OC took some photos with my phone on the weekend.
The adults were having a heartfelt conversation about Nana.
We didn’t even notice our mini-photographer.
Tag Archives: cancer
Be Sharing A Quote (and a Nana Quilt)
“As my sufferings mounted I soon realized that there were two ways in which I could respond to my situation-either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force. I decided to follow the latter course.”
Martin Luther King Jr.
My mom sewed this quilt for Owen as she endured her five month cancer treatment journey.
As she had done for each of the boys, she created a quilt for their ‘big boy’ beds.
Goodnight wee boys.
Enveloped in Nana’s creativity, thought and labour of love.
Ironically (or not ironically if you know my latest history with irony – here and here and here…)
Mom gave this quilt to Owen after her death as we found it in her closet waiting for his big boy bed.
Never bitter.
Never complaining.
Never fearful.
Mom.
Side note:
I just found the first quilt I ever made with my friend, Princess P. I had given it to my mom. I remembered how proud she was of me and how she displayed it in our living room. I also knew after many quilting conversations afterwards, that this first quilt inspired her own journey with quilting.
Inspired.
Inspiring.
Creative.
Mom.
Be Sharing Food Love
If food was love my house (and my parents) would be exploding!
I am going to give you some insight into the last week. Just the last week! This food has been personally delivered to our doors with a smile and a hug.
Strap yourselves in here we go….
Fresh bread, fresh pie, turkey soup:
Thanks D!
Apples, pears, grapes and chocolate:
Thanks retired colleague!
Now, this one I wish I took more pictures of because it was a box of Mexican bonanza: Corn bread, chili, Mexican lasagna, shepherds pie and the fixings.
Thanks KCAM mommy A!
Today, I had a box of cookies arrive from the Island. Amazing D!
And now a wonderful woman and a husband of someone who worked with Steve brought over chili.
My heart overflows with gratitude for the food and the thought.
I probably have more pictures of food on my camera in the last week than my boys. How funny is that?
Food love.
Sharing the love.
Grieving the loss.
Be Telling Nana Stories
I can’t wrap my head around that my mom is dead.
What happened?
I never really understood cancer, how it morphs and changes, how it can consume.
I feel sharp edges of grief.
Rough, hurtful, prickly especially when I think about my mom’s unnecessary pain and hospital stay.
These sharp edges are immediately smoothed over when I hear stories of my mom, our Nana.
Like a soothing balm, these stories cover the edges and ease the pain… until the next wave comes on this ocean of grief.
Last night, we went for a walk to the field at the end of my parents’ street. As we walked, I was remembering walking their with mom, tobogganing, having the dogs out there.
Suddenly JC and CC ran ahead of us, across the field. They sat on two pieces of wood standing up. They sat there for a long time. Then JC called us over. I don’t know what the boys said while they were sitting on those logs, but JC was very clear in what he told me.
“Mom, I sat on those logs with Nana. The last time I had a sleepover by myself. ”
JC was lit up with joy by this simple memory my mom created with him.
Beautiful memory.
Breathtaking sunset.
Thanks mom!
Be Asking Me How My Christmas Was
Ah, dear friends, my heart aches tonight.
My heart aches for my dad who has lost his wife. His retired plans shattered.
My mind hurts for my children who will not be able to experience my mom’s continual thoughtfulness, laughter and excitement for birthdays, back to school and activities.
My body is numb thinking about our future without my mom.
BUT today it also hurts for a lovely woman God has brought into our lives through our children’s schools.
We moved in the summer to KCity, the next day mom was diagnosed with cancer, 5 hospital visits, about 27 days overall in the hospital and mom dying on Boxing Day sums up the last five months. Ah ya, also must add in unpacking a new house, finding activities for the boys, where to get stamps, two weeks of pneumonia for me plus a family bout of stomach flu.
Back to today! S, the lovely lady works at JC’s school. I ran into her today as i went into the main building to drop off a cheque. She was her usual bubbly self and she threw out, “How was your Christmas?”
My mind stopped. My throat went dry. I thought to myself, am I going to be honest or give the canned answer of “Fine, how was yours?”
I looked at her genuine smile and realized only the truth would do. I answered, “Not great! My mom died!” Her empathy was immediate and caring. She rolled with my answer and didn’t flee (like my neighbours have been doing).
She provided a moment to sit with me in my grief. What a gift from a very lovely woman.
Thank you S! I hope I haven’t instilled a fear in her asking how people’s Christmas’s were.
Be Sharing the Characteristics of Grief
More about grief if you need it, I sure do!
Be Living 25 Days
Note: Click on the blue links to see the whole twenty-five day story…
Twenty-five days ago, I left my home.
My mom was in an ambulance with excruciating pain.
Twenty- five days ago my mom was in the ER, in pain. I never saw my mom read or watch TV again.
Excruciating pain.
In the next seven days, I watched mom be in FIVE different rooms of the hospital. Not one nurse offered to wash her or change her gown. Mom never did get that bath she was looking forward to for six weeks.
I encountered a surgeon who told mom she would die, a doctor who empathized, an anaestesologist who overruled our oncologist who wanted mom to have more pain meds, nurses who laughed and were afraid, nurses who advocated and hid. A social worker who stood strong and stole chairs and a palliative care coordinator who finally helped mom be pain-free.
Mom was continually trying to ‘conquer’ her pain (mom’s words).
I watched mom lovingly hold dad’s hand, I watched her hug my boys. I heard her never complain nor whine about her situation.
Not once. Not ever.
Twenty days ago, Wendy and I had a sleepover with mom. Sleeping in chairs. Mom still in pain. Chasing nurses for meds. Laughing. Crying. Massaging. Comforting.
I watched mom try to put one foot in front of the other. I saw her desperately want a drink of water. I put lip chap on her lips, got her ice and massaged her sore hips.
One moment at a time.
Nineteen days ago, I went by ambulance with my mom to hospice. . Dad and my boys greeted us there. You should have seen mom’s face light up. Finally pain free with a grin on her face.
I savoured watching snowflakes flutter onto her face as she entered this holy place.
I watched my cousins, my uncles, my sister, her family and our wonderful friends arrive to comfort us. And we saw food, wine and more food come through those doors.
All with my dad steadfast at her side and my Sexy Neck a pillar of strength.
I saw my boys playing peek-a-boo outside mom’s window, I saw JC kiss her hand one last time, CC give her a big hug and OC a high five.
Sixteen days ago, I heard mom say hi to me for the last time as I walked into her room in the morning. Room number eight.
Always kind, always thoughtful, always just mom.
Fourteen days ago, I watched the family from my childhood (dad, sister, cousins) eat Christmas dinner together, listen to Christmas carols and drink wine. I heard stories and quite a ruckus being made in room number eight. I watched tears flow, mom’s hand being held and felt her body next to me as I lied with her.
I watched my family grieve, my cousins step up, my boys soak in the love of everyone and my dad continue to walk forward with his love.
I looked at mom’s beautiful skin, incredible blue eyes and felt her warmth and kindness flowing out of her, as it always has.
Thirteen Days ago, mom took her last breath. Dad sitting at her side.
I was awed by love, snow, hugs and fluttering butterflies.
Thirteen days ago we started planning, writing, savouring, cherishing.
Eleven Days ago, we celebrated mom’s life at her favourite beach, held the people who love her and cried tears of love over and over again.
Ten days ago we said goodbye to many departing for home and then it was just us and dad. Staying at mom and dad’s house. Puzzling, talking, organizing, crying, drinking wine, skiing, leaving roses, smelling the flowers, taking down Christmas decorations and talking about stuff.
Today, I return to our home in KCity .
Today, this is how my husband found me as I wrote this blog:
Disclaimer: For my Prayerwalking friends, my lying down is a regular occurrence. For my new grieving self, it is a daily occurrence. Just rowing my boat… in my quiet laundry room.
Don’t worry, I am not alone. God is with me, my friends close, boys sleeping and Sexy Neck woowing me with warm muffins.
Can you leave me a wee comment? It will give me something to read while I lie on the floor.
Be Living With Irony
In the last six months, I have endured the most devastating and richest time of my life.
I am living through metaphors and irony daily. I should have paid more attention in English Twelve so that I could figure this all out.
Irony, ironic, paradoxical.
Sitting where I am today, I know that I will never be able to ‘make sense’ of my mom’s cancer journey and death.
But I will look at the irony and beauty that has come from this beast of a year.
The irony that the hard times are when you find your deep friends, the ones that you can never repay, come be at your side, feel free to weep with on a daily basis and organize decorations from 500 kilometres away for mom’s funeral without question.
The letting go of people that just don’t get what you are going through and the deepening of friendships of those that know the profound earth shattering feeling of losing your mom.
The yanking apart of my family so that I could be at Mom’s side.
The incredible pillar of strength deep within my husband so that he could be all things for me and the boys when we needed it throughout this entire journey. Sexy Neck has a deep, deep well. What a gift he has been.
My dad, oh my dad. We were close before we went to war to help mom, but now we have an honesty and camaraderie that makes us teammates and friends.
Sweet victory.
Sad loss.
Richness.
Devastation.
Beauty.
Beast.
Life.
Death.
Light.
Darkness.
Irony.
Living in it, through it, with it, every day!
"Be" ENOUGH 