OK, it's time.
I've never been real big on this journal thing, but I do feel I should update it occasionally. Haven't felt like it for a long time, because my life has been pretty unrelentingly awful the last couple of years, and I didnt want to whine. But, lately things have been turning around in a really nice way, so I think it's time I got some things out there. Not that anybody cares, but I need to say them.
So, why has my life sucked? Couple of big reasons, and I'll start with the easy one first. In my last update, I was whining about work. Well, it sucked back then, and it only got worse. I was horribly underemployed, in debt, my car got repossessed, and then I lost my job. There were times when I honestly wanted to cry, because I just didn't know what to do.
I did manage to find a job. It was a crappy job, but I liked the place and the people, and I figured maybe I could build a better future there. I managed to impress a few people, even though I was horribly depressed the whole time. They offered me a promotion, into the same job I used to do 5 years ago before my little slide into hell started. It wasn't for as much money as I was making 5 years ago, but it was a start so I was happy to get it. That was a year ago. Fast forward to now, and I'm still there, they've given me a pretty substantial raise, and I'm actually doing stuff I like! I'm still not making as much as I did, but fuck it, I'm making enough, I've never been about money and I'm not gonna start now.
So, in the end, things have turned out pretty well on the job front. That's the first thing that made my life hell. It's easy. The second thing makes it seem like nothing at all.
About three and a half years ago, my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. It was a terrible time, but they caught it somewhat early, so we knew she at least had a chance. She had surgery and went on radiation treatment, and joy of joys, one year later she was declared cancer free by her doctor.
In that year, I learned to appreciate her more than I ever had before. She had always been there, and I always loved her, but before the cancer seeing her, calling her, spending time with her was a burden. I didn't want to be bothered. In that year, I realized how much I truly did love her, and how precious every moment I got to spend with her was. I am at least grateful for that.
About six months after she was declared cancer free, we learned that it had come back. This time, it had moved to her liver and her lungs. She was 76 years old at the time, and getting increasingly fragile, so I think we all knew that this time around it would take miracle. There was nothing they could do surgically, so they put her on an aggressive regimen of chemotherapy. If you've ever known anyone on chemo, you know what an evil thing it is.
In the following year I saw her deteriorate steadily, going from a woman full of life, independent, and always putting a happy face on life to a mere shell, unable to dress herself, unable to keep down food, and unable to walk 5 steps without sitting down afterward to catch her breath. I spent as much time with her and my dad as I could. It broke my heart in a thousand pieces to see this happen to this strong woman who had been the center of all our lives.
Of course, life has a twisted sense of humor, so around Halloween 2005, we heard from her doctors that things were looking much better. After a new CAT scan, they claimed that the mass in her liver had shrunk, and the masses in her lungs, they now said, may not have been cancerous at all. Things looked up. I saw her on Halloween, and she seemed happier and stronger than she had been in sometime, and I drove home with a joy in my heart that I hadn't felt in a long time.
This is where I did something that I hate myself a little bit for. I relaxed. Over the next month, I didn't drive the 2 hours to see her. I spoke to her on the phone only once. I think I was so drained from the ordeal of the last year that I just wanted to push it all aside and focus on the happier things for just a little while. If I hadn't done this, if I had called, my father no doubt would have warned me of the truth that I soon discovered.
Of course, the doctors were wrong. I didn't know that until I saw her on Thanksgiving at my brother's house, when she was so out of it that she could do little more than sit in a chair and smile weakly at her loving family. While my nieces and nephews played and laughed and fought and cried around her, I wrestled with my shock. She had turned the corner the month before, she was going to be ok... and now she was clearly going to go, not just someday, but soon.
It didn't take long. She went into the hospital about a week later. She wasn't eating or drinking, so they had to bring her in to keep her hydrated and fed. The doctors continued to say hopeful things, but somehow when I looked at her I just couldn't believe them. I spent the next few weekends visiting, as much time as I could and still keep my job.
On the second weekend of December, I knew she was very close, not because she looked so much worse, but because she had given up. She didn't want to fight anymore. I drove home that Sunday night having heard from the doctors that it was probably a matter of a few weeks. That Monday, I got a call from my father telling me that I needed to wrap up whatever I needed at work, and come back to the hospital. I told my work I would be taking some time off, and made plans to drive up the next morning, thinking it would be only a few days more. In fact, it was a few hours.
When I got to the hospital at 9 that morning, her breathing was labored, and she seemed to be unconscious although her eyes occasionally would flutter. My father and brothers were there, and my sister arrived about an hour later. We took turns sitting close to her, holding her hand, telling her how much we loved her, and crying.
At about 11, I remember I told her not just that I loved her, not just what she meant to me, but that I would be ok. At the time, I thought she needed to hear it, if she could hear anything at all. Soon after, her labored breathing quieted, and she opened her eyes. She lifted her head up and looked at her children around her and her loving husband, and I believe she smiled. It's hard to say, because her face was so tight and drawn from the pain, but I believe she smiled. And then, at 11:02, Tuesday the 13th of December, 2005, she laid down her head and died.
My father asked me to read his eulogy to her, because he didn't think he could do it, and, though I was terrified, I agreed. I am very proud to say I got through it and I think did justice to her memory. As I said then, in my father's words, she was the brilliant star around which we all orbited.
So... obviously I've been crying a lot as I wrote this, but honestly once she passed, I didn't feel so much grief, as relief. As I thought about it in the weeks following, I realized that I had already done my grieving. They say there are stages of grief you go through, and I had spent the previous year going through them all. I had punched walls, I had cursed god, pleaded with him, denied that she would really pass, of course she would be ok... When she finally did pass, I was certainly filled with grief, but even more so I felt an overwhelming relief that at least she was past the pain and misery she had fought for the last year.
The one thought that struck me as I sleep-walked through the week leading up to her funeral, is this.
We do not cry for the ones who have passed, the ones we love, for they have passed beyond the pain, the struggle, and the fear.
We cry for ourselves, for what will we do now that they are gone?
I don't believe in god, heaven, or an afterlife, but I do know that she lives on in my heart, and she always will. And I know for damn sure certain that the last thing she would want me to do is sit around moping and feeling sorry for myself. So, life goes on.
*********************************************************
I'm sorry this was so long and rambling. I guess because I had to speak in my father's words at her funeral, it's kind of important to speak in my own words now. I hope I didn't bum anyone out too much. If so, don't worry about me, life really does go on.
I've never been real big on this journal thing, but I do feel I should update it occasionally. Haven't felt like it for a long time, because my life has been pretty unrelentingly awful the last couple of years, and I didnt want to whine. But, lately things have been turning around in a really nice way, so I think it's time I got some things out there. Not that anybody cares, but I need to say them.
So, why has my life sucked? Couple of big reasons, and I'll start with the easy one first. In my last update, I was whining about work. Well, it sucked back then, and it only got worse. I was horribly underemployed, in debt, my car got repossessed, and then I lost my job. There were times when I honestly wanted to cry, because I just didn't know what to do.
I did manage to find a job. It was a crappy job, but I liked the place and the people, and I figured maybe I could build a better future there. I managed to impress a few people, even though I was horribly depressed the whole time. They offered me a promotion, into the same job I used to do 5 years ago before my little slide into hell started. It wasn't for as much money as I was making 5 years ago, but it was a start so I was happy to get it. That was a year ago. Fast forward to now, and I'm still there, they've given me a pretty substantial raise, and I'm actually doing stuff I like! I'm still not making as much as I did, but fuck it, I'm making enough, I've never been about money and I'm not gonna start now.
So, in the end, things have turned out pretty well on the job front. That's the first thing that made my life hell. It's easy. The second thing makes it seem like nothing at all.
About three and a half years ago, my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. It was a terrible time, but they caught it somewhat early, so we knew she at least had a chance. She had surgery and went on radiation treatment, and joy of joys, one year later she was declared cancer free by her doctor.
In that year, I learned to appreciate her more than I ever had before. She had always been there, and I always loved her, but before the cancer seeing her, calling her, spending time with her was a burden. I didn't want to be bothered. In that year, I realized how much I truly did love her, and how precious every moment I got to spend with her was. I am at least grateful for that.
About six months after she was declared cancer free, we learned that it had come back. This time, it had moved to her liver and her lungs. She was 76 years old at the time, and getting increasingly fragile, so I think we all knew that this time around it would take miracle. There was nothing they could do surgically, so they put her on an aggressive regimen of chemotherapy. If you've ever known anyone on chemo, you know what an evil thing it is.
In the following year I saw her deteriorate steadily, going from a woman full of life, independent, and always putting a happy face on life to a mere shell, unable to dress herself, unable to keep down food, and unable to walk 5 steps without sitting down afterward to catch her breath. I spent as much time with her and my dad as I could. It broke my heart in a thousand pieces to see this happen to this strong woman who had been the center of all our lives.
Of course, life has a twisted sense of humor, so around Halloween 2005, we heard from her doctors that things were looking much better. After a new CAT scan, they claimed that the mass in her liver had shrunk, and the masses in her lungs, they now said, may not have been cancerous at all. Things looked up. I saw her on Halloween, and she seemed happier and stronger than she had been in sometime, and I drove home with a joy in my heart that I hadn't felt in a long time.
This is where I did something that I hate myself a little bit for. I relaxed. Over the next month, I didn't drive the 2 hours to see her. I spoke to her on the phone only once. I think I was so drained from the ordeal of the last year that I just wanted to push it all aside and focus on the happier things for just a little while. If I hadn't done this, if I had called, my father no doubt would have warned me of the truth that I soon discovered.
Of course, the doctors were wrong. I didn't know that until I saw her on Thanksgiving at my brother's house, when she was so out of it that she could do little more than sit in a chair and smile weakly at her loving family. While my nieces and nephews played and laughed and fought and cried around her, I wrestled with my shock. She had turned the corner the month before, she was going to be ok... and now she was clearly going to go, not just someday, but soon.
It didn't take long. She went into the hospital about a week later. She wasn't eating or drinking, so they had to bring her in to keep her hydrated and fed. The doctors continued to say hopeful things, but somehow when I looked at her I just couldn't believe them. I spent the next few weekends visiting, as much time as I could and still keep my job.
On the second weekend of December, I knew she was very close, not because she looked so much worse, but because she had given up. She didn't want to fight anymore. I drove home that Sunday night having heard from the doctors that it was probably a matter of a few weeks. That Monday, I got a call from my father telling me that I needed to wrap up whatever I needed at work, and come back to the hospital. I told my work I would be taking some time off, and made plans to drive up the next morning, thinking it would be only a few days more. In fact, it was a few hours.
When I got to the hospital at 9 that morning, her breathing was labored, and she seemed to be unconscious although her eyes occasionally would flutter. My father and brothers were there, and my sister arrived about an hour later. We took turns sitting close to her, holding her hand, telling her how much we loved her, and crying.
At about 11, I remember I told her not just that I loved her, not just what she meant to me, but that I would be ok. At the time, I thought she needed to hear it, if she could hear anything at all. Soon after, her labored breathing quieted, and she opened her eyes. She lifted her head up and looked at her children around her and her loving husband, and I believe she smiled. It's hard to say, because her face was so tight and drawn from the pain, but I believe she smiled. And then, at 11:02, Tuesday the 13th of December, 2005, she laid down her head and died.
My father asked me to read his eulogy to her, because he didn't think he could do it, and, though I was terrified, I agreed. I am very proud to say I got through it and I think did justice to her memory. As I said then, in my father's words, she was the brilliant star around which we all orbited.
So... obviously I've been crying a lot as I wrote this, but honestly once she passed, I didn't feel so much grief, as relief. As I thought about it in the weeks following, I realized that I had already done my grieving. They say there are stages of grief you go through, and I had spent the previous year going through them all. I had punched walls, I had cursed god, pleaded with him, denied that she would really pass, of course she would be ok... When she finally did pass, I was certainly filled with grief, but even more so I felt an overwhelming relief that at least she was past the pain and misery she had fought for the last year.
The one thought that struck me as I sleep-walked through the week leading up to her funeral, is this.
We do not cry for the ones who have passed, the ones we love, for they have passed beyond the pain, the struggle, and the fear.
We cry for ourselves, for what will we do now that they are gone?
I don't believe in god, heaven, or an afterlife, but I do know that she lives on in my heart, and she always will. And I know for damn sure certain that the last thing she would want me to do is sit around moping and feeling sorry for myself. So, life goes on.
*********************************************************
I'm sorry this was so long and rambling. I guess because I had to speak in my father's words at her funeral, it's kind of important to speak in my own words now. I hope I didn't bum anyone out too much. If so, don't worry about me, life really does go on.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
So I am sending you a smile and because I am a pervert I am thinking about sitting on your face, just to cheer you up.