Hope In The Midst

In the space of three weeks, a friend and neighbor died of ovarian cancer; a sweet former co-worker and friend lost her battle with breast cancer; and my aunt died after suffering for years with rheumatoid arthritis.

I sent Clint over to the neighbors' with home cooked food and home made cards from the girls. Clint would call to check in, see if they needed anything. They were battened down for the storm, but it was good to come up every once in a while for air. Then we learned that her cancer had spread; she had come home with the understanding that further treatment would only prolong her life by months. She died within two weeks.

Another friend and former coworker had been battling breast cancer for years. I had sent her meals and desserts, prayed for her, got lots of updates from mutual friends and thought she was handling this thing. Then I found her obituary in the newspaper.

It just didn't seem real.

All this was going on as I spoke almost daily to my mother, who was then finishing her second, and beginning her third chemotherapy treatment for breast cancer. My mom has such a positive outlook, such a faith that all will be well, that I couldn't tell her about my two friends; it might have set her back. My mom's dealt with nausea, loss of hair and appetite, weakness, going from insomnia to hardly being able to stay awake for days on end. She's had shots to combat low white blood cell count, and fluid injection to remedy mild dehydration. She's taken pills to battle constipation only to turn around and deal with bouts of diarrhea. It's been a constant struggle to feel normal, to feel like eating, or sleeping, or waking up, talking. And yet she's had the most positive attitude about it all.

"Three down, one to go," she said after the last treatment. "Next week I'll start feeling like eating again."

She'd lost 7 lbs in one week. How can I do anything but listen and cheer her on? I can't even think about what these women have been suffering. My mom has shown me such strength and grace. I couldn't possibly have a better role model, a real hero.

She was sad that she couldn't travel to Florida for my aunt's funeral, or to Pittsburgh three weeks later for the memorial service.

"I'm sure they'll understand your reasons, Mom," I told her. "I"ll give them your condolences."

I think a lot about my aunt, and about my cousins and their grief. I remember all those family reunions growing up, and visits to their house, about her infectious laugh. I remember Aunt Ginny and Uncle Joe at our wedding, and when she and my cousin came to visit after Maisey was born.

It still doesn't seem real.

My mom and I talk about her plans for the spring--home projects, gardening projects. She wants a riding mower so she can cut her own grass, take care of her own yard. It seems as good as any goal to achieve.

"Make your plans Mom; be ready. Spring will be here before you know it."

Change Is Good

I had a huge face palm moment the other day, whining that nothing seems to change anymore. I love change. I love doing new things, going to new places, meeting new people. So of course, I looked back on the past 7 years of my life and complained that not much has changed. And that's when the face palm moment arrived: While I was busy being under and overwhelmed with the mundane routine of running the house and caring for the girls, I actually overlooked the magnitude of their ability to go from drooling, babbling little clingons to independent thinkers and speakers of complete sentences with big words--like "specifically" and "apparently," especially used to disagree with my wishes. Not only are they speakers of full sentences to articulate feelings, wants and needs, to ask questions, acquire things--like sweets and food, a play date, or a game--they are making arguments (and sometimes winning).

While I was engrossed with and grossed out by my duty to clean baby bottoms and save the environment(i.e. washing cloth diapers), my kids went from snoozing in bouncy chairs to crawling, to toddling, to running, climbing and jumping on furniture, stairs, and jungle gyms with great speed and even greater daring.

While my mind drew blanks at the endless question of what to make for dinner, and lingered on how much I despised cooking, my girls gained round ruddy cheeks and bellies, their cherubby bodies lengthening and their heads sprouting ever-thickening hair from mere peach fuzz to beautiful blonde tendrils reaching down to their bums. And all of this was marked by the endless boxes of clothing and shoes, socks, coats, cribs and toys that made the circuit in and out of the house. My girls have transformed in only seven years.

It occurs to me that I am living in a microcosm of change. Every milestone, every event, every day, I've been and will be witness to and a part of change. My children have grown from birth to school age in the past seven years. This was fascinating, worldview-altering change, actually.

So I get it now. Even if it's moving as slowly as geologic time. Change is everywhere.

Tennessee Time

We played hookey on the last day of school and headed south to Tennessee for a visit with Nanny. Nothing beats getting away for 10 days to see my mom, relax, and do some fun things.

Some of the highlights: Find the nearest playground and ice cream shop. Oh yeah, and enjoy the soap box derby too.

Next, find an even bigger playground. I have to say, well done Tullahoma, the Imagination Station was fantastic.

Then, find a swimming pool (or two) and go swimming!

There was also a pit stop in Shelbyville for a bit of sightseeing and antiquing.

And then, after that, find a cool Hands On Science Center and have fun while it pours rain outside.

It was a lot of fun, if you just look at the pictures. But I'm dodging the truth. We didn't just come for a visit. We came to pick up my mom from a cancer treatment center in Knoxville after a week of radiation therapy following a partial mastectomy.

My mom is my hero. She went through the whole week of radiation therapy alone. And while I'm the worst daughter in the world for not being there during that week, my mom said it worked out just fine for her.

The cancer center gave her a small apartment within a block of the hospital, where she walked to and from treatments twice a day for a week. Only a week, I told myself, trying to justify not being there. Those reasons seem so insignificant now--the last week of school was so late after all those snow days; how will my mother be able to rest if I'm there with two children making noise and chaos all the time; how will we all fit in a tiny one bedroom apartment--would we even be allowed there with her? She was fine she said. She only got a little dizzy on the last day, and was able to nap in the apartment before her last treatment. The center staff checked on her daily, and I called her every day to see how she was feeling, ready to jump in the car and drive the 6 hours to Knoxville if she needed me. She was fine.

When we picked her up, it was almost as if she had just rented a little vacation place for a week. Clint drove her car while I drove my mom and the kids the 3 1/2 hours from Knoxville back to Tullahoma, where it felt a little more normal, if there was such a thing. And, in the midst of parks and swimming and shopping, I checked on her incisions, and put lotion on her feet, and cooked meals, and listened. And after a few days the tension subsided, and we all began to feel like it was just a family visit.

She has a follow up visit with the doctor to determine whether she has to undergo chemotherapy. For now, I'm thankful she's herself, she's home, and she's the strongest woman I know.