without their mother. I know people do it every day. But, as of right this moment, I don't understand it. This is the woman who gave me life. Of course, one day I knew she would die, but not this early and now I know, I would never have been ready. How do you say goodbye to someone who gave you everything you have?
I don't know how to end this. I don't know a perfect ending for a post entitled The beginning of the end. Part of me doesn't even want to end it because posting it makes it all real. But that's what this blog was for...my own personal therapy.
I did find my mom in the last 201 days. I was able to heal wounds inside of me that needed to be healed. I didn't need explanations or answers as I thought I did. I didn't need anything, but the time I received. My entire life I wondered why my mom had me when she didn't ever seem to want kids. It has been a theme throughout my life. I don't need those answers anymore. I truly don't. All I need to know is that she gave me my life. She sacrificed so incredibly much for me. And I know without a doubt, without an inkling of a doubt now, that she loves me. I wish I had taken the time to truly understand all of that before. I will probably forever regret the times I didn't spend with her. But I was given these past 200 days to understand. What I don't understand is why she has to leave now? Why? Why give me the answers I needed only to take her away from me? Why?
Mom is going. Before her physical body gives out, her mind most likely will. And although I might still be able to hold her hand, she won't be able to respond to me. But, tonight, as in every phone call over the past few months, she said to me, through a rattling voice, "Kelli, I love you." That's all she could say. And that's all I needed to hear. And as I've repeated over and over for the past few months, I said, while holding back tears, "I love you Mom." I know she loves me and I know she knows I love her. But like my dad, I just wish we had more time to continue to tell each other that.
The good times are over. Mom's hospice nurse saw her today and, although not saying it in direct words, told mom and dad that this is probably as good as it is going to get. I have talked to mom and dad 4 times a day for the past week and I can hear the progression just over the phone. Tonight mom sounded terrible. I can hear fluid in her lungs. She is declining so fast.
And yet, as her Hospice nurse said today, Mom hasn't been a classic case. She was dying and then miraculously (truly miraculously) she got better. The hospital bed and the commode and the walker and the wheelchair were all taken away. Mom and dad went to the casino, they visited with friends and family, they went out to dinner. And it was an incredible blessing. Our family was given the gift of time. I got about 170 more days with my mom than I thought I was going to have. Dad and I discussed that blessing tonight and then he said, through tears, "I just wish it could have been more." I asked him if he was okay, my voice cracking, trying to hold back my own tears. He said he thought he was and that he just hoped he was strong enough to handle what was to come.
And when we hung up, it came. From deep down inside it bubbled to the surface and I cried. It was a wail actually. The pain was overwhelming. I couldn't breathe. It was pain and fear and sadness and anger all muddled together. Olly heard me from across the house and came in to hold me. It's the only thing that helped me compose myself. But I know there is so much more to come.
Right now I don't know if mom has hours or days or weeks or months left. All I know is that in whatever time she has left, I need her not to suffer. I can't stand it. Dad said tonight what I've been thinking for days...basically that he hopes it goes fast...for mom's sake. And then he said, "maybe I shouldn't think that way" and I told him I completely understood. How do you wish for someone to die and want them never to die at the same time?
The wheelchair and the walker are coming back. They are signs of something I don't want to see. Don't want to admit.
I have a client due and I want to be at that birth. I need to see a baby born. The circle of life and all of that...Plus, I don't want to let my client down. At the same time I don't know how I just keep going day to day, doing schoolwork, teaching classes, attending births, cleaning the house, etc., etc., etc. when my mom is dying. I want the world to stop. I want it all just to stop so I can focus solely on my mom and dad. But it doesn't work that way. If I stop working, I'll be living out of a box. So, I keep going. I keep trying to find some sort of joy in my days. But always, ALWAYS, in the back of my mind is the constant thought...My mom is dying. This isn't going to get better this time. Unfortunately, it's only going to get worse.
All the reality is setting in. You'd think that would have already happened, but the mind is really an amazing thing. It knew that mom was dying, but it let me live in the happy world where things were okay. I didn't have to go to the scary side as long as the happy world existed.
Now, there is no happy world to go to. Now the reality is staring me in the face. Now every phone call to mom and dad ends with overwhelming sadness. Now Michael and I have to talk to dad about how he wants to handle things from here. We need to help him. And somehow we need to help ourselves. I honestly don't know how to be a Mother and a Childbirth Educator and a Doula and a student AND lose my mom. I don't know how to do it. And yet, from past experience, I guess I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and I keep moving forward.
Last spring, shortly after mom was diagnosed, I was hired to be a Doula for a lovely woman named Kelly. We chatted a bit as we got to know one another and I learned that her mom, Nancy, had died many years previously from Leukemia. I remember the shock I felt at the time. I remember just knowing I was supposed to be her Doula. Her daughter was born in July and her middle name is Nancy. Kelly knows I've been struggling as of late and sent me an e-mail of support yesterday. In it she said, "Losing one's mother is as transforming as coming into the world with her." Although I haven't quite passed over that threshhold, I am certain she is right. Today as I was recovering from my eruption of emotions, I said to Olly that I don't know how anyone goes about living on this earth without their mother. I know people do it every day. But, as of right this moment, I don't understand it. This is the woman who gave me life. Of course, one day I knew she would die, but not this early and now I know, I would never have been ready. How do you say goodbye to someone who gave you everything you have?
I don't know how to end this. I don't know a perfect ending for a post entitled The beginning of the end. Part of me doesn't even want to end it because posting it makes it all real. But that's what this blog was for...my own personal therapy.
I did find my mom in the last 201 days. I was able to heal wounds inside of me that needed to be healed. I didn't need explanations or answers as I thought I did. I didn't need anything, but the time I received. My entire life I wondered why my mom had me when she didn't ever seem to want kids. It has been a theme throughout my life. I don't need those answers anymore. I truly don't. All I need to know is that she gave me my life. She sacrificed so incredibly much for me. And I know without a doubt, without an inkling of a doubt now, that she loves me. I wish I had taken the time to truly understand all of that before. I will probably forever regret the times I didn't spend with her. But I was given these past 200 days to understand. What I don't understand is why she has to leave now? Why? Why give me the answers I needed only to take her away from me? Why?
Mom is going. Before her physical body gives out, her mind most likely will. And although I might still be able to hold her hand, she won't be able to respond to me. But, tonight, as in every phone call over the past few months, she said to me, through a rattling voice, "Kelli, I love you." That's all she could say. And that's all I needed to hear. And as I've repeated over and over for the past few months, I said, while holding back tears, "I love you Mom." I know she loves me and I know she knows I love her. But like my dad, I just wish we had more time to continue to tell each other that.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Day 196: I hope I'm wrong
God, I so hope I'm wrong! I hope that the pain in mom's back that is keeping her up at night is actually just a strained muscle from weeding. It's what dad wants to believe. It's what Michael wants to believe. But my gut is telling me that's not what this is. And hospice is telling me the same thing.
A little back story on this week. On Sunday mom went out and did about an hour of weeding. She came in and was hurting and realized she can't do things she used to do. She had some aches for a couple of days but nothing major. Then Wednesday morning I called her and could instantly hear something was up. She said she wasn't very good and that she hadn't slept much because her back was really hurting. She sounded exhausted. She said she had finally taken an anti-anxiety pill early in the morning and got some sleep with that, but she really sounded uncomfortable and distressed. I suggested she call Hospice and she said they were planning to do that. Then the day went on and I checked in again and mom sounded better. They hadn't called Hospice and were going to see how Wednesday night went. Dad bought some Tylenol PM for mom. He had a once-a-year Kiwanis event to go to and originally wasn't going to go, but finally decided to go since mom was feeling better. I told them to call me in the middle of the night if necessary.
This morning I called at 9am and mom answered the phone pretty groggy. Turns out she was still in bed which isn't like her at all. She had another bad night. She said they'd be calling Hospice today. Their nurse, Ruth came by around 11am and showed dad how to administer the morphine and gave mom a half dose which did nothing for her pain. Then they gave her another half dose and Ruth gave dad a prescription for Oxycontin to pick up for mom.
As I received all this information from mom and dad, I couldn't compose myself on the phone. Mind you, I cry a lot after getting off the phone with mom, but I try not to let she or dad hear it on the phone. I couldn't help it today. Dad said they weren't trying to make me cry, but just wanted me to know what was going on. I told them I've been crying for 6 months now and that I wanted to know everything. Dad said that Ruth thought that maybe the cancer has spread or mom's tumor has grown considerably. That was my concern as well.
But then dad said that maybe it's just some back pain. I had a hard time reconciling the idea of Oxycontin and Morphine for some regular back pain, but I didn't say that. I called and spoke to Ruth myself later this afternoon. We talked for some time. She said anything is possible, but that she doesn't feel like this is just back pain. We discussed how we go forward making mom comfortable. How we keep increasing the dosage until we find the one that keeps her comfortable, but perhaps not lucid. I told her I was worried about my dad and that I felt like my brother and I needed to talk to him about how he wants to handle all this. And she told me, "I think now is the time to talk." I keep hearing that sentence reverberating in my head.
I called Michael after I spoke to Ruth and we both decided that we'll make a trip to mom and dad's on Sunday. Mom and dad were supposed to drive up and see Michael & Kiersten on Sunday but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen so we're changing plans.
Today, I also picked up the cd with all the 8mm films on it. I sat in front of my computer and cried for about an hour. I had never seen some of those films. They date back to 1964. Both sets of grandparents are on it. Lots of family. Lots of me and Michael. But the ones that really got to me were films of parties and dancing and I saw my mom and dad in their late 20s and in love. I saw my dad look at my mom the way I saw him look at her two weeks ago at the hospital. Did I just miss those looks all these years? Did I not see them because they are my parents? To sit and stare at my young parents dancing on my computer was both lovely and heartbreaking at the same time. How does my dad say goodbye to her??? How are they doing this?
And today Olly left until Sunday. His sister is getting married on Saturday. I'm supposed to drive over to Moses Lake for the wedding and come straight back. I haven't decided if I'm going to go or not. I'm going to see how tomorrow plays out. I had to teach tonight and I don't remember the drive there or back. I hardly remember class. I don't know about me driving for 6 hours with my kids in the car. But I'll make that decision sometime tomorrow.
Tonight I have no desire to sleep. I'm just going to sit up and watch TV. Possibly with a glass of wine. On top of all of this, I have papers due and a client due and I'm feeling wiped out and overwhelmed. I just want the rest of the world to stop so I can be with my mom. Why doesn't it work that way? How do we just keep going? I was sitting at the birth center tonight, putting labels on dividers in a 3 ring notebook and I thought to myself, "how can I sit here and do such a mundane task while my mom may be in pain?" It doesn't make sense. I'm sitting here right now wondering if mom is sleeping or suffering. Wondering if my dad is sleeping or trying to get my mom out of pain. I told them to call me. Mom promised she would, but I know they don't want to worry me. So, tonight I sit up alone with much on my mind and nothing I can do about any of it right this minute.
And all I keep thinking is how I hope I am wrong. How I have never before in my life wanted to be so wrong.
A little back story on this week. On Sunday mom went out and did about an hour of weeding. She came in and was hurting and realized she can't do things she used to do. She had some aches for a couple of days but nothing major. Then Wednesday morning I called her and could instantly hear something was up. She said she wasn't very good and that she hadn't slept much because her back was really hurting. She sounded exhausted. She said she had finally taken an anti-anxiety pill early in the morning and got some sleep with that, but she really sounded uncomfortable and distressed. I suggested she call Hospice and she said they were planning to do that. Then the day went on and I checked in again and mom sounded better. They hadn't called Hospice and were going to see how Wednesday night went. Dad bought some Tylenol PM for mom. He had a once-a-year Kiwanis event to go to and originally wasn't going to go, but finally decided to go since mom was feeling better. I told them to call me in the middle of the night if necessary.
This morning I called at 9am and mom answered the phone pretty groggy. Turns out she was still in bed which isn't like her at all. She had another bad night. She said they'd be calling Hospice today. Their nurse, Ruth came by around 11am and showed dad how to administer the morphine and gave mom a half dose which did nothing for her pain. Then they gave her another half dose and Ruth gave dad a prescription for Oxycontin to pick up for mom.
As I received all this information from mom and dad, I couldn't compose myself on the phone. Mind you, I cry a lot after getting off the phone with mom, but I try not to let she or dad hear it on the phone. I couldn't help it today. Dad said they weren't trying to make me cry, but just wanted me to know what was going on. I told them I've been crying for 6 months now and that I wanted to know everything. Dad said that Ruth thought that maybe the cancer has spread or mom's tumor has grown considerably. That was my concern as well.
But then dad said that maybe it's just some back pain. I had a hard time reconciling the idea of Oxycontin and Morphine for some regular back pain, but I didn't say that. I called and spoke to Ruth myself later this afternoon. We talked for some time. She said anything is possible, but that she doesn't feel like this is just back pain. We discussed how we go forward making mom comfortable. How we keep increasing the dosage until we find the one that keeps her comfortable, but perhaps not lucid. I told her I was worried about my dad and that I felt like my brother and I needed to talk to him about how he wants to handle all this. And she told me, "I think now is the time to talk." I keep hearing that sentence reverberating in my head.
I called Michael after I spoke to Ruth and we both decided that we'll make a trip to mom and dad's on Sunday. Mom and dad were supposed to drive up and see Michael & Kiersten on Sunday but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen so we're changing plans.
Today, I also picked up the cd with all the 8mm films on it. I sat in front of my computer and cried for about an hour. I had never seen some of those films. They date back to 1964. Both sets of grandparents are on it. Lots of family. Lots of me and Michael. But the ones that really got to me were films of parties and dancing and I saw my mom and dad in their late 20s and in love. I saw my dad look at my mom the way I saw him look at her two weeks ago at the hospital. Did I just miss those looks all these years? Did I not see them because they are my parents? To sit and stare at my young parents dancing on my computer was both lovely and heartbreaking at the same time. How does my dad say goodbye to her??? How are they doing this?
And today Olly left until Sunday. His sister is getting married on Saturday. I'm supposed to drive over to Moses Lake for the wedding and come straight back. I haven't decided if I'm going to go or not. I'm going to see how tomorrow plays out. I had to teach tonight and I don't remember the drive there or back. I hardly remember class. I don't know about me driving for 6 hours with my kids in the car. But I'll make that decision sometime tomorrow.
Tonight I have no desire to sleep. I'm just going to sit up and watch TV. Possibly with a glass of wine. On top of all of this, I have papers due and a client due and I'm feeling wiped out and overwhelmed. I just want the rest of the world to stop so I can be with my mom. Why doesn't it work that way? How do we just keep going? I was sitting at the birth center tonight, putting labels on dividers in a 3 ring notebook and I thought to myself, "how can I sit here and do such a mundane task while my mom may be in pain?" It doesn't make sense. I'm sitting here right now wondering if mom is sleeping or suffering. Wondering if my dad is sleeping or trying to get my mom out of pain. I told them to call me. Mom promised she would, but I know they don't want to worry me. So, tonight I sit up alone with much on my mind and nothing I can do about any of it right this minute.
And all I keep thinking is how I hope I am wrong. How I have never before in my life wanted to be so wrong.
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