More questions than answers...

I am exhausted. I am spent. I am beat. Another day of packing my mom’s things up and removing them from her house. All day yesterday was spent doing the same thing. Tomorrow will be spent doing the same thing. Soon it will be done. Hopefully. Packing up her stuff is excruciating. It is so painful. How do you pack up a person’s life in a few boxes? How do you throw anything way when it could possibly have been of value to them? How do you know the history of anything? How does a person get through this?

This morning I got an email from a dear friend saying her father passed away in his sleep Friday morning. I was horrified. Beyond horrified. I feel terrible for her. A week ago she was sitting at my mom’s funeral. Now seven days later her dad passes away. In a few days we will be sitting at his funeral. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. I doubt it ever will.

My step-family is a test from God. A test that I am praying that I pass, but seem to be failing at the moment. As if things were not difficult enough, I do not need to deal with them as well. Today’s battle was about some gold Christmas ornaments. My step-dad wants them back. They were a Christmas present to her and she wanted us kids to have them. They are the only thing he wants…clearly because they have monetary value. He doesn’t want anything else of her’s. No cards, no pictures, no personal items. Nothing. He doesn’t even want the Christmas tree or any of the other Christmas decorations. He only wants her ornaments because he can sell them. My mom told me many times that she wanted me to have the Angel for the top of the tree and then we are to divide the remaining ornaments among her three children. I know her wishes. She told me what she wants done with them. She even tried to get me to remove them from the house before she died. But, I didn’t. I never thought there would be a problem. Clearly I was wrong. Why is it so hard for him to do the right thing? I simply do not understand what makes him tick. Wires are crossed somewhere. This morning was spent picking out a tombstone. Again…more spats about money. The tombstone is being paid for by four of us…my step-dad, my sister, my brother and myself. It is not going to financially ruin any of us. For 14 years he was with my mom. He did not give her much. One would assume this is the least he could do for her. I simply do not understand it. I think he is emotionally dead. There is no other explanation. I highly doubt I will ever be able to think of him and feel anything other than rage after all this. I doubt it. I truly do. If she were alive today and knew that he would be like this when she passed, I highly doubt he would be in our family, much less still walking this Earth. I miss my mom. She always could cut right through the games and settle the score in about two seconds.

One more day…one more day…one more day. Just gotta get through one more day.

This evening I struck sentimental gold. In my mom’s things I found my hospital bracelets from when I was born. Tiny little plastic bracelets that I wore. Now, they look like I could wear them as a ring on my finger. I now know the name of the hospital. I know what time I was born and how much I weighed. Finally a positive moment in the madness of today. Then I found something that made me cry. My mom kept a tooth I had lost as a child. It is in an envelope that is covered in misspelled notes to the “thooh fairy”. My mom kept it. She valued it somehow. The tooth has no monetary value in the real world. But, in my mom’s world, it’s true value was priceless. Now it is priceless in my world. If only some people would learn this lesson…for something to be of true value it doesn’t need to be weighed in monetary terms.

When do you get to the point and just give up? When do you walk away? When do you stop praying for someone? When do you just start to wish them gone?

Life truly is not fair nor does it make sense. Why is my mom gone when she wanted to live so badly and loved her life when others remain who add nothing to the world and those around them? Why was she taken from us when they thought she would be cured and others are granted a miracle when they should be dead by all accounts? Why?

Speechless

I miss my mom so much today.
There are no words...

The Clock Ticks...

Seven days. One week. A week ago today we had my mother’s wake. Hard to imagine it has only been seven days…feels more like seven years at times, then other times feels like only seven seconds have passed. Time slows down greatly when you are suffering from a loss. Time flies by with a blink of an eye when you are truly hurt. Time seems to stand still when you are grieving. Then all of a sudden time seems to speed up, as if on fast-forward. Then time comes to a screeching stop again. Then time hurls ahead again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…never able to find the reality in it…never able to find the middle…everything is an extreme when you are wounded. Time is a tricky thing. Nothing seems real because your whole sense of time is off. Most of the time I don’t even realize what day it is unless I have the TV on. Today is Thursday…also Apprentice night. My mom’s favorite show was The Apprentice. She couldn’t stand Donald’s hair. She and most of America, it seems, hate his hair. Alex was fired. My mom liked him, she would not have been happy. So there it is…days, hours, minutes, seconds…all blur and get fuzzy. It simply doesn’t seem real.

Tomorrow we are going to go and get a head start on packing her things up at the house. A head start is needed because who knows what, if anything, will be untouched, unmoved, unsorted by my step-siblings if we waited until Saturday. I can think of a million things to call them…step-siblings is the most kind. I just keep telling myself that soon all the loose ends will be tied up and I can just get back to life and can just remember the good times my mom and I had. The good times my family had. If I can just get through this hell, everything will be better on the other side. Sometimes I feel like I am lying to myself. I am the king of denial. Denial is something I do well. Trust me…

More nightmares last night. Scary ones. Ones where I woke up and did not even realize I was dreaming until I was standing in the family room…half awake, half asleep…still looking for my mom. My sister is having nightmares as well. It is gonna be a long road for all of us….

I am still staying at my sister’s house. I have no rush to get back to the real world. I went back to my apartment in the cities to pick up my mail and get some things this afternoon. I was there, but it did not feel right. I knew that sooner or later I would be back at my apartment…and it would be because either my mom was better or my mom was gone. Since it is the latter, I have no desire to be there. I have no real desire to be anywhere. Lost. Drifting. Floating. So I am staying at my sister’s. It is not all dark though…I am enjoying spending my days with my niece. She is 16 months and is a total firecracker. She has a lot of my mom’s spirit in her. My sister will have her hands full with that one. One of Isabella’s favorite things to do is dance. It is hilarious. She has “moves” that she does. Elaborate little moves that she does in a sequence. I love it. It is quite a sight. She will dance and her feet will move a hundred miles a minute. Just like Riverdance or Flashdance. Isabella walks into my room and points at the radio on the dresser and makes grabbing gestures with her hand until the music plays. She loves to dance to my mom’s favorite song…Hooked On A Feeling. When it starts with the “ooga chaka, ooga chaka”…her feet burn a hole in the floor. One of my mom’s favorite things to do was watch Isabella dance. She would watch her fancy feet and laugh until she was crying. Today Isabella and I danced a lot. My mom loved to dance. Whenever I had to help my mom move from her bed, she would face me and grab on to my arms and I would have to hold her up by having my arms under hers to support her body since she could not stand by herself. I would tell her when to step and count it out for her. I would make jokes that we were dancing. I used humor a lot to distract her from that fact that she was dying and unable to do simple things such walk or even stand by herself. Once while we repeated this routine after a thousand and one times she looked at me and said “I would give anything to be able to dance one last time.” My mom was never able to dance again. So today Isabella and I danced for my mom to her favorite song. I hope she was watching.

There it is…seven days…one week since her wake. Tomorrow marks one week since her funeral. The clock ticks, the heart beats, the sun rises, the sun sets. 11 days since she died. I feel old. I feel so much older than I did just 12 days ago.

Nightmare

The nightmares have begun. Restless nights. I woke up in a panic and sad. I had a nightmare that my mom was still alive but would not let us take any pictures or tape her. I kept crying and pleading to let us take a picture of her because I knew she would be gone soon. She wouldn’t give in. Then I woke up. All just a bad dream. Very real, but a bad dream nonetheless. I am actually surprised that the nightmares did not start sooner. I don’t want to go to bed. The days are bad enough. I don’t need bad nights too.

I stopped out at my mom’s house today. Just to stop by to make sure all of her things were still there. I get nervous that things will disappear. We are cleaning out her belongings this Saturday. When I got there I noticed all her kitchen stuff was in my old bedroom upstairs. My step-sisters have been boxing up her belongings and stashing them away in my old room. I stood upstairs beyond anger. Once again on the brink of rage. Why can’t they just leave all her stuff alone? Saturday is only 3 days away. Funny how they only box up the stuff they don’t have an immediate use for. They don’t box up her computer or her TV or her pots and pans. They don’t box up all the bath towels that she bought and belonged to her. They don’t box up glasses and silverware that she bought and belonged to her. They don’t box up all the bedding and pillows that she bought and belonged to her. They just box up random stuff. You can’t pick and choose. As far as I am concerned…either it is ok for her stuff to stay right now or it all goes. And I do mean all. I am on the verge of going into that house and stripping it of everything that belonged to her. The dishes belong to my step-dad…but what good are they if I take the pots and pans, glasses and silverware that belong to her? I was ok with leaving some of her stuff there for him to use. After all, he was her husband. She loved him and I want to do right by her. He is not an easy person to care about, much less love. So I am reaching the point of not caring. I am reaching the point of not caring if he has anything left. I am reaching the point of not caring if he is miserable or not. I am reaching the point of not caring if he is above ground or six feet under. I am reaching the point….

Red roses. My mom’s favorite. I went out to the cemetery again and left her a red rose. It is the second one this week. If I could I would go out everyday. I cried harder this time than the first time. Moments of it becoming real. Most of the time it doesn’t feel real except for random moments. Most of today I felt like she was alive but just off working in her concession trailer at some craft show or something. Most of today I felt like I was just living somewhere else and she was back at home, much like when I lived in New York. The brain does funny things when it can’t take anymore. I can’t believe the fact that she is gone so my brain just places her somewhere else…safe. Then reality hits and it hits hard. No warning. It was snowing. End of April and I am standing in the cemetery at my mother’s grave while it snows. Life is certainly a strange journey sometimes…

Nothing more to say…it is becoming real again and I can’t take it. It’s hard to type when you are crying. I get flashes of her. Briefs little flashes of her and things that happened in her final days. The look she gave me or something she said. A smile she gave me or a simple “I love you” or a quick roll of her eyes when it all became too much. Flashes. I knew that those were her final days but not her final moments. If I had known that they were her final moments I would have never even blinked…not wanting to miss a single thing. After being with her for 14 months constantly I don’t know how to be without her. A void beyond comprehension. Does that make sense? I was looking back at some emails she had sent me over the past 14 months and came across one that she sent me when I had gone back to the cities for a few days to gets some things done there, she wrote... “I'll be very happy to see you tonight, I MISS YOU! It's been hard being with you day and night for how long and then gone. Love, Mom.” There it is…the truth. It is hard being with someone for so long then not having them there anymore. You feel abandoned, left behind and isolated. Simple truth. I believe in my heart that where ever she is now, she wishes she could hold my hand again too and tell me it will be alright. But, she can’t and I can’t. It won’t be alright.

People are starting to finally get some sort of an understanding of my loss and of my family’s loss. People who truly knew us know that we lost so much more than a mother. All they do is look at me and cry…unable to say much of anything. The tears say enough. The tears say more than enough.

Nightmare. My life is a nightmare right now…if I could only somehow wake up…problem is…I am not sleeping.

Into the West: A Eulogy for My Mother

This was the eulogy that I wrote and read at my mother's funeral on April 22, 2005


Into the West : A Eulogy for My Mother

We are gathered here to celebrate and say good bye to my mother and my best friend. Patricia was a remarkable woman whose time with us was all too brief. She was the definition of humor, strength, courage and love. But she wasn’t a saint. She had her flaws. She had her shortcomings. She was human, just like all of us. She was even known to slip in a naughty word when playing scrabble. And no, I cannot tell you what the word was because Father Nick would pull me out of here by my ear in about two seconds. But still the same, she was an amazing woman.

I have been told that my mom was lucky to have me for a son. That she was lucky to have the kids she had. Many people have said this. Too many people have said this. But, in all honesty…I was the lucky one. My brother and sister were the lucky ones. Her friends and family were the lucky ones. We are all the lucky ones to have had her.

But who was she truly and what does she leave behind? These past 14 months brought out her true spirit. Cancer may have been killing her body, but it was not killing her soul.

She had a zest for life that was second to none. She an amazing ability to bounce back up when she got knocked down. When she was laid off from her job at Fingerhut she thought long and hard about what to do next. Go back to school? Find another job? She decided that she wanted to get a concession trailer and sell mini-donuts at craft fairs and festivals. She had many adventures in that donut wagon and loved to travel and meet people. She even sold mini-donuts during intermission for one of my shows. It took forever to start the second act because everyone wanted her mini-donuts. I think we could have put her and her mini-donut machine on stage and everyone would have paid admission just for that.

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of her? Probably her wild sense of humor. She could find the funny in just about anything and she often did. For so many who crossed paths with her, they left with a laugh and a smile from ear to ear.

She and I worked on many theatre productions together. I would direct the show and she would design and sew costumes. One day we were at Wal-Mart, getting fabric for a show. At this point she had to have oxygen so she just wheeled around her little tank wherever she went. As usual she ran into some people she knew and they were chatting. After a bit they asked her if she was still sewing. My mom looked at them and said “Oh yeah, at home Jason hooks up my oxygen tank to the foot pedal on the sewing machine. I can only get air when sewing.” My mom kept a straight face. Then she added…”he even brought the sewing machines up to the hospital when I had my surgery. He put them on the table where my food tray would have gone.” They were horrified and gave me a dirty look. My mom thought it was hilarious. I was in shock. Then they realized she was just having one over on them. Everyone laughed.

One night when we were all gathered around her after she just got home from the hospital she needed to have the bed adjusted and moved. As she started to get up, everyone rushed to her to help. She held out her hands and yelled stop. She looked at us and said “We need to do this with the least amount of destruction. Jeremy you can hold my pop.”

Even when she was frustrated she was funny. One night my sister was giving her medicine and somehow messed it up. My mom, just like Donald Trump from The Apprentice - which was her favorite show, looked at Melissa and flipped her hand and said “you’re fired”. As her caregiver there were always a million questions I would bug her with. How are you feeling? Do you have pain? What can I get you? Questions, questions, and more questions. Mom was getting annoyed with my constant barrage of questions. One night she was lying down in bed and I was leaning over her. I asked “How are you doing mom?” She just opened her eyes and squinted. Next thing I know I see her two hands reaching slowly up towards me. I thought…on no…she is going to choke me. She grabbed and pulled a cheek with each hand and just shook my face while she made a face of frustration. A funny moment, but point taken. Not so many questions from here on out.

But her humor was just one part of her. Her strength and selfless love was second to none. She loved her family dearly and deeply. I know that we, her children were her life. She always made sure we knew just how much she loved us. She reminded us daily, right up until the end. But, two months before she was diagnosed with cancer, my sister gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. My mom’s world lit up. Another kind of love. She loved her first grand-daughter with her whole heart. After my mom was diagnosed she often spoke of how much she would miss Isabella but was thankful that she was here when she was born. She loved her so much. One of her favorite things to do was to baby-sit…even if my mom wasn’t feeling the best from all her chemo treatments she still wanted to baby-sit. So I would go along so she could spend time with her precious granddaughter. One of the times we were babysitting, Isabella had just learned to brush her teeth. She loved to brush her teeth. My mom was so looking forward to seeing her do it. Funny how the most mundane things in life become events when seen through the eyes of a baby. So we were babysitting and it was time to get Isabella ready for bed. My mom grabbed the tiny toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. She got the toothbrush all ready to go and gave it to Isabella. Once she got it in her mouth…her eyes lit up. Brush, brush, brush. Isabella wanted more toothpaste. Eyes wide open…loving every moment of it. We were laughing so hard watching this little baby girl brush her teeth. The more she brushed the more excited she became. It was the craziest thing. Finally I looked down at the tube of toothpaste and realized it was not toothpaste. My mom had grabbed the tube of Orajel by mistake. Baby had pretty much a full tube of Orajel when all was said and done. Baby was feeling very good. Isabella loved her Grandma very much that day. A few days before my mom’s passing, Richard, my sister’s husband and Isabella’s father, told my mom that Isabella would know her. Through stories and memories and photos, Isabella would know her. Isabella would know how much she was loved and cherished by her grandmother. My mom cried. She cried because she was promised that she would not be forgotten. As if it would even be possible.

My mother’s strength blew my mind. Never once did she complain or become bitter and angry. She focused on the positive. Yes there were bad days and she would get frustrated. But I honestly never heard her utter the words…”Poor me”. There was no time for self pity. There was still so much she wanted to do. The day before she died the hospice nurse came to check up on her. My mom laying on what was her death bed looked up at the nurse and asked her if we could get her something to drink…if she wanted a pop, coffee or something. She also offered her the comfortable chair. Who does that? Who lies there…dying…and is concerned about if everyone else is ok or if they need something. But that was my mom. Everyone else first, herself second. There were many nights where I would go to her crying. Feeling the loneliness and despair that I knew was around the corner. I should have been the strong one, but I wasn’t. She was the strong one. She would tell me to sit next to her and she would stroke my hair and tell me that she loved me and that no matter what she would be with me. She was so worried about those left behind. She needed to know that we would all be alright. I pray that someday I have an ounce of her strength.

She found grace and gave forgiveness. She seemed to somehow make peace with so many people around her. In her 14 months of this battle against cancer she was hospitalized four times. The first time was when she had the surgery to have her lung removed. There was a nurse by the name of Jeanette who was assigned to my mom. In the beginning everyone was very optimistic. The word cure was used very often. Everyone used the word cure except Jeanette. One night Jeaneatte brought my mom a tablet and a pen and told her that she should keep a journal about the end of her journey. My mom was furious. My mom wanted nothing to do with her. My mom referred to her as the grim reaper. She would have a cure. No doubt about it. Jeanette could shove her journal. Well…you get the idea. The final time my mom was hospitalized the nurse assigned to her was once again Jeanette. Funny how things come full circle. I prayed that my mom would not remember her from before. My mom remembered. Jeanette talked to my mom about the end. My mom cried. I was furious. I followed Jeanette into the hall, beyond anger…closer to rage and told her to not talk to my mom. She hurt her once before and now again…there would not be a third time as far as I am concerned. The truth hurts. Jeanette was speaking the truth. Back in the room my mom asked me what I said…”not much” I replied and went about my business. My mom was worried that I hurt Jeanette’s feelings. Jeanette returned to give her some medications. Not much was spoken at first. Then slowly they started talking. I was nervous…not again. Then the truth started to seep out again. Jeanette knew about loss. She lost many loved ones. My mom felt sorry for her. My mom felt her loss too. Over the next few days they laughed, they cried, they shared. The truth brought them together. The last night that they were together at the hospital they were sitting there…talking about the small things in life. The conversation leads to pets. My mom asked her how many cats she had. Jeanette said none…she did not like animals in the house. My mom just looked at her and said “oh”. After a moment of silence Jeanette added that once she had a fish but it had died. My mom without skipping a beat looked at her and asked “Oh did you kill it? Did you hold it under water?” Laughter. Nothing but laughter. I still laugh about it. In that moment my mom became unforgettable once again. Jeanette will always remember my mom when she thinks of a fish.

Her faith was tested when she was diagnosed with cancer. She suffered, she was plagued with fear and doubt, and she was in tremendous pain. But she did not give up. She mustered strength and courage and fought a tremendous battle. She walked through fire and emerged stronger than ever in her faith. In a conversation with a friend my mom said that through this journey she truly found God. Cancer was her test and she passed with flying colors. After she passed away I was looking through her books and found many passages from the bible that she had written down. She wrote notes about Jesus, Angels and God. I am still finding them. Gentle little reminders of her faith and devotion. On April 5…twelve days before she passed she gathered us all around her. We all held hands and she lead a prayer. It was beautiful. She prayed to God and thanked him for all the blessings he had given her in her life. She thanked him for all her children, her son-in-law Richard and granddaughter Isabella. She thanked him for the blessing of her husband Denny. She told each one of us, one by one, how much she loved us and how much we meant the world to her. She was filled with God’s love.

Towards the end she found peace and comfort in the knowledge that she was dying. She found great joy in the little things. One day the weather was beautiful. She wanted to sit on the deck. We got the wheelchair and wheeled her out. She sat in the sun watching Isabella play in the backyard. She watched the birds soar high above her. She found peace. Two days before she died she looked at me and said that her mom was in the room and that her mom told her it would be soon. She missed her mom deeply. Her mom had passed away from cancer when my mom was 32. 20 years ago this August. I cried. I cried hard. I knew she needed to go, I wanted her suffering to end. I told her that when she needs to go, to go. But it crushed me. I made her promise that she would let me know when she was going. I did not want her to go alone. After all we had been through I needed to be there. As I cried my mom reached out and took my hand and said “and when it is your time to go, I will come and get you.” She was stronger than an army of a thousand. When she passed away, in one hand she held a rosary, in her other hand she held tightly to my hand. My other hand over her heart. I told her I loved her and then she took two deep breaths and she was gone. She did not go alone. She kept her promise, as she always did. A prayer answered.

As the end drew near so many wanted to visit. The phone rang off the hook and everyone wanted her to know that she was loved. It was too difficult for her to have visitors. She did not want to be seen in such a terrible condition. She asked me to keep everyone at bay. We joked about me being her bouncer. She wanted to be remembered as she was…healthy and whole. She gave me a message to share with everyone. She wanted me to tell you all that while she wanted to say goodbye to each of you in person, it simply was too hard. She loved her family. She loved her friends. She said that we are only losing one person but she is losing so many. She wants you to be happy and have a good life. She will be with us from the other side. She wants you to know that she loves you. She often said that she may have only had 51 years but they were great years. She said some people live to be 90 and never even have half of what she had.
Her life may have been brief, but it was a life rich in the things that truly mattered. A life rich in love, joy and loved ones.

One of our final conversations we had I asked her how she did it…how she was so strong and fearless. There was some confusion on her end…she was having trouble finding the right words. Finally she said. “We are making lemonade.” I looked at her and I thought…”Oh no…what is going on now…we’re not making lemonade, is she having a bizarre reaction to her medications?” So I asked her again because I did not understand and she said…”You know…when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.” Then I understood fully. You just simply do the best with what life gives you. She wants all of us to go out and do the best that we could.

In a conversation I had with Betty, a dear friend of the family for many years, she told that “You are never truly dead until everyone who loves you has passed away as well.” Truth. The simple truth. My mom will live on. She will live on in me. She will live on in you. Her love was strong. Her love was deep. Her love was unconditional. Her legacy is love.

Without a doubt I know my mom is in heaven. She is being embraced by her mother and father right now. She is holding all those she loved that went before her. She is standing in awe before Jesus and God. She is in the light. But, I just pray that she is not playing scrabble with the Pope.

In closing I would like to share one final story about my mom…

When she had her lung removed, I stayed with her in the hospital. Sleeping on the floor on an airbed next to her bed. She was afraid and I promised her I would not leave her. As her a few days went by she was worried about me. Concerned about what I was giving up to be with her. She did not understand that there wasn’t anything I wasn’t willing to give up to be with her. Once again…everyone else first. She said that she wanted me to go by a cd or something so I could pass the time while she slept. Finally I gave in and agreed to go get a cd. I thought long and hard about which cd to get. I wanted to get something that I would still listen to ten years later. Something to remember our time there together. Then I remembered a song that was sung by Annie Lennox a few weeks previously on the Oscars. It was the theme song from the Lord of the Rings movie. The song is called Into the West. It was a beautiful song that I loved instantly. I know…how odd…a theme song from a movie about hobbits. My mom’s personality screamed many things…but hobbits were not one of them. But I still loved the song a lot. I listened to it every night in the hospital while she slept and many, many, many times since then. I would listen to the song and then pray. A few weeks after getting out of the hospital I read in an interview from Annie Lennox that she actually wrote the song when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. Her mother was her inspiration and the song was about her mother. Suddenly the connection made sense. In that song I will always have a piece of my mother. I asked Terri to share with all of you the song…Into the West.

Goodbye mom, I love you and always will.

INTO THE WEST
By Annie Lennox

Lay down
Your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey's end
Sleep now
And dream of the ones who came before
They are calling
From across a distant shore
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms
You're only sleeping
What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn
To silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass
Hope fades
Into the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time
Don't say
We have come now to the end
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again
And you'll be here in my arms
Just sleeping
What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn
To silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West

Numb

Numb. I guess that is how I was feeling most of the day. Numb. Stayed in my pajamas until 5 PM. Did not leave the house except to go to Wal-Mart at 6 PM to get some things for my sister. It was strange to be at the store. The past 14 months I took my mom to the store a lot. She was scared to go herself, afraid something would happen because of the medications she was on or that she would get short of breath. Little things like walking or moving around too much can be tricky when you only have one lung. Makes you short of breath and hard to catch it again. She often said it felt like a fish out of water, and then the panic sets in. Sometimes she had to use an oxygen tank on the really bad days. She hated it. It made her feel sick. It is hard to drive with an oxygen tank attached to you. Hard to look healthy when you have an oxygen tank attached to you. Hard to be in denial when you have an oxygen tank attached to you. All those little things such as medications and an oxygen tank that complicates one’s life all the more. So I took her to the store a lot. Pretty much every time she needed to go. I am so used to going to the store with her that now it doesn’t feel right to be there without her. Life doesn’t feel right without her. Numb.

After being numb most of the day I finally broke down this evening. I looked at my mom’s cell phone and lost it. I asked my sister if she still had the voicemail message from mom on her phone. She does. I am jealous that she has that and I don’t. I am on the brink of a hoarding stage. I want everything. I keep telling myself that it really doesn’t matter, my mom is not in the items she had. She is in my heart. But my brain doesn’t accept it. Serious miscommunication between my brain and my heart. My mom often joked that she did not want to get cremated because she knew I would lug her around in her urn with me everywhere. I would tell her that she was crazy. The thought of a cremated body even in the house grossed me out beyond belief. Now I’m not so sure anymore. I think she knew me better than myself. She knew that I hate change and that I don’t do well with it at first. She knew I would never be able to let her go if I did not have to. She was a smart lady. No doubt about it. She often joked to people that we were Norman and Mother from the movie Psycho. It was a funny joke. I even put it in my stand up routine. Now it is not so funny. Maybe down the road it will be funny again…but not now.

Strange thoughts pop into my head all day long. Tonight I was talking to my sister and I said…”I don’t remember where I was born.” She was convinced it was Little Falls. I knew I wasn’t born in Little Falls, I thought it was in the cities somewhere. So I called my Dad, figured he would know. It is 10:00 PM. He answers, I ask. He is not sure. He has to think for a few moments. Remembers where Melissa and Jeremy were born…Melissa in Little Falls…Jeremy in Fridley. Thinks I might have been born in Minneapolis. Can’t remember the name of the hospital. On the tip of his tongue. I start to cry. I tell him to call me tomorrow if he remembers. Typical. So this is how it’s gonna be…my past is fuzzy, unclear, unable to say…but on the tip of the tongue. My mom would have known and been able to tell me in a heartbeat. Not anymore.

People call. People email. People say they are sorry. I am sorry too. I wish that someone could do something to make it better. I would give anything to be able to have someone make it better. But there is nothing that can be done.

My sister says she misses mom. She doesn’t say much more. I worry about that. I don’t know if she is not ready to really talk about it or can’t. I know when it really hits her, it will be hellish. I think she feels that she can’t go to pieces. She was never emotional until she had her baby girl. Then everything changed. She cried at the drop of a hat. Now…not so much. It makes me worry a lot. She deals more in anger than in sorrow, she always has.

My brother is still having nightmares. I feel horrible for him. We talk now. More than we have ever talked before. Him and I…night and day. The only common ground we have are memories and our genes. Now slowly a bridge being built. We were very close when we were younger. Played GI Joe, He-Man and Transformers all day long. He would dress just like me…if I wore a red shirt and blue jeans, he wore a red shirt and blue jeans. He was a mini-me, just like on Austin Powers. Through the years we drifted apart. Now drifting back together. I have missed him. My mom is reconnecting us from the other side. Jeremy fell asleep last night listening to the radio at his place. Woke up in the middle of the night because he heard a familiar song. “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips. A song that my mom and him would jam out to when he was growing up. It was their song. Now he heard it again for the first time in years. Strange thing is the radio station is mostly R & B and Rap with a few top 40 songs now. What is Wilson Phillips doing on their set-list to even begin with? And he never sleeps with the radio on either. Too random. He believes it is a sign from mom letting him know that she loves him. I believe it too. I believe it with all my heart.

I still sleep with the light on. I can’t turn it off. I can’t go into the darkness. I feel once I go there, I may never return.

Another Day Down

Today I visited the cemetery for the first time since her burial. It was tough, much tougher than I expected. As I drove through the gates I felt an overwhelming sense of urgency. I needed to get to the grave immediately. I don’t know why. Quite honestly it isn’t going anywhere. The drive to her grave seemed to take forever, even though it could not have been more than three minutes. Panic. Desperation. Fear. Everything began to spiral out of control with each passing tombstone. Once I got to her grave I stopped in my tracks. I just stood there, looking down at the grave, thinking this is it. This is what it has all become. A small piece of land holding her remains. Her final resting place. It knocked the wind out of me. I could not breathe. I felt like I had just been slammed into a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour. I cried for a long time. I left a rose. A red rose, her favorite flower. The arrangement that was on her casket was there…above ground, marking her final resting spot. It was dead. Just like her. It was hard to see. Just like it was hard to see her laying in the casket at the visitation. Very hard. I wish I had not seen the flowers from the casket. Just another reminder of what was and what is and what will be. Another reminder of the passing of time and what will never be given back or returned. Another day down. The pain not any less, but another day down.

I was given back the clothes she died in. It turns out they were not buried with her. It makes me wonder what would have happened to them had I not called and asked. The thought of them simply being thrown out was too cold. At first I thought that if they were buried with her…it would be ideal. They would be with her and I would not have to see them again. Then when I found out they were still at the funeral home I wanted them. They were her favorite pajamas. She picked them out the night before she died. At one point she wanted to sit up, once she was sitting up she wanted to change her clothes. I helped her because that was what she wanted. Even though she was wearing clean pajamas already. Every time she showered or changed clothes I washed them immediately incase she wanted to wear them again, she would have them. I was obsessed. I washed everything immediately. Clothes, socks, bedding. Everything was clean within an hour and a half of her using it. Just incase she wanted it again. So I grabbed all her pajamas and she felt each one and looked at them closely. Blue, blue, yellow, pink and so on…. She picked yellow. She said they were her favorite ones. She died in them. Now I have them. They are in a plastic bag. I peeked in and saw them, can sort of see them through the bag even. I can’t take them out yet. Too painful.

I found out tonight that my step-sisters were making jokes and laughing during the final prayers and blessing of holy water at the final visitation. They were sitting in the back, I did not see them. They are lucky I didn’t. Damn lucky. They would now be six feet under as well and I would be in jail. I need to confront them, but not now…the anger is too intense and raw. It would only end in violence, yelling and screaming. I know there are two sides to every story. But how can it not be true? No one would make something up this crass and vulgar. If it is true, it confirms what I already believe…they are ugly people with ugly hearts and ugly souls. They could give the step-sisters from Cinderella a real run for their money. Again…time will tell. If I have learned one thing in my 30 years of life it is this…in time every secret will be revealed. It may take days, months, years…but the truth will come to light. No doubt about it. Trust me.

I broke down tonight. Crying beyond control. I was looking at photos. They all seemed as if they were taken just yesterday. In the background Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper played. It was one of my mom’s favorite songs. It was just a random chance that it was playing and I found the photos. I had just gone in the room to grab a pillow. A pillow. Instead laying there was a scrapbook my sister had made for her. My heart broke into a million pieces with each page turned. It is those moments that are the hardest…when all the pain and sorrow and grief sneak up on you and sideswipe you. You don’t see it coming. At least when you go to the cemetery or to her favorite places you are prepared for it to be tough. You are somewhat ready for the pain. It is the random moments when the loss is too real that are the most unbearable. I can’t believe she is gone. I truly can’t. I keep waiting for her to call. Every time the phone rings my heart skips a beat. I keep waiting to see her when I walk into a room. I cry when I realize I am alone. I keep waiting to hear her say that she loves me. I listen hard but hear nothing. I will be waiting forever.

Time Marches On

Today is Sunday. Sunday, April 24. One week since my mom died. One week. Soon it will be one week since we buried her, then two, then three, then a month, then months, then a year, then years. Time marches on. I want time to stop. I want to go back to when she was healthy and whole. I want to go back and have time stop. I don’t want anything after that. All that is now, I don’t want. I want all that was then.

My sister had a health scare a few months ago. Her heartbeat was off and she was having trouble breathing. She went to the ER. She dismissed it as stress, anxiety, panic attack. She did not want anyone to worry. Today, one week after my mom’s death, I found out that she has a spot on her lung. Oh my God. They don’t think it is cancer, they think it is scar tissue from when she almost died as a baby from pneumonia. She did not tell anyone but her husband and her best friend. She did not want our mom to worry. This news would have killed my mom before the cancer did. They will monitor my sister now, regular check-ups to make sure it is not growing. The fear continues.

I told my sister today the real reason of my leaving the Rosie O’Donnell Show back in 1998. Our mom found some lumps in her breast. She was terrified it was cancer. The tests took forever. I left the show to be with her. The thought of losing her was too much. I did not regret leaving the show. My mom wanted me to stay in New York, but she was scared. She had no one else. I am glad that I left. I simply said they did not have a position for me. Nothing in this world is more important than family. Once you lose your family you are left with nothing. It wasn’t cancer then, a close call, but it did not matter. The seed had been planted. My mom’s mortality became real. I became aware. I returned home and never regretted it.

So there it is…secrets coming out.

Today I cried because I realized that I will never play Yatzee with my mom again. I know I will never do anything with my mom again…it doesn’t hurt as much in the vague, general sense. It cuts to the core when you think of the specific things you will never do together again. We will never play Yatzee again. We will never watch Desperate Housewives, Survivor or The Apprentice again. We will never eat supper together again. We will never laugh together again. We will never do anything again. Never is a very long time when you are stuck on this Earth. I hate “never”.

On Days of Our Lives all the dead are returning home. We watched that show every day at noon. She and I will never watch that show together again. All those who were believed to be dead are not. They are held captive in a faraway place. Everyone grieved and mourned their loss at funeral after funeral. But now…a miracle. The dead are alive and are coming home. I know that it is not real life; it is pretend, make-believe, fake. But my mind drifts and wonders “what if”. What if there was a way she could come back? What if this is all just a horrible mistake? What if this is just a terrible nightmare?

Sometimes I hate TV. It is no escape. It should be, but it isn’t. It is a reminder of the truth. Shortly after my mom was diagnosed with cancer I was watching Survivor on TV. The episode was the one where one of the contestants quit the show because she sensed that her mom was dying. She left to return home and her mom died 8 days later of cancer. This summer watching Last Comic Standing…more truth…Raphie walked out on stage to perform. Face streaked with a river of tears. His dad just died from cancer. He told his father’s favorite jokes. My mom cried. She made me promise that I would never give up on my dreams. That I would be like Ralphie and continue to do stand-up comedy. I promised her I would as I cried and prayed I would never be in Ralphie’s shoes. So many moments like that. The week she was in the hospital TV was the Angel of Death. Every channel aired death…Johnny Cochran, Terri Schivo, the Pope. We watched Desperate Housewives that week. Opening scene was the funeral of Carlos’ mother. I wanted to puke. It all seemed like a sick joke.

And now the dead are returning on Days of Our Lives. Another sick joke.

Stillness

Stillness. It is in the moments of stillness that it hurts the most. My mother’s death plagues me in the stillness of the night and day. No way to escape it. Stillness equals hurt.

Today the tears fell often, but not as hard. There were moments of numbness where I don’t even think I was crying, thinking…or breathing. Just physically taking up space, nothing more, nothing less.

When I close my eyes I see her…dying. When I close my eyes I see her…in the coffin. When I close my eyes I see her…laughing, smiling and loving me. When I open my eyes I don’t see her at all. I don’t want my eyes open ever again.

I am sure that to some this grief seems bizarre, not understandable, and strange. She was my mom, my best-friend, my partner in the world of theatre – I directed, she designed costumes. She was my cheerleader. She was my biggest supporter. She was my biggest fan. She was smart, witty and funny. She had great ideas and inspired me everyday. She and I connected. She and I understood each other fully. She and I depended on each other, counted on each other. She and I still had many great things to do. Not any more. She is gone and I am left in the aftermath of “moving on”. I don’t care who a person loses…a loss is a loss. If you loved them deeply, be it a parent, a child, a sibling, a spouse…the loss is deep, profound and scarring. I am scarred. They say when you lose a parent, you lose your past. Truth. The stories that I know of my youth are all that I have. The one person who was there for all of it is now gone. I am left with gaps and voids. I am the oldest child. I will be able to help my brother and sister some. But there is no one to help me. I feel basically orphaned even though my dad lives. Disconnected. Father and son are not same as mother and son.

I look at photos but it is hard. What I have is what I have. There will never again be new ones. When someone hates having their picture taken, they don’t leave many photos behind.

My mom’s obituary ran in the newspaper today. No photo was printed even though it was sent. I immediately thought it was my mom’s doing. She hated her picture being taken. She would have hated it to be in the paper. I could see her doing this from the other side. Well, I want to have it re-run with the picture this time…and I will. There were two mistakes in her memorial card. A sign from her. Two mistakes that also were inside jokes that no one else knew about. My mom is here. She is leaving signs for us.

Two random thoughts today…

1. What happened to the clothes my mom died in? I called the funeral home even though it was after hours. Spoke to the on-call funeral director. He was the one who removed my mom’s body from the house. He wasn’t sure what happened to her clothes. He thought they might have buried with her. They will get back to me on Monday when he talks to Trent, the director of my mom’s funeral. Monday is a long time to wait when you need to know.

2. What happened to my baby book? More of my past possibly gone for good. No one to ask for help on this one. The one person who knew where it was is now gone. I should have asked when I had the chance.

Last night after the funeral we went to the Old Bank Restaurant in Pierz. My mom’s favorite restaurant. First we had to go the cemetery in Pierz, where my grandparents are buried along with my great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents. Or something like that. I tried to pay attention, but really couldn’t. A few hours earlier I was in a different cemetery burying my mother. I had my fill of cemeteries for one day. Some people love to go to cemeteries I guess. I am not one of them. I will go to my mom’s and my grandparents. That is it. Some of my extended family love to visit graves. Night and day, me and them. At my grandparents grave I imagined my mom with her parents. Finally the reunion she had been waiting, longing for. 20 years in the making. Welcome home…finally.

It was too much sitting in the restaurant. It made me miss her even more. I only ever went there with her. Now I felt that I was replacing her by being there with someone else. Betraying her memory. This is something her and I did. Sometimes she and I went with my brother, my sister and her husband and their precious baby. The baby my mom loved so very dearly. The same baby that while I was holding her at the wake on Thursday night reached over to my mom in her coffin and made the gesture with her hand that means she wants you to hold her. My heart ripped out and tore into a million pieces. Another moment I will never forget. Isn’t there a limit on your brain as to how much you will never forget?

As it all overwhelmed me I called a friend I have known for over 15 years. A friend that I served time with in the trenches of theatre hell. Now those are true friendships. If a friendship survives theatre, it is carved in stone. Baptism by fire. Theatre is a strange, messed up little land filled with strange, messed up people. To find a sane one is rare. I called her because she knew my mom and loved her. We talked, I cried. Seems that all I do is cry. She said that I will carry on. She doesn’t know how I will do it, but she knows I will. I agree. I know that I have a lot to accomplish yet and things to do. Dreams to realize. I will do it because it is what my mom would want for me. The best way to honor my mom is to have my aspirations, goals and dreams come true. I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t even know how I am going to face tomorrow, much less years down the road. A lonely road to travel.

On the phone tonight, reconnecting with an old friend from high school. She lost her brother, now I lost my mother. She understands my loss and now I understand her’s. There is a club of sorts. Those who have lost a deeply loved one and those who have not. Up until 10:20 AM on Sunday, April 17, 2005 I was not a member. Now I have a membership card and dues to pay. Dues are paid in the currency of sorrow and grief. You do not want to join this club. I do not want to renew this membership ever again.

This morning my sister asked if I had any jeans that needed to be washed. I did. I went and got them and brought them into the laundry room. As I put my jeans in the washer I realized that I will never hear my mom say that she loves me ever again. I lost it. Crying so hard I could hardly see. Back to my makeshift bedroom in my sister’s basement. I glanced at the clock, trying to distract myself so I could get a grip and stop crying. 10:20 AM. The clock said 10:20 AM. I will forever be haunted by 10:20 AM.

My brother, basically still a kid at 23, said that he had a nightmare where my mom got out of the coffin and wanted to go get something to eat with him. She was tired of being at the funeral chapel and was very hungry. She told him “come on Jeremy, get me out of her and let’s get something to eat.” When he told my sister and me of his nightmare I was beyond horrified. It replays in my head like a broken record. How do I help him? How do I help my sister? I can hardly help myself.

Someone recently told me that I will never get over this loss. Finally the truth. And once you know the truth, you can start to accept it.

Eyes wide open

Today my mom was buried. That sentence makes me sick to my stomach. Today my mom was buried. They say it gets easier in time. I think they lie.

Another morning of rushing. Never enough time. So very true…in every sense. Not enough time this morning. Not enough time to even stop and think and try to process what has happened. Not enough time with my mom. Not enough time. With the help of friends and family everything that needed to be done, got done…even with not enough time.

The wake this morning was tough. Very tough. Ugliness showed it face once again. When I got there I noticed that the van belonging to stepdad’s kids was right behind the hearse. Not right in my mind. Her kids should be following her. Not her second husband and his kids. His kids weren’t always very kind to her. They should have been, but they weren’t. His family is a mess. Polar opposite from ours. We are close, they are distant. We connect, they miss-fire. Brady Bunch we are not. I politely go up to my stepdad to ask him if he would mind switching cars when my sister comes. It is what my mom would have wanted, I know it. I know it for a fact this time…not like the sandwiches vs. hotdish. I know with all my heart and my being she would have wanted her kids to follow her first. His response is that they parked where they were told to. Again…a little clearer this time, I tell him…no longer a question…more of a statement…”her kids will be following her.” End of story. He once again tells me that he parked where he was told to. I tell him that I will go and clear it with the funeral director. My stepdad wants to have a power struggle and I am in no mood. I think to myself…if push comes to shove today, I will bury him as well. I look for the funeral director. My stepdad beats me to the punch and I see him talking to the funeral director. I am livid, I seethe under the surface. Not today. Not today. My stepdad returns to me, proud as peacock…his car is staying. The spouse follows first I am told in a cocky voice. Those are the rules. He won, or so he thinks. Well…nothing…and I do mean nothing in this world is that black and white. I tell him that it is not acceptable. His kids now rally around him and give me dirty looks and whisper. I don’t care if I am hated. I am used to being hated. It is ok because I know in my heart what I am doing is right. I send an employee to get the funeral director again. In 21 words I change the rules. I said…”I know you have protocol and rules, but her kids need to follow her. It is what she would have wanted.” Checkmate. Done. Easy. Fast. My stepdad looks at me and says…”fine, I am not going to argue with you.” Funny how people surrender when they already lost. They just don’t get it. There was nothing more to argue about because you are moving your van, one way or another it will be moved, even if I have to do it piece by piece. Simple. Clear. Done. I forgot about it after that. I did not want to dwell in the ugliness. That is his world, not mine.

I received a gift at the wake. A gift more precious that flowers. A gift more precious than cards and money. A gift more precious that someone saying “I am sorry”. I was given a letter that was written by my mom to one of her best-friends in all of her life. The letter was written in January 1978, still had the envelope. It cost 13 cents to mail. Now 27 years later it is priceless. The letter talks of how sick my sister was, she wasn’t even a year old yet, and how she almost died. It talks of how sick I was at the same time and how torn my mom was between us. Trying to help us both. It talked about how in the midst of all this sickness the cat got really sick too. The final straw. Once again, her humor coming through in the worst possible situation. I cried. I cried so hard. I think at first my mom’s friend thought she’d made a mistake by giving it to me. That was not true. That was the furthest thing from the truth. It was the best possible gift I could have been given second only to having my mom back. I have the letter next to me now. Thank you. Nothing more I can say other than simply…thank you.

The funeral was amazing. Everything came together just right. It truly was a celebration of her life and who she was. The readings were perfect. The mass was beautiful. The music was beyond amazing. My mom’s funeral…a perfect moment in time. Another gift from God. I have been to my fair share of bad funerals. Not this time, this time it was done right.

My sister and brother prepared a few words to say before my eulogy. I am glad they did. I kept trying to get them to do it. They were unsure. I had no doubt. They needed to do it or else they would regret it. Regret it forever. Like someone said a few days ago…”you only get one shot at this. Get it right now, you will not get this back…ever.” True. Very true. I printed their letters to bring with, just incase I could somehow get them to change their minds, I didn’t want any excuses for them not to do it. I would be prepared for them. My sister did not make it through her eulogy. I had to finish it for her, standing next to her holding her hand. It broke my heart. My brother was able to get through his letter to my mom a little better. A letter he had written a while ago but never got around to giving to my mom. Today mom got the letter. Afterwards they both told me they were glad that they did it. Sometimes big brother does know best. Trust me. When it came to my eulogy I prayed for my mom to be with me and to help me through it. She did. When I started to speak I felt such calmness and peace. I hit a few rough spots, spots where it was still too raw, too real. In my mind I asked for my mom to help me and again…peace and calmness. Many have said that she was with me…they know me and my sorrow and they know that without her I would have never gotten through it. They are right. They felt her too.

And by the way…I held Denny’s hand when we entered the church and followed the casket down the aisle. I had looked over and seen him standing next to me…grieving. Then I saw his kids. Once again, no connection. A voice in my head said to grab his hand and hold it. A gesture of peace and forgiveness. I grabbed his hand and he took my hand and held onto it. He did not let go, so I held on…for him. For my mom. Despite everything she loved him. I don’t think anyone even noticed, which is probably good…because they would’ve never understood. Once again, my mom was present. No other explanation for it.

It was surreal day to say the least. So much sorrow and grief. So many tears and laughter. So very real…in such a bizarre way. People came who I never thought would. People whom I assumed would be there did not show. People have excuses, people have reasons, and people have choices. What you put into this world is what you will reap in the end. Karma comes around, it just takes time. Lessons learned. My eyes are open.

Slowly becomes real

Today was the visitation or wake as some call it, for my mother. As usual it was a day of rush and not enough time. Biggest crisis was that we could not find the rosary. The rosary that my sister gave mom for Easter from Isabella, my mom’s precious granddaughter, my sister’s daughter and my niece and godchild. The rosary was a gift that my mom wanted to have with her in the coffin and then given back to Isabella on her first communion. My mom held onto the rosary as she died. Rosary in one hand, my hand in her other. We could not find it. I was sick to my stomach. My sister was sick to her stomach. After all the careful planning and preparation, how could we have forgotten the rosary? I only remembered about the rosary when I realized I did not have it on my way to the visitation. Thank God for cell phones. I assumed she had it. She assumed I had it. It is dangerous to assume. Lesson learned today. After much searching and me turning around, knowing it would make me late to my own mother’s visitation, we had to find the rosary. Keep looking, I am on my way. As I arrived back into town the phone rings. Rosary has been found. It was in my suitcase. Of course. I had put it there for safekeeping. Knowing that no matter what happened this week, I would have my suitcase…thus, I would have the rosary. Why do we put things away in places for safe-keeping? I know I never remember what is kept where. How safe is that?

I got to the funeral chapel on time. Another miracle. There have been a lot of them this week. By all accounts I should have been late, very late. I was the third to arrive. My step-brother and his wife were already there. I know there names, nothing really more. They are born-again, ultra-conservative, not very accepting. They are pretty much everything I try to avoid in life. But, here we are again…face to face. Funny life turns out. My mom knew how I felt about them and many others. I kept nothing from her. Wear your heart on your sleeve. So here we were, brought together by my mom. The irony of it all. I said hello…coldly and matter of fact. Why pretend to be close now? My mom hated fake emotion and fake pleasantries. Be real. Not cruel, but real. Then I glanced over and noticed my mom in her casket through the tiny window on the door. I lost my breath. I felt like I was being slammed against a brick wall. I moved quickly through the doors. The tears falling heavily already. I was the first of her kids to see her. As I got about halfway up the aisle I stopped. I could see her clearly. It did not look like her. It did not look like her at all. Who is this stranger laying in my mom’s casket? My legs started to give out. I almost collapsed right there…in the middle of the aisle, in the middle of chapel. Then I felt hands on me. It was my step-brother and his wife. They helped me to the casket and basically held me up. I kept crying and crying and crying and crying. The only thing I could say was “oh my God” over and over and over and over…like a stuck record. Oh my God. After a few moments I began to recognize parts of her…slowly…very slowly. Oh my God. I touched her. So cold. So stiff. So…not her. Like a statue. Not my mom. Oh my God. It was a devastating moment that is burned in my memory. But, oddly enough I was comforted by two people I never thought possible. The irony of it all. My mom bringing us together for a reason. In the end I am thankful that they were there, I was not alone.

There was one person there who I was not thankful to see at first. A person who annoyed my mom often. And by often, I mean all the time. It is not her fault. She was born that way. I avoided her. Not wanting to even deal with it. I saw her walk up to the casket. I turned to my friend Tammy who was sitting next to me. We had been talking about grief and surviving and life. Tammy suffered the loss of a stillborn child. Some wounds never heal. I turned to Tammy and said, referring to the annoying person…”if she goes flying across the room we will know for sure that my mom is here. My mom cannot stand her.” I don’t know why I said it. It was bad enough to think it, but to say it. What is wrong with me? Grief. Grief makes you say and do cruel things. Grief. You feel nothing but hurt and pain and want others to feel it too. It was a moment of ugliness. I looked up and she was walking back down the aisle towards us. Trying to avoid her, I lowered my head. It did not stop her. She walked right up to me. I looked up, annoyed, thinking…not now…now ever…couldn’t she see I was hurting? All she said was “I am sorry about your mom” and tears fell down her face. She walked away. It was a blow that knocked me sideways. I started to cry and looked at Tammy as this annoying person, broken and fragile, walked away and said “I feel like such a jerk.” Tammy just looked at me…honestly and understandingly, and said “because you are.” She was right. I was wrong. This annoying person I was avoiding was there to comfort me and I was cruel. I regret it. I regret all of it. It wounded me. I am sorry. She had seen I was hurting. That is why she was there. That is why she said…”I am sorry about your mom.” and cried. I am eternally sorry. Even though she did not hear and does not know what I said. I am still so very sorry. Sorry. Once again I was wrong. Sorry. You are the better person. Sorry. Please forgive me. Forever sorry.

The flowers were beautiful. The people were kind. There was sadness and sorrow and grief, but also a lot of love. My mom was loved by many. Terri came dressed in a costume that my mom had sewn. A group of wonderful friends my mom and I have become close to through the theatre productions over the years sang a great version of “Hooked on a Feeling”- my mom’s favorite song. People shared stories of how she touched their lives. It was hard but also strangely comforting. I heard quite a few whispers of how many flowers there were. Love.

As I looked at her in the casket. I realized that she wasn’t there. She was all over the room, her spirit moving through us all. She was in our tears and our laughs. She was in us and always will be. I miss her. I miss her with all my being.

I feel like a wounded animal. Lying deep in the woods, slowly dying but still alive. A wound that causes nothing but the most intense pain. A wound that is deep. A wound that won’t cause death right away but will cripple and devastate and hurt. A wound I will have to live with for the rest of my life. Pray.

Swallowed by grief

It is 2:39 AM. We just finished the photograph memory boards for the wake tomorrow. We started off as my sister and I. Then a fight and we became just me. Then finally we became Melissa, Richard and I. A fight that opened the gates of hell for a brief moment. A fight about food at the luncheon after the funeral on Friday. My sister wanted to have the hotdish. I voted for the cold meat sandwiches. Not that I would eat either, but I figured that people would have more of a selection with the sandwiches. After the fact, everything agreed on my sister turns on me. She says it should have been the hotdish. She says that mom hated sandwiches at any function, she thought it was tacky. My sister is right. I am wrong. Dead wrong. Stupid me. Of course my mom would have rather had the hotdish. The ball dropped. My sister says it is because I always need to be right and that I just do what I want to do anyways so forget it…she is going to bed. I can do the memory boards myself. I don’t want to do the memory boards myself. Looking at all those pictures of a happier time. A time when mom was alive verses now…now a time of sorrow and her death. I don’t want to see the pictures. It hurts too much.
I think that if she doesn't come back I will never forgive her for what she is doing to me. Don't make me do this alone. Don't leave me alone with the past. I cry. I cry. I cry a lot more. I am hysterical. But, I keep working on the memory boards. The pictures are getting a little crooked because I honestly can’t see, my eyes are getting swollen. My brother-in-law comes out to check on me. I can’t even talk I am crying so hard. He leaves…nothing he can do. He can’t bring mom back…so what is the point. After a little bit my sister returns. I keep working on the boards. They need to be done. The wake cannot take place without them…or so I think. I am nearing breakdown. This time my arms actually went numb and I started to hyperventilate. It scares me. I can hardly hold the pictures because it physically hurts too bad. Melissa keeps saying it is ok and that I am getting too worked up about the fight we had. It is not all about the fight we had. It is everything. Finally through the tears I scream out…fear, rage, pain…I scream out that I cannot see mom in a casket tomorrow. I am not that strong. As I type this the tears start again. Clearly it is not physically possible to run out of tears. Soon I will go to bed, wake up and see my mom lying in a casket. It makes me sick. It makes my heart bleed. It makes my brain go berserk. I am beginning to understand now when they say that grief kills. I believe it. Tonight I actually said I wish I was dead. I really don’t want to be dead. But when the sorrow hits, it is too much to bear. Grief knows no end, no limit, no warning. It creeps up on you and consumes you forever. I am starting to fear it. It sweeps over me at the most random times and is so powerful and so devastating that I lose myself. Grief. Finally the photo boards are done. I am exhausted, Melissa and Richard exhausted, but they are done. The wake can continue as scheduled. There will be photos there tomorrow. It is true…grief does strange things to people. You are not in your right mind. A fight about hotdish. A fight about so much more. So much that needs to be expressed but no way to start. God help us all.

Thunder and Lightning

This morning disaster hit. Emotional tsunami. Confusion, fear denial, rage, anguish and loss of control all rolled into one. Sleeping with the light on did not protect me. I woke up shortly after 7 AM. I looked over and my mom was not there. I panicked. I sleep on the floor next to her. Where is she? Why isn’t she here? What is happening? I did not remember that I was at my sister’s house. I did not remember that I was sleeping in a bed, not on the floor. I did not remember that Sunday morning at 10:20 AM happened. I did not remember that my mom is dead. I did not remember anything. I flew out of bed. I ran from room to room in the basement…scared…confused…looking for her…calling out for her. Mom! She is nowhere to be seen. I race upstairs…faster…have to find her, make sure she is ok, make sure she knows she is loved. Room to room. In and out. Room to room. Now I am yelling through the tears…voice cracking… ”Mom!”…”Mom!”…MOM! Nowhere. Back downstairs…I must have missed her somehow…maybe she is in the bathroom. Did I check the bathroom? Or the laundry room? Kinda early to be doing laundry but I look anyways. I can hardly see…my eyes filled with tears and swollen, my voice hoarse from yelling “Mom!”. In the family room downstairs I see my brother-in-law, Richard, coming in the walk-out door, from taking the dogs outside before he heads to work. He will help me. He has to help me. I need to find her. I manage to get the words out…”Where’s mom? I can’t find her…” He just looked at me and asked “What is going on?” I push past him…thinking don’t just stand there, help me. I go back to the spare bedroom…my room for now…looking around. I turn back to him and say “She is supposed to be here, right next to me.” He takes me by the arm and sits me down on the couch…saying “Jason…are you ok? What is happening?” His voice steady and calm, but fear in his eyes. He thinks I am having a nervous breakdown. Then slowly it all comes back…I start to realize and remember what has happened. Then it all comes back quickly…clearly…vividly. Swift. A blow to the heart and the mind. I remember everything. I collapse. Crying so hard I can hardly talk. Crying so hard I can hardly breathe. My sister is now sitting on the couch next to me. She is concerned and scared. I am wounded. I am empty. I am hollow. I am being pulled under in this horrendous emotional tsunami of grief, sorrow and fear. We are all scared. I cry and cry and cry. Then I tell them that I am sorry. I am sorry for what has happened. I am ashamed at such a display of lost control. That…this…is not me. Yes, I am emotional person. Always have been, always will be. Think first with the heart then with the brain. But I am not a person with emotions on display for all to see…until now…I can’t hide it. There are moments where it simply feels like it is too much. Grief. I had heard about it. Seen others suffer through it. But, personally never really knew it until now. Nothing but grief. I try to regain control…to ease their fears that something is seriously wrong…I go back to bed. I sleep…only to be woken up by the phone ringing at 10:20 AM. I kid you not. Swear to God. 10:20 AM. I need to tell the woman what menu choices we want for the funeral lunch. 10:20 AM. I am afraid I will always be haunted by that time. 10:20 AM.

I think it all stemmed from guilt. Guilt that I tried so hard to save my mom and I couldn’t. For 14 months I did everything possible to try to save her. Everything ranging from doctor appointments, tests, scans, books, research, looking up every possible hint at a new medication or procedure, watching the news, reading the papers, looking for a new breakthrough in the world of medicine, eating right, foods that heal and cure, pray, attending religious events, begging for a healing and cure. Always looking, searching, seeking. I tried to save her and I couldn’t. If only I could’ve found a lead on something. If only I prayed harder. If only I could have done more sooner she would still be here. I just needed to do more, I did not do enough because she is now gone. I failed. I let her down. I will never be at peace.

There it is. My confession. The closest I have ever come to a breakdown. Well, I guess it was a breakdown, call it what it is. I wish it wasn’t true. I wish it wasn’t real. I wish it wasn’t fact. It was not a nightmare. It was not exaggerated. It was not embellished. It was the worst morning of my life…second only to April 17, 2005 at 10:20 AM. It was real…too real. Unforgettable. This is exactly what happened. Ask Richard or Melissa…they were there.

All day today I kept dialing my mom’s phone number when I would use the phone. I did not mean to. It just happened. Auto-pilot. Never even realized it was happening until my sister looked back at the numbers dialed. Saw my mom’s. I was shocked. Please God not another repeat of this morning.

Last night I wrote…”I just want to hear her voice.”

Today I did. Today I heard her. It was real, not another breakdown. My sister and I were driving and she randomly said that a strange thing happened today and that she found an old voicemail from our mom on her cell phone. The tears fell hard. Instant. There was no pause. The floodgates opened and the tears flowed. It was hard to breath. I asked if she she still had it or if she deleted it. Scared to hear the answer. I prayed she kept it. If she erased it, I would never forgive her. Never. Prayer answered…she kept it. I break into a million pieces. A miracle. An answered prayer. A second chance. I beg her to let me hear it. I tell her that I need to hear it. She felt the urgency in my voice. She pulled over to find it, to let me hear mom once again. My beloved mom said nothing more than “just wondering when you’ll get here. Bye.” I am a broken man who got a second chance. I never thought I would hear her again. Today I heard her. I felt nothing but love.

I am still scared to go to sleep. The two worst times of the day…nighttime and 10:20 AM. I don’t know if I will sleep with the light on, it doesn’t really help after all.

The rain begins to fall...

The end of a long day. A day of meetings, appointments and running errands. What kind of casket? What kind of Memorial and Prayer card? What photos to display? What songs to have sung at the funeral? What about this? What about that? What about these? She was with us. We all agreed on the decisions. No fights, no tears, no drama. Nothing bad at all. First time for everything. Even my brother and I got along. Surely a sign that the end is near.

At least we knew what she wanted to be buried in. We talked about that. The dress she got married in...the second time. She looked at me...days ago...and said during the conversation about her funeral that she wanted to be buried in the dress she was married in. Without skipping a beat she added...”and not the one from the wedding to your dad either. Don’t even think about it.” She beat me to the punch. She knew I would make a joke. I really knew which dress she wanted. The simple, pretty cream and beige one. She wanted the dress she was married in the second time to the man who is now my stepdad. Not her tradational wedding dress from the first marriage. The marriage that ended in divorce, but not hatred. My mom and dad remained friends. Once, in this hellish nightmare, my Dad broke down crying on the street in the middle of downtown while he was helping do errands. 53 years old and he was a broken man. Shattered. Overcome with grief. I comforted him in the street. All I ever seem to do is comfort everyone else. Making sure they are ok. Hugging him. In my 30 years of life there has not been many hugs between my Dad and I. Can probably count them on two hands if I thought long and hard. The man who is officially my stepdad has been in my life for 14 years - my mom’s boyfriend for 12 years and my stepdad for almost 2 years. I don’t know him. 14 years is a long time to know someone and still not know them. Trust me. Some things I will never understand. Love. I don’t get it. But, sometimes the choices made by others are a part of your life without your consent, permission or liking. Live with it. Co-exist. We all have our own demons to battle...some more than others...clearly some have way more demons than others. Trust me. In 14 years I hugged my stepdad once. I hugged him on the day they took my mom’s lifeless body from our house. Well, his house. It never truly felt like my home. My mom was my home. It did not matter where she lived...because where she was...was home. Now she is gone and so is home. That is a tough one. Hasn’t sunk in yet. When it does...it will hurt like hell, I know this and many have told me...so many have told me...and continue to tell me. My mom hugged me...a lot. I was her first born. I don’t care what anyone says...there is a special, unique bond between a mother and the first born child. They find their way through life together. Everything is done for the first time, side by side. By child two and three...there is a plan of sorts. A sense of “been there, done that”. Or so I think. I know that my relationship with my mom is rare. I say “is” rather than “was” because she is still with me. In my heart, in my being, in my soul. We helped each other through a lot. A rock for each other, support for each other when we had to battle our own demons. Mother and son, best friends. Hard to explain...you had to know us. If we had been superheros we would have ranked up there with Batman and Robin. So there it is...she wants the dress from the second wedding. The thought of her laid out in the casket in her first wedding dress made of silk, lace and long veil makes us both laugh hard. Such a crazy thought, but yet so fitting for our crazy family. We laugh out loud. Then sadness...once again it is so very real for the both of us. She is dying. That was then, this is now. She is dead. She is gone forever soon...after the funeral on Friday. It hurts now...and I know it will hurt like hell even more soon. The pain is still coming, no end in sight.

Last night I was afraid to go to sleep. I stayed up as long as I physically could. I left the lights on. Just like I did for my mom in the hospital. It eases the fear of waking up and not knowing where you are. Once in the hospital I woke up and it was dark...very dark. I did not know exactly where I was, confusion, I thought it was all a nightmare. Relieved. My mom was not sick...or so I thought. I honestly did. Once I got my bearings I realized where I was, why I was there and that it wasn’t a nightmare in a dream sense but a nightmare in a very real sense. The pain was overwhelming. Had I woken up and remembered...known...I would have been spared the pain of facing the truth again. Last night I slept with the light on...so I would not wake up and have to relive her death.

10:20 AM came and went today. It arrived while I was writing out her obituary. I knew, I was aware, I noticed the time. It came and went. I am not sure what I was expecting. 10:20 AM, April 18, 2005. 24 hours since her death. There were tears. Time marches on, minute by minute, moment by moment. Can’t stop it. Can’t slow it down. Can’t get it back. From 10:20 AM, April 17, 2005 to 10:20 AM, April 18, 2005, a passage of 24 hours after her death...we are all 24 hours closer to our own death. Make each moment count. We can’t get them back. Go forward and live, but remember and love. Tomorrow more questions needing answers.

I just want to hear her voice.


One Step Closer
By U2

I’m ‘round the corner from anything that’s real
I’m across the road from hope
I’m under a bridge in a rip tide
That’s taken everything I call my own
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
I’m on an island at a busy intersection
I can’t go forward, I can’t turn back
Can’t see the future
It’s getting away from me
I just watch the tail lights glowing
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
Knowing, knowing
I’m hanging out to dry
With my old clothes
Finger still red with the prick of an old rose
Well the heart that hurts Is a heart that beats
Can you hear the drummer slowing?
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
To knowing, to knowing, to knowing

10:20 AM

10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. The time flashes in my mind over and over and over. It flashes like when the power goes out and the clock blinks until you reset it. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM…the time my mother died. 10:20 AM, April 17, 2005.

She has been gone now for a little over 13 hours and I miss her to death. We knew it was going to happen. But when it happened, it was so quick…I didn’t realize it was happening. Two deep breaths and then gone. 14 months of struggles, hope, despair, laughter and tears ends in two deep breaths.

Yesterday she developed a cough. Not a good sign. A sign that the end was near. The cough kept getting worse, more suffocating…harder to breath. Restlessness set in. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up and so on…for hours and hours. I thought I was going to lose my mind. As soon I as got her comfortable in bed and turned my back for a second…a split second…she needed to sit up. Two seconds after I struggled to get her sitting up in bed she would rest her head on my shoulder and tell me she needed to lie down. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up…hour after hour after hour. Now when I look back I honestly think she was trying to leave her body…somehow she was trying to set her spirit free and leave her damaged, wounded, violent body behind and soar free. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At one point tears flowed from both of us. Why can’t there just be stillness…if only for five minutes. A break from this insanity, a break from this bizarre ritual that has been going on for so many hours. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up. She apologizes and says she is sorry but she just can’t get comfortable. I tell her it is ok and we will keep trying. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up. 10:20 AM…I would do anything for her to sit up. 10:20 AM…she would never sit up again ever. 10:20 AM.

9:00 AM. She woke up and was in pain. I gave her some medicine to make the pain ease some. I woke up my sister to help me...here we go again…lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down. I have to use the bathroom. Melissa is in charge for two minutes. My mom would get very nervous if someone else was in charge. Not saying she did not trust other people, but she trusted me fully, unconditionally, blindly. She knew I wouldn’t ever do anything that could possibly harm her. I annoyed her doctors and nurses…always asking questions. Tell me everything about her diagnosis, tell me everything about her medications, tell me everything you know about the situation, simply tell me everything. I kept records of every pill she took while I was in charge. Date, time and how much. She did not want her medicine from anyone else.

Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up.

9:30ish AM. More coughing. Coughing and producing things I never knew the human body produced. Melissa grossed out. I am more intrigued. I am looking, trying to figure out what it all is. Very strange for me. I am the squeamish one. I am the queasy one. I am the one with the weak stomach. But, things change. I am forever changed. I am trying to figure out all the functions of the body. On some level trying to figure out what when wrong. My mom is bewildered at the specimen that her body has produced. Tells me to save it to show my brother-in-law, Richard, who is a doctor. Turns out it is called “mucus plugs”. Now I know. Mystery solved. I will never forget “mucus plugs”.

10:00 AM. Finally…tucked back into bed. I tell her that at 10:30 I will have to give her the rest of her medicine. She hates taking her medicine. Reminds her that she is sick. It doesn’t offer any real hope anyways. It is for pain, not for a cure. The medicine simply numbs. She is coughing and breathing hard, but sleeping. Then she starts to talk. Hard to understand. Doesn’t even sound like English. I ask her what she is trying to say. My sister gets annoyed and tells me to leave her alone and let her sleep. Says she is probably only dreaming or something anyways. My sister heads back to bed. A few more minutes of quiet. I seize the moment. I lay on my make-shift bed on the floor next to her, able to watch her. I fall asleep for a few minutes. Silence. I wake up and bolt off the floor. She is breathing but it is calm, clear and steady. Something is terribly wrong. Why isn’t she coughing? Why isn’t she gasping? Why isn’t she struggling for breath? These things have become the norm. Something is wrong. I grab her hand. I hold her hand tight with my left hand, in her hand the rosary that was an Easter gift from Melissa, and with my other hand I shake her. I say “Mom”…”Mom”…”Mom”…over and over…no response. I tell her that I love her and then she takes two very deep breaths and is gone. I am still holding her hand, not letting go once…my other hand over her heart, trying to find a beat. Confusion sets in. Why in the hell isn't her heartbeating? What is happening? What do I do? Nothing. 10:20 AM. I am panicking…I keep saying “Mom” as my tears fall. My voice is breaking…pleading, begging, searching. I know what has happened, but I refuse to believe it. If I could only wake her up. My sister hears this from upstairs. She rushes down to us. She is crying. As I hold on to my mom, still calling out “Mom”, my sister checks for a pulse. Nothing. I am having trouble breathing, my vision is blurred from crying so hard and my cries of “Mom” have now become whispers of “oh my God”. It is done. My mom is dead. 10:20 AM. For the next half hour the only thing I can say is “oh my God” through a hoarse and deep voice. She never did get her medicine. She did not make it to 10:30 AM.

10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. Every morning at 10:20 AM I will be back at my mother’s side, holding her hand, calling out to her as she slips away.

I am on the verge of passing out. Exhausted. Emotionally spent. I am lonely. Never felt this lonely before in my life. But, I am scared to go to asleep tonight. I know that at some point tomorrow morning it is going to be 10:20 AM.

Storm Clouds

My mom is dying. There it is…point blank. No easy way to say it. She is 51 and cancer has taken over her body. Her body is killing itself. Grotesque. Not an easy way to go. No quick blink of an eye, no accident that steals her life in a second or two, no going gently into the night. Instead nothing but suffering and pain. Yet she is strong. Cancer may be destroying her body, but it is not destroying her courage, strength or soul.

I watch her. Suffering. Gasping for breath. Unable to help. I hate it. I hate it with all my being.

The nightmare began on Friday, Feb. 6, 2004. I got a call at work. "Good morning, RiverCity Mortgage, how may I help you?" It was my mom. She was crying. She had just come back from the doctor’s office. She was scared. Thought she was having a heart attack. Turned out to be a tumor. 3 inches of genes gone berserk in her lung. I left work immediately. Crying. Hysterical. Scared. Yet holding it together because my mom said she needed me to be strong for her. From that moment on, it was about her, not me. Simply do anything and everything that needed to be done to help her…no complaints, no questions, no doubts. My life put on the back burner to try to save her’s.

Tuesday, March 2, 2004. Operation to remove the tumor. Original plan…remove the lower lobe of the left lung and then chemo and radiation and should be fine. Cure. The doctors used the word "cure" quite often. During the operation, complications…bleeding and tearing tissue…surgeon said it was like "wet toilet paper". They ended up having to remove the whole lung. My mom did not know…she was not conscious. More bad news ahead. The cancer had started to spread to the chest lining. Hours later we finally get to see her in the Intensive Care Unit. A "Code Blue" goes off. My heart sinks. It is someone else’s parent, not mine. I am relived but sad…it could have been mine. She takes the news in stride. Focus. Look forward not backwards. A little bump in the road.

14 months consisting of 4 different chemotherapy treatments, 35 sessions of radiation, 4 hospitalizations for complications, total hair loss, a brief "all clear – cancer free" only to have it come back 3 times worse in six weeks. Second opinions, third opinions. Trips to the Mayo Clinic. 14 months of praying and begging for a miracle from God. Still praying now at journey’s end. Praying for the pain to simply…end.

After all her treatments failed the doctors suggested she try Tarceva. Tarceva is some sort of antibody that blocks the blood to the tumor and starves it to death. A rash is a positive sign that your body is responding favorably to the drug. My mom got a rash. A terrible rash all over her face. The doctors were optimistic. Finally…a miracle in the form of a rash. Small price to pay for a cure. Small price to pay for time with her family. Small price to pay for a second chance at life. They were wrong. The drug was not working. She was having difficulty breathing and went into the emergency room. First they thought it was an infection. Scans, tests, blood work and more scans showed that the cancer has spread. The tumor has invaded the heart. The tumor has wrapped around the aorta. Massive…massive…MASSIVE blood clotting. Doctors and nurses are shocked that she is not having pain in her legs yet. She walks, they are amazed. It will change in time. Everything changes in time.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005. The doctor comes into her room and drops the bomb. There are no options left. The cancer is out of control. The blood clots will be her downfall. They cannot give her blood thinners because her heart will simply bleed out. It is only a matter of time…anywhere from a couple of hours to a few days. Just a matter of time. After 14 months of fighting cancer…no one expected blood clots to be the monster to seal her fate. Where in the hell did that come from? Thin air…

Thursday, March 31, 2005. My sister’s 28th birthday. I pray to God to please not let my mom die on my sister’s birthday. Life cannot be that cruel.

Friday, April 1, 2005. April Fools Day. A day of jokes and laughter. Her feet start to go numb and turn bluish. It’s not a joke. I rub them. I rub them not because it really makes a difference, but because it makes my mom feel better. Confusion, denial and more confusion sets in. I have to explain to my mom just how serious the situation is. She heard it the first time but did not want to hear. Now she has heard and she devastated. I am devastated. I resent that I am forced to bring the bad news to her door. I resent that I am her dose of reality. But, it is fitting that I be the one to do it. After all we have been through in my 30 years of life. This is just another bump in the road. I tell her through my tears…trying to catch my breath. I tell her there is nothing the doctors can do. We pray. Nothing left to do but pray. And hope.

Tuesday, April 5, 2005. We come home. We are now members of the hospice program. She gets to pass from this world to the next from home. Much better than the cold, sterile, impersonal hospital rooms. But, it comes with a price. I am her caregiver. I am afraid. 24 hours a day I am afraid. I get her to the bathroom. I help her brush her teeth. I give her the medications she needs to keep the pain at bay. I sleep on the floor on an airbed next to her bed. Just like when she was in the hospital. I slept on the floor next to her bed. She was frightened and it was the least I could do. I am there if she needs anything. I am there if she needs help. I am there if she is scared. I am there to hold her hand. The roles have reversed. I am the parent and she is now the child. I do it all. I do not mind. If I had to, I would do it for a hundred years. It gives me time with her. Precious time that I will never have again. I cry. I try to be strong, but it is hard. People call. People email. People send cards. Everyone wants to know what they can do to help. "What can I do?" I want to ask them…"Can you make her well again? Can you heal her? Can you make her whole?" They would say…"No." Then I am sorry…there is nothing you can do to help. I know they just want to help. But, there is nothing anyone can do. There is nothing more even I can do but love her. If I could I would trade places with her. But, I know she would trade places with me if it was I who was sick. We would spend eternity trading places.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005. Her feet are black and dead. The nurse tells me that her toes might fall off. She tells me that if they do I am to just grab a tissue and discretely pick them up and throw them away in the garbage. I just look at the nurse and go numb. And I thought it could not get worse. We are trapped in a twisted movie created by a sick mind. We are trapped in a grotesque nightmare. We are trapped in reality.

Friday, April 15, 2005. My mom is ready to go. When she is awake and lucid she talks about her dreams of heaven and how she wants her mom to come and get her. My mom’s mom passed away in 1985 from cancer. My mom’s dad passed away in 1991 from cancer. My mom’s sister is fighting colon cancer. My mom’s brother is surviving 3 different cancers…so far. Out of my mom’s family of two parents and five children…five have had cancer. The other two should be sweating bullets. Just a matter of time. Cancer seems to be a family curse. So far she has been home for 11 days. I have been with her 24/7 minus 15 minutes when I went to get her medicine at Wal-Mart. The nurse stayed with her. I felt guilty for leaving. I still do.

She is ready to go. She is still strong. She is still funny. Laying on her deathbed and cracking jokes. But, she is ready to go. Ready to join the others who went before her. She asks me why God won't just take her already. I tell her that God will take her when it is her time to go. I cry and she strokes my hair and tells me that she will always be with me. She tells me that when I need her to just open my arms and feel her hugging me and loving me. I tell her that when she needs to go she should go. I tell her that it will be tough but I will carry on. My sister, brother and I will carry on. I tell her. But, I have my doubts. I don’t know how anyone recovers from something like this. I don’t think it is possible. As I write this entry, I look over at her laying in the bed from Hospice that we have in the living room. She is laying there…holding a rosary…still, motionless due to the medications. It is just a matter of time before she is laying there…holding a rosary…still, because she is gone.

I am losing my mom. I am losing my best friend. I am losing my sense of family. My heart is breaking into a million pieces. The tears just won’t stop falling.

SLIPPING AWAY
by Moby
Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me
Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on people they’re slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away