Category: losing a parent

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Cancer Family & Friends Health losing a parent Mothering Parenting

April 18th- Birthday and Cancer

 

Birthday and cancer may seem like an odd title, but April 18th, would have been my mom’s 63rd birthday.  She passed away 2 years ago, and I can’t help but think about her today. Losing a parent never really goes away.  There are always reminders, birthdays, holidays, and family events that tend to make you stop and remember.  Fortunately, I have a lot of happy memories of her, and that is what I like to remember about her.

I actually skipped the cemetery visit today. I’ve always gone on her birthday, and death anniversary. But this year, I don’t feel the need.  I know she is in a better place, and even though her remains are buried, I don’t think her spirit is in the cemetery. Her spirit is in the memories my siblings and I have of her, and in our children.  People often tell me what great kids I have, and credit that to my mom.  She was a good mom, and I model a lot of my parenting after my mom.  When I’m facing parenting issues I have no idea on how to handle, I think back to what she did, and 9 times out of 10 it works with my kids.

So today, in her honor, I’m going to spend some extra time with Ryan and Cole, and tell them a story about when I was a little girl with my mom. I have the picture books she put together, and I’m going to find the book with my first trip to Disneyland, when I was 6, and show those pictures to the boys, and tell them what I remember about it and my mom.  I think that will do more to honor her spirit and teach my boys about their Nana, then going to the cemetery.

April 18, 2009 was the day I received the phone call from my doctor that changed my life- forever.  I was told I had thyroid cancer. That day seemed so long ago, and yet, it seems like it was yesterday. I remember wondering what was going to happen to my boys. I remember my family and friends telling me I was going to beat this, and be okay.  I remember being the most scared I ever was.  I remember crying for hours and then stopping.  Getting dressed and going out with my family and friends.  Being normal, in an abnormal situation.   Knowing I had to for my kids.  Nothing else mattered. They needed their mom- every child does. I remember that night resolving no matter what, I was going to fight and do whatever I needed to do, to fight cancer, get healthy, and live so my kids didn’t have to grow up without me.

It isn’t always been easy. I have to do follow up visits every time this year, that stress me out and bring up all the “what if’s,” again. But, three years after a cancer diagnosis, with the help, support, and love of my kids, family, and friends, what I envisioned as hope, three years ago, is a reality.

I wish I had time to respond to all the emails I get from thyroid cancer patients, but I just don’t anymore.  I am planning to write another post soon, addressing a lot of comments, questions, and issues, I’ve received in emails.  I haven’t written about cancer in a long time, but this date is significant for me.  No one knows what is around the corner, but those of us who have had cancer, happen to know some of what we need to deal with.  My boyfriend, John, pointed out to me this past week, I know what I am dealing with, and can stay on top of it. It actually does make it easier in some respects.

The only way cancer wins out is if it steals your spirit from you. There were days when I was fighting cancer, I didn’t care if I was alive or not. Then I remembered my kids and family.  Let them be your strength.  Let people help you.  Even though it is a battle, thyroid cancer is curable.  Don’t let it take your passion, drive, and optimism away.

One of my favorite things I read when I was fighting cancer was, “Cancer is a word. Not a sentence.” Sometimes it is easy to let it become a sentence, but it doesn’t help you in the long term.  Three years ago, as I was crying on my bed for hours, I would have never imagined I would be in the best health of my life, cancer free, biking, 30+ miles, placing in competitive running races, and thriving, within a few short years.

I want anyone who is fighting cancer, to know life is what you make of it- cancer or no cancer. Don’t let it become your “sentence.” Fight with everything you have to keep it a word.  Fight with all you have, and then some, to beat it.  It is hard at times- most things worthwhile are.  But, three years later I can tell you, from being there and back, it is one of the most important things you will ever do.

My mom passed away before I got my cancer free diagnosis last year.  But she saw me fight it, and continuing to live my life.  One of the last conversations I had with her in the hospice, she held my hand with what little strength she had left, and told me I was fine. She told me to keep running; she could see how strong it was making me.  She said she knew the cancer was gone- she said I was just too strong for it to survive- I was stronger than cancer. She was right.

Happy Birthday, Mom.  I love you.

To all my thyroid cancer fighters and survivors: Keep fighting! Cancer is a word. Not a sentence.

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Activities Cancer Cole Family & Friends Health losing a parent Parenting Running Ryan School Work

Time for an Update!

It’s been a month since I’ve written a blog post!  I wish I had a great excuse for not doing so, but I’ve been busy.  Mainly with work.  I work in the accounting field, and this is always a busy time of year.

I’ve been well since my last post- finding out I was cured from cancer.  It is pretty hard to top that!  My doctor changed my Synthroid dosage slightly for reasons I mentioned in the previous post.  I now take a smaller dosage on Sunday, and I’m finding I’m very tired on Monday and Tuesday.  It’s amazing how such a small adjustment down in dosage can affect how I feel.  I’ve been trying to get more rest on these nights, and just hoping eventually my body will adjust.  But it’s always a process. 

The weather has been so windy here, and we’ve had lots of rain and cooler temperatures.  Combined with my being swamped at work, and extra tired two days out of the week, I’ve not been running as often or as long as I would like to.  I also had a hard time last year, around this time of year.  Everything with my mom being sick, dying, having her funeral, her birthday, and then Mother’s Day, started in February and goes until May.  It’s only been a year, and it’s still an emotionally hard time during these “anniversary” dates. 

I’m trying to let myself feel what I need to feel and not push myself physically too much.  I have been able to get out on shorter runs on tougher routes during my lunch, and that feels like the extent of what I want to do with running for now.  I hope as the weather gets nicer, I can start running longer distances again and get out on my bike.  I was going to try to run a half marathon in April, but I hadn’t been able to build up the mileage, and I didn’t want to risk running that distance and get hurt.  I’m not going to pressure myself to run in any races for the time being, but am just going to enjoy running when I can for now. 

Ryan and Cole are doing great.  School is almost over for them, and they are excited about attending a school / day camp program where they will be learning and going on field trips this summer. They have both learned how to ice skate, and enjoy playing hockey- on ice, and in our driveway.  Ryan is finishing up Cub Scouts for the year and they both started karate lessons a few weeks ago.  They love it, and are already talking about earning their next level belt. They don’t want to be white belts anymore!  Here’s a picture of them from their first lesson:

I’m looking forward to summer- the warmer weather and spending time with my boys.  They are growing so fast, and after this summer my “baby” will be in school full-time.  Cole is going to be five next month, and in full time kindergarten in the fall.  It seems like those years from when he was a baby to now, have just flown by.  I hope we can slow down a bit during the summer, relax more, and I can savor what is left of my youngest child’s pre-school days. 

My 20th (gulp) high school reunion is planned for July. I helped plan our 10 year reunion, and am helping out as much as I can on planning the 20th.  If I thought my kids were growing too fast, it seems crazy I’ve been out of high school for (almost) two decades!  It will be fun to see everyone in person, and see all of our kids- new ones, and see how the babies have grown into pre-teens and teenagers from the last reunion.  Seems like we were just kids ourselves, and now we have kids- when did that happen? 😉

I am planning a special post in June, to coincide with the two year anniversary of my thyroid cancer surgery.  I’m excited about it, and I think it will help so many cancer patients looking for resources and answers.

This is some of what has been going on- of course there is more, but I’m trying to get to bed earlier, so the more will just have to wait. 🙂 I post shorter updates on my FaceBook Fan Page.  I hope you will stop by there, and even though it’s been a few weeks, thanks for continuing to read A Mama’s Blog.

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Cancer Family & Friends losing a parent

A Gift

My mother, Linnie, with my brother, Jeff, (her first child) in 1970.

One year.  My mom has been dead for one year today.  Some days it seems like she’s still out there- living her life and she’ll be calling any day to say ‘Hi,’ like she often did.  Then there are days where it seems like she’s been gone for ten years. 

When she died, I had no idea how to get through the next year.  I don’t think anyone does- you just do.  Life goes on.  There are kids, jobs, family, relationships, friends, hobbies, and all the other stuff that keeps life busy.  I have had all of those things this past year.  I’ve wanted to share them with my mom.  There have been days where I’ve cried for her. Days where I’ve been mad, days where I have peace, days I’m happy she’s not suffering, but most of all I just miss her.

I realized around Christmas, when I pulled out “The Night Before Christmas,” book she recorded in her voice the year before for Ryan and Cole, I was forgetting what her voice sounded like.  You don’t think about that- until you realize you are forgetting what their voice sounds like. 

All the things- little and big, I took for granted from her- parenting advice (sometimes asked for, sometimes not), Mother Day cards and wishes, phone calls, little odd gifts that would come from QVC in the mail to me because she thought I’d like them, visits, birthday cards, encouragement, someone who always had time for me, unwavering support, my boys’ Nana, and unconditional love, I noticed this past year, painfully, because those things are not here from her anymore. 

And yet, I still have a sense she’s with me.  As I have gone through the tedious process of keeping current my cancer follow up care, I hear her voice in the back of my mind, telling me to stay up on it.  I see her smile in Ryan, Cole, and my niece’s.  When I am baking or cooking one of her recipes, I remember the love she had for us, as she made the same dishes years ago.  When I feel like I really need to know she’s looking out for us, something happens- something unexplainable, which I can only attribute to her. Like Cole telling me out of the blue, that Nana visits him when he sleeps, and she tells him she loves all of us.  Or the pharmacy dropping the price on the very expensive cancer testing drug I need by the exact amount my insurance won’t cover.  It’s hard not to think she is out there somehow- making sure we know her presence is here.

Then there is the guilt and questions that are always buried beneath the surface.  Was I a good enough daughter? Did I spend enough time with her?  Did she know I loved her? Did she know how much I appreciated things she had done for me her entire life? I tried to make sure I told her these things during the few days we had in the hospice, but I can’t remember.  Much of that week is a blur.  I do remember when I told John my mom was very sick, probably was going to die, and I was heading to Minnesota with my sister, he told me the time I would have with my mom would be a gift.  I didn’t really register what that would mean at the time, but I thought about it while I was spending time with her in the hospital and hospice, after she passed away, and during this past year.

A gift.  A gift to watch your mother die.  A gift to be there.  A gift to say good-bye.  A gift to laugh with her one more time.  A gift for her to hear her grandchildren’s voices for a final time.  A gift for all of us to be a family one more time.  A gift for her to hug me.  A gift for her to hold my hand.  A gift for her stroke my hair one last time, like she did when I was little.  A gift to crawl into bed with her, like I did when I was little.  A gift to be her little girl, one final time.   A gift to tell her I love her.  A gift for her to tell me she loves me.  A gift to see her make the decision this was the end of her life.  A gift for her to see the outpouring of love from her friends.  A gift to hear her labored breathing, as it slowed down every hour.   A gift to know it was peaceful.  A gift to hold her hand, as she took her last breath.  A gift to see her suffering end.  A gift to see her spirit finally at peace-forever.

To have had and to have known these things in my mom’s final week of her life, even with the pain and heartache, -the comfort it has brought me- I can’t fully describe. The only words I have are: A Gift.

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Family & Friends losing a parent

May She Rest in Peace

If you read my blog regularly, you know one of my best friends is Amy whose blog is Crunchy Domestic Goddess.  In the last post I wrote about my friends who I have been friends with since our children were born.  Amy is one of those friends. I’ve written a lot about Amy over the past few years.  She has been there for me in every way possible and then some when I was fighting cancer, going through a divorce, and dealing with my mom’s sudden illness and death.  

I received some heartbreaking news from her yesterday morning.  Her younger and only sister, Carrie, was killed in a car accident Monday night.  She was returning from visiting friends in the mountains, the roads were icy, and the weather was bad.  Carrie lost control of her car and was hit head on by a truck.  She passed away instantly. 

Over the years I’ve gotten to know Carrie too and she was always a joy to be around.  She had a beautiful smile, and I can’t recall ever seeing her not smiling.  She helped all of us out with our kids when she could.  For our surprise going away party for Julie, just weeks ago, she watched several of our kids, so we could have an adult party.  She was a terrific aunt to Amy’s two children, and she was an amazing sister to Amy.

When I first heard this terrible news, I started to cry, and cried all day off and on. So did my friends.  We are all in such disbelief, shock, and grief.  Carrie was only 31, had recently finished law school and had a job advocating for people with disabilities.  It is tragic her life was cut so short.

I visited Amy briefly on Tuesday, and it is not often I am at a loss for words.  But I was, and still am.  I wish there were magic words I could say to make this terrible situation go away.  Nothing anyone can say or do will bring Carrie back to her family, or ease the pain and anguish Amy and her family are in.

I think about my friends, and my own two sisters and brother.  While losing my mom was awful, in some aspects I think it is more “natural” than losing a sibling so early in life.  Parents age- our siblings and friends are supposed to live long lives, and certainly not die in terrible freak accidents. 

And it brought back many feelings of my mom’s death- again.  All the feelings- the intense pain, and the sense of helplessness.  I had a few friends who told me they could not attend my mom’s funeral service, because they had lost a parent, or a loved one recently.  I understood, and could imagine how they felt, but didn’t really “get it.” Sadly today, I do.  And part of me wants to forget this happened and not think about it death, dying, accidents, funerals, moving on after a loved one is gone, what to say or what to do, anymore. 

There will be a service for Carrie on Saturday, and I am going to attend.  It meant so much to me to see the people who had come to say good-bye to my mom with my family and I, and Amy was one of those friends who was there for me on that very hard day.  I hope I can be strong and be a help and a comfort to Amy and her family instead of a hindrance while I try to keep control of my own feelings and emotions about my mom. 

I wish I had some clever way to wrap up this post, but I don’t.  Death leaves more questions than answers.  The only thing that does seem to help is time. 

To Amy and her family: My deepest sympathies, and may Carrie rest in peace. 

Carrie & Amy, May 2010

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Family & Friends losing a parent Mothering

Six Months…

I have some fun blog posts to write about New York, our vacation to Michigan, school, and some running updates.  But those will have to wait. 

A few days ago, I was looking for a picture on my computer when the computer brought up the series of pictures of the trip I took to Disneyland in February 2009.  It was the trip I took with my mom, my brother, my sister, and sister-in-law, to celebrate my mom’s 60th birthday.  The pictures made me incredibly sad- to know now one year after that trip, almost to the day- my mom passed away.

My sister called me yesterday upset.  She had a situation in her classroom that was very difficult.  She mentioned it was particually upsetting since tomorrow (which is today), is the six-month mark of our mom passing away. 

I had a really hard time in May with my mom’s death.  I took some time “off” from everything and it helped.  I still have moments when I am really sad, and I miss her a lot, but it is slowing getting better on a day-to-day basis.  For travel to Michigan, we had layovers both ways in Minneapolis, where my mom lived.  The boys and I had lunch with my mom’s friends, Lisa, Annie, and Michelle, who all loved my mom, and helped our family immensely during all of this.  It was so good to talk to them and see them again.   

Those pictures from the other day must have reminded me on a subconscious level.  And yesterday, hearing the words out-loud from my sister- it made me feel a lot.  I can hardly believe my mom has been gone for six months.  It seems like six years.  I have missed her so much.  I’ve missed filling her in on so many things.  I miss talking to her. I miss her voice.  I miss her quirky little habits that used to annoy me.  I miss her late night calls.  I miss her support and love.  I miss not being able to tell her about Ryan and Cole. 

I have been so busy with so many things- until I stop and just think about her, I don’t think about missing her, don’t feel like I am missing her, and I feel guilty about that.  I feel guilty I drive by the cemetery she is laid to rest in almost every day, and I have only been there three times.  It was her wish to be buried there, but I hate seeing it everyday.  It is a beautiful cemetery for someone else’s mother.  I don’t want to think about my mother being there. 

But I also wanted to go today.  To be there.  To touch the gravestone, and to honor her memory.  The boys wanted to go as well- they said they wanted to talk to Nana.  We brought my mom flowers and pictures of our lives from the last six months- the first six months of events she’s missed.  Pictures of my brother, sisters, our children, our families, and our friends. 

The pictures don’t show the sadness and the sense of loss behind the smiles, the loss that is always there- buried, and ignored.  Because death is part of life. We have to move on with our lives, figuring it out as we go.  Together and separately.  No one processes the death of a parent exactly the same way.   

A woman at the hospice told my brother life without our mom never gets easier- it just gets different.  I know that is true.  With the pictures I brought to my mom’s grave, our lives are different than they were six months ago.  But as I was looking at them, I saw they show the basics in life that will never change, and what my mom would want for all of us.  They are pictures of our lives, and of our children’s-playing, growing, traveling, changing, loving, happiness, living.