Anticipatory grief
I don't know how to begin this post. I've dreaded it but I also have no other real means of getting my emotions out that feel sufficient enough. I can talk to some people, but the real person who always lent a generous ear and sound advice to my every concern and problem is the one who is now dying and gradually wasting away.
A few weeks ago, at my mom's last MRI, we got the news that my mom's cancer is growing. After feeling some hope for almost two years of living with this terrible diagnosis--because of somewhat stable scans-- we are feeling the stark reality of this journey ending for our family. How does one cope with this? I have no idea, honestly. For awhile there I thought I was at peace with the inevitability of losing my mother; after all, I'm not so self involved to really believe that I'm the only one who has ever lost a parent--it happens all the time. Those people survive...I should, too, right? But even the fact that so many have gone through this before, now and will continue to, does not offer any comfort to me. I'm going to lose my best friend, the grandmother to my children, my confidante, my shopping and coffee-drinking buddy; my spiritual guide and the person who loves me the most in the world.
How is it that just over two years ago my mom and I were shopping together, she was running after my daughter--then only 20 months old-- and life was so carefree and the future was so exciting for both her and my dad, looking forward to spending their golden years together enjoying their grandchildren?
I
Hate
Cancer.
I especially hate brain cancer. My mom is still here but she's not really here. I just got back from a 5 day visit at my parents' after my dad told me she was sleeping 24/7 and not even looking at her phone anymore. That's when I knew things were getting rapidly worse. At least before, she'd scroll through Facebook and leave comments, or talk to her sister in Argentina. She'd sometimes send a text or call on Alexa. That stopped awhile ago. My aunt sent me a message after she sensed my mom was depressed during their last phone conversation and asked if she should be jumping on a plane now instead of in June as they had planned. I think we all know the end is coming.
Every time I see my mom every few weeks or so, she moves slower, she talks less, she sleeps more and she becomes more of a stranger. She barely acknowledges my daughter whom she used to adore. The only smile I can get out of her for a second is if I thrust Elliott right in her face (as her vision is going, as well). She always did love babies more than anything!
How my heart breaks that my children won't remember her. I'm heartbroken that these past two years of her being on chemo and gradually declining are more vivid in my memory than the previous healthy years she had are to me.
How much I regret any petty fights or arguments we ever had. Especially right before she was diagnosed. I want so badly to go back in time and change my behavior, to make the most of every single moment I had when she was healthy and vibrant. Why are we so shitty that we can only appreciate what we have the moment we realize we're about to lose it?!
I love her so much. And I miss her, even though she's not gone yet. And I'm scared. I'm so scared that if I feel this way now--mourning her already and sometimes feeling like I can barely function as a wife and mother-- that I will be completely and utterly lost after she's really gone.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. Right now, I'm sad. So sad.
A few weeks ago, at my mom's last MRI, we got the news that my mom's cancer is growing. After feeling some hope for almost two years of living with this terrible diagnosis--because of somewhat stable scans-- we are feeling the stark reality of this journey ending for our family. How does one cope with this? I have no idea, honestly. For awhile there I thought I was at peace with the inevitability of losing my mother; after all, I'm not so self involved to really believe that I'm the only one who has ever lost a parent--it happens all the time. Those people survive...I should, too, right? But even the fact that so many have gone through this before, now and will continue to, does not offer any comfort to me. I'm going to lose my best friend, the grandmother to my children, my confidante, my shopping and coffee-drinking buddy; my spiritual guide and the person who loves me the most in the world.
How is it that just over two years ago my mom and I were shopping together, she was running after my daughter--then only 20 months old-- and life was so carefree and the future was so exciting for both her and my dad, looking forward to spending their golden years together enjoying their grandchildren?
I
Hate
Cancer.
I especially hate brain cancer. My mom is still here but she's not really here. I just got back from a 5 day visit at my parents' after my dad told me she was sleeping 24/7 and not even looking at her phone anymore. That's when I knew things were getting rapidly worse. At least before, she'd scroll through Facebook and leave comments, or talk to her sister in Argentina. She'd sometimes send a text or call on Alexa. That stopped awhile ago. My aunt sent me a message after she sensed my mom was depressed during their last phone conversation and asked if she should be jumping on a plane now instead of in June as they had planned. I think we all know the end is coming.
Every time I see my mom every few weeks or so, she moves slower, she talks less, she sleeps more and she becomes more of a stranger. She barely acknowledges my daughter whom she used to adore. The only smile I can get out of her for a second is if I thrust Elliott right in her face (as her vision is going, as well). She always did love babies more than anything!
How my heart breaks that my children won't remember her. I'm heartbroken that these past two years of her being on chemo and gradually declining are more vivid in my memory than the previous healthy years she had are to me.
How much I regret any petty fights or arguments we ever had. Especially right before she was diagnosed. I want so badly to go back in time and change my behavior, to make the most of every single moment I had when she was healthy and vibrant. Why are we so shitty that we can only appreciate what we have the moment we realize we're about to lose it?!
I love her so much. And I miss her, even though she's not gone yet. And I'm scared. I'm so scared that if I feel this way now--mourning her already and sometimes feeling like I can barely function as a wife and mother-- that I will be completely and utterly lost after she's really gone.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. Right now, I'm sad. So sad.
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