New Year's Improvements

Today is New Year's Eve, and as that big crystal ball slowly approaches its drop tonight, I have been inspired to think of things to improve for the new year. I am not calling these "New Year's Resolutions," because no one ever sticks to those, but rather, "New Year's Improvements." They are not things I am completely changing or starting from this point, just things I hope to encourage more of within myself and things I will accomplish in the years to come.

1. I will floss twice a day instead of just once.
2. I will pluck my eyebrows without letting them grow in all wild...I know this one sounds stupid but because of all the tragic and stressful things that have happened to me and my family this year, I have seriously neglected little things that make me feel taken care of. i.e. plucking my eyebrows. In fact, I would like to revise this one to "I will make a solid effort to maintain myself so I feel taken care of without verging on the border of 'vain' or 'self-conceited.'"
3. I will continue to maintain the laughter and sense of humor aunt Polly taught me all the years I was lucky enough to enjoy with her.
4. I will finish school, finish my thesis, get a job, get a place of my own, and finally feel like I am moving in the right direction.
5. I will buy my wedding dress.
6. I will continue to grow in my relationships with my aunts and love them like my mom did, like sisters.
7. I will honor my mom's memory at cancer walks and 5Ks and continue to run like she encouraged.
8. I will continue to give back to the American Cancer Society, Hope Lodge, Making Strides Against Breast Cancer, and the Relay for Life, although it may be challenging at times for me to return to these events.
9. I will avoid drama that lurks around every corner. I will keep my mouth shut the majority of the time, but I will speak up when the time is appropriate and I feel I am being misrepresented, taken advantage of, or walked all over. I will stand up for myself and not worry about those who chose to tare me down because of their own insecurities. I feel sorry for these people, and I will not behave the way they do.
10. Most importantly, I will continue to grow in myself and live the way my mom and aunt Polly did. They were two of the most beautiful people I have ever met, and I hope to be as loving, kind, generous, gentle, funny, and determined as they were. I will be conscious of the choices they would make when I am faced with my own, and as long as I continue to keep their love and memory alive, I will always make the right choice for myself. I hope to be just like them.

Goodbye 2009. You will not be missed.

Merry Christmas from Heaven

It is two days after Christmas, and today, for the first time in a long time, I picked up the phone to call my mom. It occurred to me that I hadn't talked to her in a while and reached in my purse to find it, then reality set in. It didn't hurt as bad this time. In fact, each time that happens, it hurts less and less. Which, really, is all I can ask for at this point.

Christmas was very nice, and I spent it with my family and friends, and I enjoyed it so much. Christmas eve was busy, and I helped my aunt Janny get things ready for her special dinner, and I spent the night. Because many of the babies in my family missed out on getting to know aunt Polly, my aunts had these special bears made out of some of her old Jiminy Cricket shirts. They were very special, and I helped her wrap them. Giving them to the babies and watching them open their gifts, even though now they don't realize how special they are, was amazing to watch and it really was so wonderful. After our big family get-together, we went back to aunt Janny's house and had our own Christmas exchange, and it was so much different than I expected it to be.

Usually what happens on Christmas eve is my mom's side of the family gets together at someone's house. We have a huge meal and unwrap our presents and sit around for hours and have tons of fun. Because things are so different this year with both my aunt Polly and my mom gone, some of us were not into the big get-together. Mainly me and my aunt Janny. But that is ok, because everyone has to deal with things like this in their own way, and this is what we chose to do. We did partake in the family get-together but only for about an hour, just to give the babies the special aunt Polly bears. Then, my fiance and I went back to aunt Janny's house and we all exchanged our presents with each other and we had a very quiet night together. We wanted things low-key this year.

I am an only child, and typically, I will admit, I am very spoiled on Christmas. I think my mom just could not help herself and always bought me presents like I was five. I'm not kidding. I always thought it was so funny how she'd tell me that this year was going to be "different" and that she didn't go "all out" like she did the year before. Of course, I thought that was ok, seeing as I'm in my twenties and do not go crazy over Christmas like a little kid does...and every year the family room would be filled with presents. Tons of presents. This, actually, is almost embarrassing to say. But she spoiled me to death on Christmas. This year, my aunts felt the need to take over this role, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by presents, sitting on aunt Janny's living room floor. I had a gift for Adrian and a gift for her, and I felt so embarrassed that I did not reciprocate in any way to the monumental amount of gifts they got me. And I cried. Like a child. I knew what was going on, and I just felt so sad. The presents were from my aunt Janny but also from my aunt Becky and aunt Rita, too. They were trying to take over for mom. I cried a lot. In fact, just thinking about it and trying to describe it makes me cry again. I just thought everything was going to be low-key, and it wasn't at all what I pictured and it really caught me off-guard. We all took turns opening presents, and so many of mine were so special that I continued to cry all night long. Needless to say, I will not even have to have a bridal shower...Adrian and I are set when it comes to our future kitchen.

Side note: Food is my life. I'm getting a Masters in Nutrition and Dietetics and think very seriously every year about going to culinary school. I watch Top Chef, the Food Network, and regularly search for new recipes and cookbooks just for fun. There is nothing more fun to me than making pasta by hand for hours...I love food. Love it.

They showered me with all things culinary and fabulous. And I loved it. And I cried.

One of the last things I opened was a tall box and the tag said, "To: Julia. From: Angelface." If you remember from a previous post, I often refer to my mom as Angelface, especially since I love that picture of her so much with her funny angel wings on. I knew right away whatever was in this box was going to push me over the edge. Wow, was I right.

I took the lid off and removed the sparkly, red tissue paper and I saw the top of a bear. And I recognized the fabric almost immediately. My mom's robe. They had a bear made for me out of her robe. It is the robe she always wore when she walked up and down the halls of the hospital to get her daily exercise and the robe she wore the morning my aunt Polly died. It is a very light robin's egg blue and has embroidered flowers on both sides. The bear's face and chest are lined with these flowers, and it even kind of smells like her. I cried so much my mascara ran down my face and I was afraid to touch her in case I got mascara all over her. I wiped my hands off and pulled her out of her box and hugged her like she was real. Aunt Janny was crying too, and she said, "You can add her to your nest."

"My nest" is my bed that is now filled with my mom's clothes. Her Tinkerbell sweatshirts and some of her nightgowns, ball caps, and t-shirts. And now my bear. I just love it. How special.

Another thing I got was an ornament that said, "Merry Christmas from Heaven." My aunt Rita got these for a bunch of us since aunt Polly and mom are gone this year. It came with a poem that I really liked, also called "Merry Christmas from Heaven," by John William Mooney, Jr.

I still hear the songs
I still see the lights
I still feel your love on cold wintry nights

I still share your hopes
and all of your cares
I'll even remind you
to please say your prayers

I just want to tell you
you still make me proud
You stand head and shoulders
above all the crowd

Keep trying each moment
to stay in His grace
I came here before you
to help set your place

you don't have to be
perfect all of the time
He forgives you the slip
If you continue the climb

To my family and friends
please be thankful today
I'm still close beside you
In a new special way

I love you all dearly
now don't shed a tear
Cause I'm spending my
Christmas with Jesus this year.

I really like the part about going to Heaven early to set up a place. I don't like that she's gone. But she is. And I like that she got there before me so she can come get me when I'm ready. I hope that is not for a very long time and that I get to do all the things she wanted me to do and all the things she didn't get to do herself. But I will be so happy to see her again when that time comes.

Christmas was bittersweet this year. I tried my best to stay brave and happy for everyone, and it wasn't too hard because that's really how I felt. It didn't need to be forced. I try to be really strong for her so she knows I'm mostly ok without her. I don't want her to feel bad that she's gone. I want her to enjoy Heaven and not worry about me very much. Even though I worry about her all the time. I hope that doesn't bother her.

Not everyone will understand this last part, and really, it is only for one person in particular, but I hope that everyone is aware that these posts are in no way to be used as ammunition against others. If you feel the need to read them and share them with others, I hope you do it in a way that is of the utmost respect so my words are not twisted or misconstrued. Drama is everywhere we turn these days, and with the pressure and stress I and my family have been under, no extra is needed. So, I request, with all do respect, that if you are reading this purely out of nosiness rather than care and curiosity, do not spread my words around to mean something they do not. Mind your own business. Be respectful. Thank you.

Karma

Something really interesting has occurred to me tonight and I want to write about it because it is one o'clock in the morning and I hoped to be sleeping nearly two hours ago, and if I don't get it out I will think about it all night long, making another sleepless night for me. For the 350th odd night in a row...

I, and my family, have been dealing with all of this stuff for literally (gasp) an entire year. You see, today is Christmas Eve of 2009, with only about one week left in this awful year. January of 2009, Aunt Polly was put on hospice. March 2009, my mom was diagnosed with leukemia. April of 2009, Aunt Polly finally died from cancer. Summer of 2009, we began the search for a bone marrow transplant for mom and by September she was in the Cleveland Clinic beginning extensive chemo because they found a "perfect match." October 8, 2009, she died. October 11th was her birthday. October 12th was her funeral. November 5th was my 24th birthday. This Christmas will be the first of many more Christmases without her.

She is not here to see my engagement. She will not be here to watch me graduate, get a job, move out, and be on my own. She will not be there when I search for wedding dresses. She will not be there to pick out the ugliest one on the hanger that just happens to be the perfect one once I try it on. She will not get to help pick out flowers or invitations or music or decorations. She is gone. I still don't understand why. I guess I never will. But she is gone, and not understanding doesn't change it. She always said that now would be "the most exciting time of my life." This feels like nothing more than a slap in the face these days. No matter how good things are, they will never fully be as good as they could be. She was such a big, magical part of everything. Things do not feel the same anymore without her in my life.

I realized how many awful things have happened this year when I was laying in bed watching a movie. I have a headache. I always have a headache. This is not an exaggeration. My head always hurts. And I am always so tired. This imaginary light bulb went on over my head. Ding! No wonder I feel the way I feel. The recap of 2009 is enough to make anyone shudder. And to make things a little trickier, I am in a Master's in Science program and a full-time internship. I now marvel at the fact that I am still alive. How have I not had a coronary or an embolism or a stroke of some kind? The body is an amazing thing to be able to endure so much. All the times I heard people say, "You're such a rock, you know that?" or "If that were me I'd be dead by now." I just laughed to myself, they can do this too. I'm sure of it. "Julia, you're such an inspiration." Whatever. Don't we all deal with the situation at hand? I will never back out of something or turn my back on something because that's the easy way to do things. I think it's odd that people actually act like this is surprising.

What I really do think is surprising, however, is how it never occurred to me that the reason I have headaches all the time or the reason I'm tired all the time or why I can barely run without passing out now or why I have weird pains in my stomach is some type of medical problem when all it really is is a heart problem. Not that kind of a heart problem. The other kind. Simply-it is broken. It has been broken since January. And instead of giving it the chance to heal, it was further tortured and smashed with nearly every month that has passed since.

No wonder I feel the way I do. My body just can't take it anymore.

2010 cannot come any faster if it tried. If there is such a thing as karma, me and everyone one of my family members will win the lottery.

Just like always

Dear Mom,
You were right. You were always right about everything. I remember when we went to go look for prom dresses, and I was dead-set on one I saw in a magazine, and you picked one out that I thought was just awful. “Humor me,” you said, and so I put it on for you. And it was perfect. You were right. Like always.

Adrian proposed to me Thursday night. I thought it was so funny how you collected all the wedding invitations you were receiving over the several months you were in the hospital, and we would sit on your bed and look at all of them, discussing colors and fonts, and styles. “Do you like this one?” you’d ask, and I replied, “Ugh! I want this to be mine!” You’d laugh…”Soon enough. Just wait.” He’ll do it soon. Between your birthday and Valentine’s Day, but probably closer to Christmas. Just wait.” Of course, you were right again, just like you are about nearly everything. I couldn’t help but think of you when he was asking me, bent on one knee and looking up at me with his big smile. I think of you all the time. You are always on my mind, no matter what it is I’m doing.

We are less than a week away from Christmas. I like not having a Christmas tree this year. Some people think it’s sad that we haven’t put one up, but I think the less stimulation in the house, the better. Neutral is the way to go this year, and maybe for a while until things feel somewhat normal again. I have been getting a lot of Christmas cards from people, and so many of them have their phone numbers scrawled inside. “Call me so we can get together and talk.” Things like that. I’m not sure if people realize that I am a lot better off than they seem to think. I suppose I appreciate their sympathy and concern, especially around the holidays, but I will always miss you and be sad in my heart and dwelling on it will not bring you back. I do not want to think about you in the ICU or how you were so scared, and “talking” about it with people won’t change anything.

I would like to remember you, instead, listening to my music and dancing in the car and then gasping in surprise when you would hear a bad word. And I would laugh at you. “I didn’t write the song, mom!” You were so prim and proper. I thought you were so cute. You will never understand what I thought of you. I liked going to weddings with you and when we would dance together, or when we would get a laughing jag somewhere and laugh for hours about everything, even if it really wasn’t that funny to anyone else. I liked teaching you slang and I especially liked hearing you say it at the most unexpected times. And I liked how you would be so proud of yourself afterwards. There were so many little things I loved about you. I was telling my best friend tonight about how you barfed all night long after eating mexican a couple years ago. My ears were trained to be able to hear you walk from your bed to the bathroom, since I had to get used to it when you had breast cancer and were sick from chemotherapy. I could tell where you were in the hallway by the creaks in the floorboards. That night, I heard you get up and go into the bathroom, and when I realized you were sick, I got up to check on you. You were crying, knelt down by the toilet, and I asked you what was wrong. “I’m never gonna eat that shit again,” you sobbed. And then you started to giggle, and before too long, both of us were hysterically laughing together at one o’clock in the morning in our bathroom.

Little things make my heart hurt, like going to the grocery store. When I was little, I hated going to the grocery store with you because it took so long. But as I got older, I loved to go absolutely everywhere with you and help you in any way I could. I loved walking with my arm around you or patting your butt, and you got so embarrassed! You were just so cute, I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. I did feel bad sometimes, but for the most part, I never thought anything of it. But I know you loved it, even if you never admitted it! I think that it is sad when mothers and daughters do not touch and love like we did, even if it was somewhere stupid like the frozen foods isle. So what? I just liked you so much. In fact, that is what I miss the most about you. Not being able to touch you. Now, whenever your picture pops up on my desktop slideshow, I touch your nose with my finger and make a goofy noise. “Boop!” I miss picking on you and harassing you and embarrassing you in the grocery store and making you laugh. I just want to pinch your cheeks and pet your head. Ugh-I can’t get over the ridiculous amount of love that still lingers inside me, like you’re sitting here next to me.

But you’re not.

I don’t like it. Not at all. I hope you liked watching Adrian and I get engaged, I know you were watching. I like that you can see everything and that you are always there. I like that a lot. I really do wish you could be here for all the hustle and bustle and planning and especially at the wedding when you get to see me in my wedding dress. I know that you will be there, but not in the way that I wish you could be. That damn infection. I just don’t understand why you had to leave me so early. But you will be there. I will try really hard to remember that. You will be there as my precious angelface.

I am doing my best to watch over everyone the way you always did, especially your sisters. They have always meant so much to me, you knew that. I like to keep tabs on them and make sure they are doing alright. I know Christmas will be hard for them. They were all excited to hear about the engagement, and I think helping to plan a wedding will be a good distraction for Aunt Janny, and also for me too. It’s very encouraging to have something to look forward to, since everything else feels so up in the air now.

I know that things will fall into place eventually. But it’s very stressful to still be waiting after so long. I am not even sure I’m going in the right direction anymore. What I wouldn’t give to have you here to guide me and encourage me like you always did. Nothing from anyone means as much as it always did from you. No matter what the issue or worry was, you could erase it with just a few words. I could definitely use some of them now. I want you back in my life so much. But I know that is unrealistic, so I’m trying to think of how I can still have you here with me, so to speak. I have ideas for how I’ll keep your memory alive at my wedding and when I get a house and can decorate it. I want to have something specifically just for you so you feel really special and tremendously loved. And it will feel like you are here, even if I can’t see you or touch you. Or pinch your butt in the grocery store.

Just so you know, you were my best friend. I’m pretty sure you knew that. And you were right. Like always.

Who knew

Today marks the two month anniversary of my mom's death. It feels very weird, mostly because it feels like it happened only yesterday. I don't really know how to describe this exactly, but even though I am getting better and better everyday, it still feels like yesterday was her last day on earth. It is still so vivid and so real, not quite a memory yet.

I celebrated, if you will, by singing really loud in my car on the way to school. We always sang together in the car. Then, I read a cute little book called "Grief Therapy" that my psychologist gave to me last night. It's by Abbey Press from a series called "Elf Help" because the book is illustrated with little elves doing things and the books range from grief to mourning during the holidays to self-esteem and so on. They are very cute. Each page has a little tid-bit of information or encouragement about grieving a loved one and I could so easily identify with each item that it almost shocked me. I loved it. I would definitely encourage it for anyone who feels the way I do. It only took about 15 minutes to read yet it left a monumental impact on me. Luckily, I am doing many of the things they suggest, like talking with others who are in my situation and surrounding myself with friends and focusing on a new hobby or simple pleasures like rain or tea. I am also struggling with things they say it's normal to struggle with like being angry at God and letting go of bad memories and thoughts.

This is the worst part for me. They sneak up without any warning at all. Tonight, I went to open mic night at my favorite coffee house with my friends and out of nowhere I was taken to my mom's ICU room. They had just intubated her and let us back into see her. Her body was in shock and her heart had stopped and they had to shock it to get it back in rhythm. Her eyes were taped shut and she gagged against the tube down her throat and her body jerked with rejection. This image flooded me as I listened to the music and I fought hard against it but I didn't win. I walked outside to get some fresh air, and I stood on the porch as it rained a cold, December rain. I breathed slowly and took several long, deep breaths. I choked back tears and swallowed hard. It eventually went away as I controlled my breathing and focused on my legs holding me up, starting with my toes, then my feet, then my ankles, then my calves and so on. It sounds silly, but it works. It "realigns" everything. Then I walked back inside and had no problem the rest of the night. It's weird to me how things like that can leave as quickly as they came.

One of the ladies I used to work with at the hospital has a brother-in-law who was down the hall from my mom in the transplant unit. He completed his transplant successfully and was discharged several days before my mom died. Several weeks ago I learned that he had an infection and they confirmed that it was Graft Versus Host Disease. This is where your body rejects the new bone marrow and it begins to attack itself, and it can happen anywhere in the body but main areas are usually the skin, eyes, and GI tract. Unfortunately, the GVHD was in Stage 4, the most severe, and consumed his entire GI tract. She told me that he was very sick and they estimated he would survive only two weeks or so if the medication didn't work.

He died this afternoon.

One thing I don't understand is why we are surrounded by the things that are so prominent in our lives while it is happening to us. Meaning, before my mom had her transplant, I worked with so many people who successfully completed bone marrow transplants while I worked in my internship at the Cleveland Clinic. I would marvel at how wonderful they looked and how healthy they were and it offered me so much hope. My mom would look at me with worry across her face and ask, "What do these people look like? I mean...are they ok?" And she'd crinkle her nose and curl her lip, nervous that she would be left completely ruined afterwards. "They look so great! I promise." She always thought I was lying or embellishing to make her feel better. I wasn't. "Really. They wouldn't do it if it wasn't worth it. You're going to be just fine," I'd try to reassure her. She would always cry after this type of conversation, which we had several times. I would hug her and pat her little bald head and tell her she was going to be just fine. Sometimes I actually believed it.

As I anticipated her admission to begin the transplant, I was so surprised by how many transplant patients I worked with and how many of them were back to normal life and beginning their new journey to being cancer-free. Now that she is gone, all I see is others losing loved ones or hearing stories of similar tragedies. My friend's dad lost his battle to colon cancer. A community figure that was announced "terminal" only a month ago lost her battle with breast cancer. Now this man too, my friend's brother-in-law, taken by a despicable infection that comes without warning.

Sometimes I think it is more of a crime than the actual cancer that they lose their lives after a successful bone marrow transplant. Yeah, the cancer is terrible, but what they have to go through to even receive the bone marrow is far worse. I can't imagine how awful that kind of chemo and radiation must be, the whole time anticipating having someone else's bone marrow pumped inside you. I think it is much more cruel that they lose their battle after working so hard. Just cruel.

It makes you wonder if it's even worth it. I'm not sure that it is. I am angry about this. I have never seen someone work so hard in my life. For it all to be taken away? I am so angry.

Luckily, my little Elf Help book tells me it is ok to be angry about these types of things and that even though it seems negative, it is part of the healing process. It says that we cannot move onto the good things unless we first deal with the bad. Okie dokie. I'm on my way.

I don't like to be angry. I think that reading this you may think that I am angry all the time. This is far from the truth. Mostly, I'm happy, and I laugh and have a good time and enjoy myself with my friends. Very rarely do I feel awful or sad, and I think it seems more so in these posts because that is when I feel compelled to write.

Unlike my last post, I will end this one on a good note. Yesterday while I was having my resume analyzed by career services at school as part of a class grade, I met a girl who lost her mom to cancer as well. I asked her the best way to explain a transition into medical sales from a deeply clinical background because of my mom's death...without sounding mentally unstable to a potential employer. Her eyes got really big and she gasped and said, "My mom died too. Three years ago. She had cancer. I had to do the same exact thing. Just be up front and honest and tell them." We began talking about our moms and our similar stories. "No one really understands. It's your mom. It's so different from losing someone else. I was four months pregnant when it happened," she said. I nodded and identified with absolutely every word that came out of her mouth. I smiled and laughed, "Oh, we're definitely friends," and she gave me her phone number and email and asked me for mine. I think that this is so interesting. You never know who you will meet in your life that share such similar stories. We could finish each other's sentences. And minutes before that, she was just the girl in career services critiquing my resume. Who knew.

The bonds between people, even strangers, can be amazing and even shocking. Regardless of how awful things can be and how difficult life is sometimes, the wonders of people and how they can be connected will never cease to amaze me. How wonderful it can be to find someone who knows every single inch of what your heart is feeling at this very moment. I love it. The world, and the people in it, really is wonderful sometimes.

Angelface

I have a small "picture frame" in the corner of my desktop that scrolls through pictures like a slide show, and this one that is just so utterly precious of my mom popped up just seconds ago, and instead of getting happy, like I usually get when I look at her face, I got so incredibly angry that I could almost barely breathe. I don't understand why this happened. I could feel my lips pinch together and my eyes squint hard, and I looked up to the sky and asked, "Why did you do this to me? How could you do this?" I do not understand why God took her away. I am so angry at him. I will never understand.

I am shocked at this kind of emotion, after I have been feeling so solid for so long now. I know it hasn't even been two months since she died, but I was starting to feel comfortable with the idea, because, obviously, there's nothing else that can be done at this point except to accept it and move on. It will never change. She is not coming back.

This picture is so incredible, this one of her that made me feel this way. Usually, when I look at it, I get this feeling of comfort and contentment that sweeps over me and warms my heart in such a way that I actually feel happy from the inside out. Sometime in August, on one of her breaks from the hospital, we decided to venture out and take a trip to go see her sisters at a garage sale they were having. Several years ago, she got a tinkerbell t-shirt that was too small for her, which embarrassed her, and she kept it in the bottom of one of her drawers and never wore it, although I know she wished she could have. Because she lost so much weight, she decided to try it on, and not only did it fit, but it was actually a little too big for her. She came out of her bedroom and said, "Look! It fits!" She was so excited. I don't know why I got the idea to ask her to wear fairy wings, but I had them in my closet from an old Halloween costume, and they went along so well with the theme of her shirt. I can't believe she agreed to put them on, she usually was so afraid to do silly things like that. But she put them on, and my heart just melted. She had on perfectly white tennis shoes, dark blue jeans, her white and lime green tinkerbell shirt, a lime green ballcap, and these purple fairy wings. She even wore them to visit her sisters at the garage sale, and she smiled and laughed and I don't ever think she realized just how tooth-achingly sweet she really was that day. She was standing in front of some bails of hay, and as she turned around to look at me, I saw the joy and happiness perfectly etched on her face, happy to be in the sunshine and with her sisters. I asked if I could take a picture of her, fairy wings and all. I still can't believe that she agreed, and I took the picture and managed to capture that amazing joy and glow she had about her that day. This is my favorite picture of her. My absolute favorite. She is my little angelface, and she is just perfect.

What was so great about our relationship is that we loved each other just the way we were. She was always so cute, and she always wanted to wear "cool" clothes, but she was a little overweight and couldn't fit into everything she wanted to buy. I never thought she looked anything but as sweet as she always did. I just adored her. Several months before my mom was diagnosed, she started Weight Watchers and she really tried hard. I was so proud of her, because you could see how determined she was. I don't think she always had the best self-esteem, and it was really nice to finally see her paying attention to herself. She respected herself, and she was starting to see how great she could be. I can't tell you how happy this made me to see her have some faith in herself. Right before she was diagnosed, she hit the 30-pound mark. 30 pounds. Every Monday after her meeting, she'd call me and give me her results, too excited to wait until she got home to just tell me there. "Another pound and a half!" she'd say. I would explode with surprise and happiness, making sure to let her know how thrilled I was for her. I tried to be her own personal cheerleader, to help her in any way I could. She was diagnosed on a Monday. During the time she should have been in her Weight Watchers meeting, she was being told she had leukemia.

I know this sounds so weird, but one of the things I was most mad about when I found out was that she had finally realized she was worth that kind of effort to lose weight and get herself healthy again. She was really doing it, really trying as hard as she could, and she was so successful. I don't know why this was taken away from her. I don't understand why she couldn't be left alone, to see how far she could go all by herself. What amazing things it would have done for her to know that she could do anything she wanted, even something as hard as losing that kind of weight. Her blood pressure was going down, her cholesterol was going down, her sleep apnea was completely gone. She was starting to see the benefits of all of her hard work, and we even started going shopping for "cool" clothes. She was so proud of herself.

And it was all taken away.

She started to lose weight from chemo. From not eating. From being sick all the time. Because she couldn't taste her food, or she couldn't smell it, or because just looking at it made her want to throw up. Her muscles were wasting, and you could see her collar bones and how long and skinny her legs were. But not a good kind of long and skinny. The other kind. She was so thin and fragile. She was not fit and healthy and happy, like she wanted to be. I think of all the things I am angry about, this most definitely takes the top prize. She was finally getting there. Finally taking care of herself, because, for whatever reason, whatever triggered it, she finally realized she was worth it. I am so angry it was all just shattered right in front of her.

All I ever wanted was for her to be happy. Especially with herself. I have pledged my education and my volunteer work and my career to making people feel healthy and happy with themselves. I believe in food and exercise, in drive and determination far over dieting and surgery and pills. I believe in it so much that sometimes it is frustrating to see people defeated by it, because it works, and it makes people feel like they can do something. I always wanted her to realize how special she was and how much she deserved all the things life had to offer. For as long as I can remember, she always wanted to wear nicer things made for a more slender body, and she finally had that chance. She enjoyed things so much more, like going shopping with me. She had more energy, and you could tell something inside her really changed. She was so different, and I loved to see her confidence and her self-esteem soar. She smiled more, and she was genuinely happy with herself. It was contagious. I will never be able to fully describe how much I loved her, and 30 pounds lighter or not, I just couldn't get enough of her. I was so happy for her.

When she was diagnosed, I felt that confidence break, I could see it break inside her. She knew all of her efforts were being taken away. All of her hard work. All of her freedom. I will never understand how she felt at that moment, and I hope I never do, but I can imagine that it feels something like staring down the barrel of a gun. Life or death. In the blink of an eye. I hate that she felt this, and not just for a second, but over and over again. I hate that she was worried and scared all the time, and I hate the she had to be sick and stuck in the hospital for the majority of the last six months of her life. She was in remission. She could have come home and enjoyed her last several years, if it came to that, home and happy, with us, and with her sisters. But she chose to have the transplant, to fight for her life as hard as she possibly could, to give up so many things just for another chance. I am so angry that we didn't have her for longer. We could have and we didn't. It is a choice that I'm sure most people would make, but for me, from the beginning, it felt like a death sentence. I was so scared to lose her, and after the first meeting up in Cleveland Clinic about all the risks and potential complications, I felt like my time with her was limited. She was so much more positive and so much more faithful and upbeat than I was. I'm sorry she had to deal with me like that. I was too scared to function in any other capacity, I guess. I'm so angry that she was as scared as she was too, and that I didn't help more than I did. I'm so angry that she tried so hard and was so brave for all of us, more than for herself. I'm so angry at whoever was working there that brought in that strand of virus that is "only found in the hospital" that would ultimately end her life less than a week later.

I'm so angry that I cried the way I did in front of her the first day I saw her like that. She was so scared, and she knew exactly what was happening to her. I know she did. And I am angry that I am finally accepting that, because I denied it for so long, that she didn't know, that she was confused, that she couldn't hear us, that she wasn't in any pain. Bullshit. All of it. She knew. She knew everything. How naive we all were to try to protect ourselves into thinking she didn't. All I am thankful for is that I spent almost three hours alone with her, all by myself, and even though they were mortifying and they now haunt me more than I'd like to admit, they were still us together. I wouldn't want the nurses to have such a job. That kind of job is only for someone who loves you so monumentally that they would face it so you didn't have to be alone. I wouldn't trade it for the world that I got to pet her head and hold her hands and try to calm her every couple minutes when she would try to take her breathing mask off. I wouldn't trade the chance to tell her I love her over and over and to comfort her when she said she was scared. "I don't want to die" she'd say every so often, and I would just whisper quiet but empty promises to her. "I know, momma. You're going to be just fine." But I knew "just fine" meant Heaven, and even though it turned out for the worst, she really is just fine now, I suppose. But I am angry that she had to go through all of that and that she was so scared. The only thing I would trade it for is for me to take her place. Without a doubt, without a second thought, I would have agreed to it right then and there. I have thought that ever since our lives changed on March 16th when she was diagnosed. I would have given anything for it to be me instead of her. Anything.

I am mad, most of all, that she went through all of it for nothing. Absolutely nothing. I am so angry tonight, I am actually in complete and utter shock at myself.

I can't end this on a positive note, not tonight. I don't feel like it. I painted my nails dark gray.

Pink Toenails

Today for some reason, more so than others, I miss my mom terribly. I went to the bank to take her name off of my savings account, and I had to fill out some paperwork. A couple of signatures later, the man helping me pointed a finger at my mom's name and said, "And write 'deceased' here." He winced and apologized, and I was flooded with that tired feeling of having to face it all over again. I can't believe how things like this can drag on. Deceased. I wrote it, and I left.

You know how you see those "goth" kids around, the ones that wear black and have black hair and eyeliner and nail polish? I never really thought too much about any of that stuff, I just figured they were trying to express themselves or maybe they were depressed or maybe they didn't want to be paid any attention. Oddly enough, I have gone from the girl who wore pink and and purple and bright blue with energy and laughter practically exploding out of me to the girl who looks at those kids and thinks, "I get it." I totally get why they want to dress like that. I'm not sure what it is, but I can say with confidence it's not depression. The other night, all I wanted to do was wear a black sweatshirt and paint my nails dark. I know, obviously, that doing so wouldn't in any way make me feel better or relieve any stress or bring back my mom. But sometimes, it feels good to blend in and go unnoticed and just be dark. I guess we don't always have to be bright and bubbly if we don't want to be.

Last night, I decided to have some quality time to myself and watch a movie and paint my toenails. I pulled out the darkest color I could find, and it occurred to me: Don't let this win. I looked at my dark-green-almost-black polish and thought how sad it was that my once favorite color turned into a pathetic interpretation for the dark, cloudy feeling I have inside me. It's not that I'm sad, it's just that I'm not as happy as I was before this all started. But, believe it or not, I still am happy, just not as much as I used to be. I picked up my dark nail polish and tossed it back into my drawer, and I pulled out the brightest, hottest pink I could find. I wanted to put something bright back into my life. It may be forced, but it's there.

This morning, when I looked down at my feet, I looked at the curly, thin scrawl of my mom's handwriting across the top of my right foot, permanently there to remind me I'm not without her, framed perfectly below my hot pink nail polish. I smiled and felt light. Success.

I'm sure that some people may read this and think how pathetically childish it is that a bright color of nail polish could really help someone move on from such a monumental loss. Yeah, ok, my mom died. I watched her die. I listened to her scream my name and yell for help and ask not to die. I stood beside her and held her hands down and patted her head and lied to her and told her she would be fine. I encouraged her to be strong, I told her I loved her. I watched as the nurses turned the alarms and monitors off, knowing that their work was a lost cause. Who knows why we feel comfort in some things and not others. I choose to make up pictures in my head of her and Aunt Polly together, and I choose to think that she knows every second of what goes on in my life even though she is not here anymore. I choose to think that my tears and sobs and nightmares and fear do not phase her, that all she feels is happiness and love and joy in Heaven and can not be bothered by negativity and loss and heartache. To some, this may be make-believe and it may be fairytale, but for others, this is hope. For me, it's hope. I will not let life stop and I will not let this defeat me and take away all that I have worked for. I choose to paint my toenails hot pink in December to make myself feel better that my mom is dead. You may not get it. You don't have to. I don't get it either, but it's working. No matter what, I will always be myself, pink toenails and all.

She loved me just the way I was. It is sometimes hard to feel comfortable in your own skin when the one person you could always rely on for support is no longer near you. I doubt so many things I do these days, and since I am anticipating a huge job interview on Friday with a national company, I wish now more than ever she was here with me. To help me and encourage me and make sure I know that I am still ok to be me, even if they didn't like me or want to hire me. Don't get me wrong- I understand that no one can make me feel happy with myself but me, but sometimes, those words are so comforting when they're from your mom. I really loved her so much. I still love her. I do not understand why she had to get sick. Even though I am always trying to remain happy and upbeat about the fact that her and my Aunt Polly are now together, I can't help but feel cheated sometimes. Sometimes I feel as though my tears will never end. I am crying, just thinking about how much she loved me. I am so glad I knew all these years how much she loved me. She would have rolled her eyes at my tattoo, but she would have loved my hot pink nail polish.

The Sisters

These past couple nights have been awfully sad, both because my mom is gone and also because of other things that really have no business in my life as extra burdens. I will not elaborate on these types of things because I promised myself when I started writing that I would not rake anyone over the coals for the public to read, even if they deserve it. All I will say is that the Cleveland house I was staying in is no longer an option for my anymore, which breaks my heart even more than before. It was my get-away, a place where I felt like an adult, where I felt like I could escape the reality of my house and the sad memories that lurk around every corner. But this chapter closed this morning.

Last night, my boyfriend and I packed up the entire house by ourselves and filled boxes with my belongings. This morning we could barely see out of his back window as we drove home, but I am pleased that it is over and did not have to be drawn out any longer than necessary. We also dropped off more donations to Hope Lodge, and my heart hurt to know that my mom wasn't waiting for me inside like she should be at this time. Right now, if all had gone well, she would be recuperating in her little room at the Lodge, and I would have been so excited to walk through those doors. I am now completed with my internship for school, and the free days through the week would have been amazing to spend them with my mom, after having to give up so much time with her for either school, my rotations, or her hospitalization. Those times are over. Another chapter closed.

I looked at Adrian as I got out of the car and said, "I wish we were visiting mom," as my eyes filled with tears. We unloaded his car with several boxes and two bags filled with napkins, paper towels, canned goods, and cleaning supplies. One of the bags had a small envelope of donations from mom's funeral, since we asked for money for Hope Lodge in lieu of flowers. It was nice to be able to selflessly hand these items over, but I couldn't help but feel that I wasn't there for that purpose. I looked into the kitchen and noticed a few women, all with no hair, sitting at a table talking. This is similar to the first image I ever had of Hope Lodge, the first time I visited the facility to give my mom the low-down. Three women sitting at a kitchen table talking and laughing. I think they were playing a board game of some kind. She asked me what it was like. I told her all about the spacious rooms and the back patio with the fish pond and flowers and library. I told her about the women sitting at the table. "And you'll make tons of friends there. There were these women, none of them had hair and they were playing a game together. Won't that be fun? And you'll get to know more people in your situation that understand exactly what you're going through." I told her I was really excited for her to be able to have some friends that understood, since none of us could. I just wanted her to be happy there. I think she would have really liked it.

She was so worried about the holidays and being able to enjoy Thanksgiving and Christmas away from her family. We all had a plan to take the holidays to her and to cook for the entire facility sometime around Christmas day. She didn't understand that we were more worried about her not being with us. But like I said, that chapter is closed.
On Black Friday, while everyone was out shopping for bargains and pushing through holiday traffic, my aunts and I put flowers on all the graves of the people we loved and missed. Aunt Polly's favorite bird was the cardinal, and we found a grave pillow with white ribbon and cardinals on it. My grandpa, who died before I could meet him, also of cancer, got a grave pillow with a pheasant in a nest. We picked out this really great one for my grandma with sparkly, silvery spirals among the green pine branches. My mom is buried in a mausoleum, so we got her this fake flower arrangement we could leave near her niche. It was from her sisters and I. It had 3 red roses for Aunt Becky, Aunt Janny, and Aunt Rita, and one white rose for me. It had a gold ribbon around the bottom of it, and she would have really liked it because it was simple and pretty and meaningful.What I would really like to focus on, rather than the sad moments during the past few days of my life, is the amazing night we all spent together that Friday night. I can guarantee you that you have never seen another group of people like my family. After delivering the flowers and grave pillows, we decided to have a girls night at Aunt Janny's house. Just that morning, she was crying. "I have never been so sad in all my life. I just can't believe it. This isn't how it's supposed to be," she said as we sat in her bed watching a movie. I felt so bad for her. Sometimes I think I feel worse for my mom's sisters than I do for myself. We arrived at Aunt Rita's shop where we picked up the flowers and she was showing us the arrangement she created for mom's niche. Even before she began to speak she choked up and barely was able to speak the words, "Three red roses for us and one white one for Julie." Aunt Becky and Aunt Janny started to cry also, and then one of the ladies working in the shop cried just from watching them. I stood there and watched them, straight-faced and quiet. I can't believe the devastation this has caused throughout all of our lives, especially theirs. On the way to the cemetery they cried as they discussed plans for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Aunt Janny mentioned that she'd like a year off, and most of us agree that one year off to heal would be better than trying to suffer through the chaos and cheer with a forced holiday spirit. Aunt Janny sighed and said, "I don't know." Aunt Rita nodded and said, "You just feel so hurt, right down to your soul." She cried a lot. But she hit the bulls eye. Hurt. Right down to your soul. That's exactly it.

Despite that morning and the hurt and sorrow we all felt as we placed the grave pillows and flowers at each one of our loved ones' resting places, we rebounded in such a way that thinking about it now still makes me smile. We went to K-Mart and bought almost $50 worth of candy and board games. We went back to Aunt Janny's house and heated up Thanksgiving left overs, drank cranberry wine, and played board games all night. Two of my closest friends came over and we laughed and ate and played until almost one in the morning. I laughed so hard I had a headache. The next morning my abs were sore, but I felt renewed to go running in the cold air. Nothing warms your soul more than a night filled with laughter and friends.

Sometimes, I am in awe of my family. They don't realize just how special they are, I think. I can't tell you how many times I have been told how lucky I am to have such a family, and I most definitely know how blessed I am. There are many things these days that I am unsure of, but my pride and love of my family is something that I do not doubt for a second. Instead of wallowing and crying and laying in bed in the dark all day, after losing two sisters from cancer in seven months, they come together, and although there are tears, there are also laughs and smiles. In fact, these far outweigh the amount of tears that are shed. I know they are sad, and I can't imagine how it must feel to watch a sister die, let alone two. I do not have a sister. I only know what it feels like to lose two of the most important people in my life side-by-side, both from cancer. My heart hurts for myself, of course, but it does not compare sometimes to the hurt I feel for them. Five sisters down to three. In one year. As I watched them laugh and joke and giggle and smile that night, I felt as though they had something special tying them together that most people will never be lucky enough to understand. It is amazing the strength that people possess within them without even knowing fully its extent. They are amazing.

For me, this only strengthens my feelings for Aunt Polly being alone in Heaven and how one of them had to go with her. I can't imagine being separated from such a group of sisters, from the women you grew up with and the women you relied on your entire life. Through school, boyfriends, broken hearts, weddings, children, divorce, holiday after holiday, death of their parents, cancer, chemotherapy...They had a bond that went far beyond that of sisterhood. I will never understand where they got their strength from, but one thing I am sure of is that I possess that unclear, sometimes confusing strength as well. I am very thankful for it and now understand that without it, I would not have been able to deliver Aunt Polly's eulogy the way I needed to or stand in front of the congregation during mom's funeral and say what I wanted to say. I never cried, I never choked up, I never stopped talking. I did what I needed to and in the way I wanted to, only focusing on my love for them and what I owed them for all they did for me. I will never be able to repay them, and simply speaking at their funerals will never be able to return my gratitude. All I know is that after I sat down, after saying what I needed to say, I didn't understand how I got through it, but I did. I always watched the two of them, and I was so in awe of how unbelievably strong they were, and I am slowly learning now that I have some of that strength too. The saying "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" comes to mind. I am stronger than I ever imagined. Just like they were. I thought I was going to die right alongside my mom, but I didn't. I am realizing the strength I possess, and I am so thankful to have such a wonderful trait from them.

Everyone calls them "The Sisters." Whenever we would go on vacation together, we called it a "Sisters' Trip." Whenever one of us had a very close friend over during a sisters' get-together, that friend was called an "Honorary Sister." Even though I am their niece, rather than their sister, I have been so honored to be considered a part of The Sisters over the years. Some of my fondest memories have been spent with them, and I will never be able to say in words just how thankful I am to have had them in my life. I will never forget our Sisters' Trip to Disney World as a last hoorah with Aunt Polly. Little did we know that it was also our last hoorah with my mom too. Aunt Polly's favorite character was Jiminy Cricket, and she really wanted to meet him since she knew it was her last time in Disney. Our very first day there, we walked through the gates of Magic Kingdom and Jiminy Cricket stood just around the corner. I never saw a look on anyone's face like the looks on my aunts' faces that day. It will be etched in my mind forever. We stood in line to meet him, and when we finally got there, he gave Aunt Polly a big hug, and she was dressed from head to toe in Jiminy Cricket things. She cried, and she yelled, "Oh Jiminy! I'm your biggest fan!" We all cried. We knew how special it was, more so than just any other trip to Disney World.

There are places we have claimed as our own that will no longer hold the same meaning now that The Sisters have been separated. Amish Country, the First Ladies Tea Room, Berlin Lake, and Disney World are just a few of these places. They no longer hold the magic they did when we were all together. I guess now, as the newly arranged Sisters, we will just have to find new places to conquer. New places to make memories and new places to heal all of our hearts.

One thing I am sure of is that "Game Night" will be our newest Sisters tradition, because it was the first time we realized that we will all be ok.

My sign from Heaven, finally

I think I have received the sign I was looking for, finally. From a couple posts back, I had mentioned that I really wanted a sign that my mom was ok in Heaven. I think I got it two nights ago.

Thanksgiving night, I had a dream about her again, my second one since she died. It started with her in her hospital bed in ICU right after she passed away, a very horrifying picture that I still can't believe I ever saw. Her eyes were only partly closed, her mouth was wide open with blood dried in the cracks of her lips. I laid my head on her chest to listen for a heart beat, to feel her lungs fill with air. Nothing. I placed her arms around me as I laid on her chest, so she and I could embrace one last time. The only thing that comforted me was the weight of her arms from all the edema, because it actually felt like she was hugging me back, but in reality, of course, we all know differently. This is where my dream began, in the room with her, rising from her chest and preparing to say my very final goodbye to her before I left the ICU unit. You know how in dreams you just understand what's going on, even if it's not actually said? Well, I knew that I was going to be given another chance to save her life, and all of the sudden, I was back to Monday, the day before I came up to the hospital to see her and find out she had an infection. I knew it was Monday, and I knew she had this awful infection that was the reason for her death, so I went to the hospital and begged every nurse I could find to put her on antibiotics. I kept saying, "She's really sick. She has an infection, I know it. It's the only way we can save her." And no one would listen to me. And Tuesday came, and I relived everything that had happened since I set foot in her bone marrow transplant room, all the way until Thursday morning when she died in ICU. I was so broken by this, feeling these emotions in my dream. Like I had failed, like I had let her down. I'm sure this paralleled well with my life the last 6 months, hoping and praying that there was something I could do to help, to change the situation in some way. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. None of us could. I understand that now.

I woke up from my dream, completely horrified and upset that I couldn't just have an enjoyable dream about my mom, that it had to be so mortifying, like digging the knife in the wound deeper and deeper. I got up, washed my face and brushed my teeth, and I as I looked at myself in the mirror, everything became very clear to me. I stopped what I was doing and stood there, almost in a trance. It occurred to me: This was my sign. My dream was my sign. She's ok. There was nothing any of us could have done no matter how many chances we were given. It wasn't a game show-there were no do-overs. That was it. It happened the way it was supposed to. And she was ok.

Later that day, I told Aunt Janny about my dream. I told her that it meant that there was nothing we could do to fix it. I could see her eyes fill with tears, and she said, "Sometimes I just think that things happen the way they are supposed to." I agreed, and although that reason is often hard to understand or to discover. Sometimes it just is what it is. I nodded my head and said, "There's no way Aunt Polly could be alone. She wouldn't have been able to stand being away from you guys. She had you all for so long, and she never liked to be alone, ever." Aunt Janny nodded, knowing that Aunt Polly loved to be surrounded by company, right until her dying breath. Even during the last days of her life, when she would wake up and gain consciousness, she would look around the room to see who was with her. It was true. Aunt Polly needed a sister. She chose my mom.

Maybe she already knew long before any of us ever did who was going to be her companion in Heaven.

45 of my biggest fears

My friend and I went to the mall today just for something to do and we went to Victoria's Secret. I literally do not understand what happened but I completely broke down in the store, and it was absolutely mortifying. I have not been to the mall in months and months, and oftentimes, my mom and I would go on a Saturday just to walk around and look at stuff. We didn't really need to be doing anything in particular, we just liked to be together and out and about visiting with each other and away from the house. I really liked these days with her and long before she died, while she was going through chemo, I missed these days the most. Because, sadly, our Saturdays together turned into sitting in the hospital or laying in bed watching Top Chef marathons at home. Today especially, my heart ached as soon as I walked into the store and I missed her so much that I felt like I might die right there among the lace and bows. I am not sure if feeling this way after almost two months is ok. I know that I will be sad forever, but in a different sort of way. It will always linger around my heart, but I really thought this overwhelming, on-the-surface-for-everyone-to-see kind of sadness would have lessened by now. I am sometimes afraid that it will never go away.

I am afraid of tons of things. Last night, a friend and I were talking about things we were afraid of, and for some reason...maybe because of the insomnia...I decided to make a list of things that scare me.

I am afraid of...
1. not being viewed as a good person or a good friend
2. my mom being disappointed in me that I am still so sad
3. the government caring more about money than our safety (especially after I watched the movie Food Inc.)
4. waking up one morning and all of my teeth have fallen out ( I was told by my dentist that this type of fear, especially in dreams, relates to growing up and becoming independent)
5. accidentally breaking my marble candle holder that holds my mom's ashes
6. being smashed by a semi-truck on the highway
7. not being able to see my mom again in Heaven
8. God being mad at me for worrying about and doubting the chance to see her again in Heaven
9. being eaten alive by a bear (or other large, wild beastly thing)
10. blimps (I was recently made fun of for this but I must say: it's a huge balloon with a basket attached to it...I question its control, safety, and flammability)
11. my mom being mad at me for getting another tattoo
12. one of my friends dying from trying to eat those 911 wings
13. not being able to ever work in the Cleveland Clinic Wellness Department
14. not being able to meet Ellen Degeneres just to tell her she makes me smile
15. reliving images from the last 3 days of my mom's life
16. being diagnosed with cancer
17. another of my family members or friends being diagnosed with cancer
18. not getting to eat any of the food from Top Chef
19. knowing that my mom was fully aware of what was happening to her
20. losing the magic on special days like graduation and my wedding because she won't be there
21. my children not knowing how amazingly wonderful and brave and beautiful their grandma Gail was
22. my mom and Aunt Polly not knowing how much I truly loved them and just exactly how much they meant to me
23. being wrongly accused of something (as stupid as a misunderstood character flaw to something as serious as a murder)
24. being separated by my family in some way
25. any of the events from that movie 2012 (I worry about this one a lot)
26. not being a good dietitian and not being useful to anyone
27. finding a bug in my food and realizing I have eaten part of it
28. my shyness being confused for snobiness
29. being bitten by a black widow or brown recluse spider
30. watching someone else die (I'm on numero quatro)
31. having to make the decision to turn off someone's life support (...again)
32. my toenails or fingernails falling off
33. forgetting my mom's face and her beautiful, gentle smile
34. losing my desire to take care of my body
35. getting my shoelaces stuck in my bike pedals and falling over
36. forgetting the sound of my Aunt Polly's laugh and the picture I have in my head of her dancing to Michael Jackson records while we were Spring-cleaning her house
37. being force-fed runny oatmeal
38. hurting someone's feelings
39. never finding a cure for cancer
40. forgetting the words to "Eleanor" by The Turtles (My aunts and mom and I used to sing this together when it would come on the radio as loud as we could)
41. not being able to help someone in my lifetime
42. getting my pant leg stuck in an escalator
43. plummeting to my death in an airplane while trying to visit Croatia, Italy, England, Wales, Poland, and Germany (or ever)
44. being underestimated before being allowed a chance at something
45. regretting the decision to not join the Army

Obviously, I am afraid of a lot of things, some of them stupid but some of them serious, like disappointing my mom or not living up to a promise. I worry about these things more than I should, but this is a trait I got honestly, as my mom and all of my Aunts are worriers without a doubt. The last thing I added to my list of fears was "letting these things stand in my way of living, especially in the memory of those in my life who are living no longer." I don't want to be stopped from doing something because I worry about it too much, especially because not only would my mom and Aunt Polly not let anything stop them from doing something but also because they would be disappointed if I did. One thing is for certain: I will never give up on something simply because I am afraid. This is not how they lived their lives, and I will not allow myself a missed opportunity to enjoy my life. Their time was cut too short on Earth. Who knows how much longer I will live. I could be hit by a bus tomorrow, or I could die peacefully in my sleep when I am 100. Who knows. What I do know, though, is that I do not want to be 99 years and 364 days old worrying about what I didn't do with my time.

Half-ass Hugs

I am a people-watcher. In fact, if people-watching could be a sport, I would have taken the gold years ago. I don't know what it is but I just think people are so fascinating, especially when they are just themselves without having to worry about impressing someone or trying to be something they're not. Tonight I went to my favorite coffee house for "open mic night" where people can play music and sing just for fun. I am sure you've been to places like this before and most of the time, the music is just mediocre but every once in a while you'll get a really great person to listen to, and luckily tonight, almost everyone was wonderful and I was so happy to be out of my house, out of school, spending time with my best friend, and just listening to some good music. This may not be thrilling to some, but for others, it makes for a perfect night.

Because it is so close to Thanksgiving break, the place was packed with college kids reuniting with friends and returning to their favorite Tuesday-night spot. I had so much fun watching everyone! I hope this doesn't make me creepy. I don't mean it in that way, I'm just fascinated by people and psychology and interaction, and because I tend to notice little things that often go unnoticed, maybe I enjoy people-watching a little more the average "novice." That's a little people-watching-champion sarcasm for you...

One thing I noticed all through the room tonight was the half-ass hug. I hate the half-ass hug, because I think it proclaims its title so well. You know that hug where people only put one arm lightly around you and arch their neck and angle their head in such a way that you feel as though you are dirty or somehow completely and utterly unhuggable? Where your bodies don't even touch and their other arm just hangs like a limp chicken at their side? Why do people do this? I don't know. What's wrong with just actually hugging someone? I feel that hugs like this scream "I guess I like you, but I don't like you enough to hug you like I actually mean it!" I'm sure this is in part due to my mom's influence.

When I was in sixth grade, one of my favorite teachers got married. She was everyone's favorite teacher, and she was kind enough to invite her students to the ceremony. My mom and I were sitting behind a row of girls from my school, and as they greeted her and gave her a hug, each one of them only gave her a half-ass hug. I didn't notice, to be honest, but my mom leaned over and whispered to me, "Make sure you hug her with both arms and thank her for inviting you..." I thought this was silly, she was always such a Miss Manners, but when I noticed that none of the girls were actually hugging her, I realized how it looked and how I wanted to make sure that my teacher knew I was really happy for her and happy to be there. Sometimes, I don't think people realize what a small thing like a hug can say. And when you don't give a hug like you actually mean it, it says an awful lot. I guess if you aren't going to hug someone like you mean it, then don't even bother.

Kind of like in the movie Bambi when Thumper's mom says, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all..."

My mom used to say this to me all the time. I find so many things around me that remind me of her and how much I loved her, how much I still love her now, maybe even more so than I did yesterday and the day before that. I have not hugged her in 72 days. She died on the earliest possibly day we were allowed to take her to Hope Lodge, day 15, although she would have needed 24-hour care. She has been in Heaven for 47 days, and today, she would have been 62 days old if everything had gone correctly with her transplant. It is weird to think that by now, she could have been staying in Hope Lodge and recovering for nearly two months, anticipating Christmas and more importantly, anticipating her return home sometime in January. Today, she would have been 59 years and 44 days old. Today, I am 24 years and 19 days old. She was far too young to die, and I am far too young to be here without her. I feel like I am just a little girl without her.

I'm sure that I will never be able to watch Bambi again.

One thing that brightened my night, despite a room full of half-ass hugs, was seeing one of the girls whose father just died of colon cancer. I do not know her well, I know her older sister better, but before she left, she waved to me and my friend and said, "Bye! Love you guys!" I literally have only talked to this girl maybe once or twice in my life, but her saying what she did somehow didn't surprise me. She is such a lover, and she came from a family of lovers who taught their children well.

I think it is absolutely remarkable that a girl who has just watched her father take his last breath because of an evil, take-no-prisoners disease like cancer can embrace love and people the way she does. I find it amazing that after such a terribly heart-breaking event that she still has such a capacity to love, when most people can't even care enough to give someone a full hug. I would love to see the world filled with more people like her.

Give someone a genuine hug today. Please. It speaks much more than words can ever say.

The choice between Better and Worse

Yesterday, almost every hour, I picked up the phone to call my mom. I kept thinking to myself, "I haven't talked to my mom in so long!" When she was alive, we talked several times a day if we weren't together, if she was at work, or when she was at the Cleveland Clinic. Every couple of hours I would call her if she hadn't called me, and our conversations always felt like we hadn't talked all day because even in the short amount of time that passed, we had so many things to tell each other. She was my best friend.

Sometimes, even though I still live at home, I have a huge family and a boyfriend and I have so many friends and classmates, I feel really lonely. I feel like I'm by myself and have no one to talk to. This feeling was intensified yesterday every time I wanted to call my mom. I cried when I was in my car by myself driving to Cleveland last night because I had so many things to talk about and share but no one, I felt, to share them with. I am so surprised that although you can talk about the same things with people as you would with your mom, it doesn't feel the same at all. The other person I would have called if I couldn't talk to my mom would have been my Aunt Polly. I keep a lot of things to myself these days. Sometimes, I feel like am going to explode, but I just end up crying instead.

Recently, I have been job searching. I had no idea how hard it was, because I have always been lucky enough to acquire a job so easily. But now that I am ready to graduate and ready to find a "career," rather than just a job, there are a lot of decisions to be made and you have to know how to play "the game," which I am not good at, apparently. I worry about how much money I should ask for, ideas of where to apply to, how to "sell myself" to potential employers. I know that there are many people in my life that I could bounce these questions off of, but my mom is the only one I want advice from. She is the only one I have ever gone to.

I am not good at adjusting.

I know this sounds really sad but I am not sad. I am just missing her in a normal fashion, I suppose. I think that maybe that really deep, heart-breaking ache in my body is finally gone, so I can now move on to simply just missing her. Before, my bones ached so bad from missing her. I was sick to my stomach and my brain felt fuzzy all the time. Now, I find things in my life, like job searching, that will never be easy without her, but my body does not feel near as broken and distraught as it did. I guess this is something to be happy about.

Just re-reading that, I do think it is a little sad that I have to find things in my life like "not feeling near as broken and distraught" to be happy about. I just can't feel miserable anymore, I won't let it continue. I am allowing myself to be sad but not miserable.

The funny thing is about being miserable is that there is nothing else except being miserable. There are many things, emotions, thoughts, whatever, that you can experience simultaneously in your average day, but when you are miserable, a really true kind of miserable, that is all your brain and your body know. Nothing but miserable.

Down Miserable Road, there are only two ways to go. It forks off into Better and Worse. When you find yourself on this path, the only person that can choose which direction to take is you. No one else can help you, no one else can decide for you. Down Worse Boulevard lies a pitch-black outlook, one full of hopelessness and Earth-shattering loss. The streets are boarded up with no sign of life and terrible, life-ruining temptations lurk around every corner. The plus-side to Worse Boulevard is that it offers, if you are strong enough, a chance to turn around and head the the other way. You can dust yourself off, point yourself in the opposite direction, and high-tale it out of that neighborhood. While the journey back to the fork in Miserable Road is a little more challenging, it is utterly and completely worth it.

Down Better Avenue lies your life, the one you created for yourself long before this terrible tragedy occurred. It is what you have made of it, what you have made for yourself and it offers the opportunity to continue from where you left off. Walking down Better Avenue feels lighter and less resistant. Even the air is fresher here. At the horizon where Better Avenue extends as far as the eye can see, the sun is rising and the light of a new day enters into view.

I am here. I am on Better Avenue. It is filled with jobs galore, running paths, bowls of carrot salad and pans of lasagna, reminders of my mom and Aunt Polly, flowers, a drive-in theater with Meg Ryan movies, the smell of Pumpkin Spice, and speakers blaring Stan Getz, Electric Touch, Aretha Franklin, and The Beatles. Apple and orange trees line the sidewalks that lead to old, beautiful farm houses. The sun is shining, a slight breeze is whistling by, and hope lies at the end of the street. Sometimes, among all the distractions, it can be hard to find, but eventually, as you let yourself enjoy the surroundings and allow the love and care from your angels flow through you, hope finally makes its way into your vision.

I am not at the end of the street yet, but I have chosen to take Better Avenue and see where it leads. I am enjoying the view, and my heart is lighter already.

A sign

Last night, I finally had a dream about my mom. Finally. I have been waiting for so long, and it was very welcomed.

All last evening, I re-read my Facebook updates and blog posts, mostly to face my demons, so to speak. I wanted to look at the big picture, the entire picture that began with my Aunt Polly and led into my mom. While it was difficult to relive so many of these thoughts and memories and all the devastation that came with them, I now am more fully aware of what my family has gone through and also what I have gone through myself. Although I do not feel like clicking my heels or singing a song, I do feel happy with conquering some of my fears of facing her death head on and building a more solid foundation of reality that is now my life. I do not like that she is gone, but that is part of the reason why I am still as miserable as I am. She is gone. No one can change it or fix it, but I can at least move further down the road towards recovery. I thought the challenge of re-reading everything really helped.

Reading about her for hours upon hours is, I'm sure, what prompted my dream last night. My brain was filled with her. It missed her and it continued that image long into the night.

We were on vacation, my parents and Adrian and I. We were staying in a log cabin on the water with a huge wrap-around porch that turned into a dock. Dad was gone scuba diving, and I'm not sure where Adrian was but I knew he wasn't in the house. My mom and I were together and alone, just the two of us. She was wearing her long, white, lacy nightgown with her skinny little body underneath from chemo. She had no hair and still had her PICC line in her arm with a bandage around it. While she looked like this, I knew in my dream that she no longer had cancer. I'm not sure why we were there, if it was a celebratory get-away or a short vacation before her last chemo...I don't know. I like in dreams how you don't understand the dynamics or why exactly the events are happening, but you somehow know the emotions and feelings and reasons for all of them. She didn't have cancer, we were enjoying our new time together, and I was so amazingly happy to be with her I actually felt calm, for the first time in a long time. I also like how dreams can impose these emotions until you wake up. I still felt calm and happy and serene to be with her again.

This feeling, however, melted away as I realized I was laying in my bed, in my empty house, in my reality that no longer contains her. But it somehow wasn't as crushing, that realization that she's gone. The contentment I felt lingering from the dream lessened the blow, I think.

As I read through my blog posts, I realized how sad yet hopeful most of them sound. I remember worrying that she might die, that she might miss my wedding and other important events in my life. I wrote about that so many times and they were all filled with so many worries of loss and death, long before it ever occurred. I am sorry at how scared I was and how afraid I was for her life and for my heart, and I often focused on that rather than trying to stay positive. I think my realistic view can be mistaken as a negative view. Cancer kills people. Bone marrow transplants kill people. My mom had cancer. My mom was having a bone marrow transplant. I knew the reality, and I felt no other emotion but fear at the time.

It obviously was a valid concern, seeing as she is no longer in this world for that very reason.

Sometimes, I am afraid that all of my worrying and fretting and anger caused her to die. Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don't know if you know what this is, but it is when you think about something happening long and hard enough that it actually does occur. I hope that I am not the reason that she is gone, that my "reality" (not "negativity") took her from me, and I wonder if the outcome would be any different if I would have been overwhelmingly positive about the whole thing. Sometimes I am afraid this is all my fault.

However, I understand that this type of thinking is what gets people into trouble, and oddly enough, I am more likely to attribute her death to my realistic, rather than positive, point of view rather than the fact that I was one of the people involved in the decision to pull her life support. If there is anything to feel guilty about, I suppose this is it. But I do not for one second feel guilty about this--not at all. Living with machines and medicine is not living--not at all.

I have been told that after a loved one's death, dreams are a way for them to let you know that they are ok. In fact, I have heard of accounts where the person in Heaven actually goes as far enough to say "I'm ok" in the dream. When I was discussing this with someone, I said, "I hope I have a dream like that!" All I have wondered since she passed away is if she is ok in Heaven, if she likes it, if she's with Aunt Polly, and if she has settled in and finally getting used to the idea that she is gone. I would imagine that this process is similar to the process on Earth and the one I am currently facing, attempting to understand and continue my new life without her.

Also, I think it is odd that my view of her, either just day-dreaming or actually dreaming of her, is bald and thin from chemo, rather than healthy and glowing with a full head of hair. To be completely honest, I liked my mom without hair just as much as I liked her with it! I guess I tend to picture her this way because it is what I saw of her for the last several very important months of my life. I thought she was simply precious and her little bald head was part of the reason my heart melted every time I looked at her. I hope this is not a bad thing that I picture her like this. I just adored her in every form she took. Bald or not, thin or not, healthy or not. I just adored her.

She didn't say anything like "I'm ok" in my dream. In fact, she didn't say anything to me that I particularly remember, except I do remember that we were talking. Mostly just about things in life, just as if she was back with me on the couch, talking and living together as if we never stopped. I think because I want this so badly, more than I want to know that she is ok, is why I had this type of dream rather than one where she is reassuring me. I am going to take this as a sign that while I want my mom back in my life and for it to continue on as it always had, this is no longer the case and I must now focus on the fact that she is in Heaven instead. No more wishful thinking. Just reality. She is gone. She is in Heaven. Is she ok? I would give anything to have a sign.

You know how I described the breast cancer rubber ducky that lights up in several of my previous posts? There have been so many times where I have looked at it and said to the sky, "Are you alright? Will you light up my duck so I know that you're alright?" This is embarrassing to admit, but I have done this on several occasions.

But it doesn't light up. She really liked her little duck and thought it was so cute, she kept it along the ledge of her bathtub while she was sick. I thought, since it lit up the morning of mom's transplant, which I am convinced was Aunt Polly, that she might try to do the same. I took it as a sign that Aunt Polly was watching over mom that day and that things were going to be just fine. And they were. That was one of the smoothest days we ever had in the hospital.

I hope that she understands that I need a sign, and I hope she sends one soon. I suppose I thought that since Aunt Polly knew how to send me (and my Aunt Becky) one through the light- up ducky that she would just show mom how to do it too. I just glanced over at it again--nothing. Oh well. I also just re-read this post and how ridiculous it sounds that I'm putting all of my thought and concern into a light-up rubber duck. I hope this doesn't make me crazy, and I hope something comes soon, whatever it is.

The wrong angle

Today I received a note from a long-lost high school friend expressing her sympathy for my mom. I thought notes like this were done and over with, seeing as it has been almost a month and a half since she died. So I was a little surprised when I read it and realized its subject.

She mentioned that she had heard of my mom's passing from another long-lost mutual friend from high school. My heart dropped. This wasn't a life-altering fact or anything like that, but just the simple fact to know that I have become "that" girl that people now talk about, that was a little bothersome.

Since high school, whenever someone would catch hold of terrible news about one of our classmates, it would spread like wildfire and before too long, everyone knew about it. "Hey, did you know so-and-so's mom died?"; "I can't believe so-and-so got into a car accident!" Things like that, and I was one of those people. Not out of spite or to gossip--I genuinely was heartbroken for these people and often wished the news to be false, especially when hearing of someone's mom passing away. I would think to myself, "I just can't imagine what I would do if that was me. That poor thing." Now, unfortunately, I know.

Oddly enough, this subject comes up quite a bit when you work in a hospital. My friends and I, after hearing of a death or an ill mother, we would all fret about losing our own. We all were very close with our moms. My one friend would always say, "If anything happens to my mom, you all can just take me to 5B!" 5B was the psych ward. We would always laugh and agree, "Yeah, me too." And then we would go back to normal, go back to thinking about our own lives and how wonderful they were to have our mothers in them, while someone on one of the floors above us was mourning the loss of their own.

Now obviously I realize that I have made my mom's death somewhat of a spectacle, placing news updates and notes on Facebook about her health from time to time. I also did the same with aunt Polly. Our family is huge and we have numerous friends, cousins, and co-workers on the network that were curious as to both of their statuses. So I played news reporter and wrote weekly, sometimes daily notes updating everyone. The three that stand out the most, of course, are the one that announced aunt Polly's death, the one that announced mom's diagnosis, and the one that announced her death. What I'm trying to say is, I know none of this stuff has been private, and I truly believe it shouldn't be. Reality isn't always necessarily a bad thing, and many people have no idea what it is like to live in someone else's shoes for a day. So, am I surprised that so many people know about my mom's death? No. But part of the reason I have made it public is to avoid discussion and gossip. However, the biggest reason I did this was to enrich and enlighten people, to show that to be thankful for what they have, and to demonstrate my love for my mom in a way that sheds light on their own relationships. This blog did not start out with that thought, it was to release my feelings and energy to keep from going crazy. But after numerous emails and messages and comments on how it was helping others in their lives, I decided maybe it was the right thing to continue.

I have to admit, though, that I do not write with a sense of purpose, or even for someone to read it. I know that people actually do read it, which is still a shock to me, but I like to know that my thoughts have touched them in some way. I have been told that my posts have helped process a loss nearly two years prior; I have been told that my posts are the exact reflection of someone mourning the loss of her father from the past year; I have been told that my posts have changed a mother-daughter relationship for the better. Who would not be pleased about this?

I guess my point is that while I do not write for anyone else but myself, I am happy to know that it is helping others in some small way. But, just so you know, I will not change my view on why I write my blog, and I hope to therefore maintain its integrity and purpose. I enjoy its release and its reality, and I can't help but view it as a small ray of sunshine within these dark clouds having over me.

I must admit that recently I have been having some trouble continuing to process my life. My beautiful mother is now my angel, and I would give anything to have her here with me instead, but I know that she is no longer suffering and I must be selfless and accept that she is in a better place. This is a difficult concept, especially on your birthday. Especially when you're applying for jobs. Especially when you're rounding the corner to graduation. I have to say that I have been throwing myself quite a pitty party lately, and I almost feel more sad and lost now than I did when she first died. I think it needed time to really settle in, and it has most certainly done that.

So, as a sad girl with no mother and no job and what feels like no hope, I have begun to question what I am supposed to be doing with my life. I am about to earn a Master's in an area that has set me up to work in a hospital. My stomach churns at the thought of working with patients again, which does not leave me with many options. While I am highly qualified to be doing several things, the fact that I am a new graduate doesn't look appealing to many employers, and I have already had the door slammed in my face more than once despite the fact that I have only been searching for a little over two weeks.

What in the world am I supposed to be doing with myself, then?

I really have no idea, but this doesn't mean I will stop looking. Someone will want me, someone will want me to help them in the way that I know how. And I'm good at it. And most importantly, I love it like you wouldn't believe. But in the meantime, I am being encouraged by several people to continue to write. My best friend told me that I was "born to tell stories." I don't know if this is true, but with so many things in my life lacking, writing really has brought a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment that, when I started all of this, I never dreamed I would find. More importantly, writing has helped me heal, more so than medicine and doctors and counselors. I would love to help people through their loss and through their struggles, and helping to encourage better and stronger relationships wouldn't hurt either, I suppose. While I will not write with this in mind, I myself am encouraged by the fact that I am starting to help even a handful of people, which is what I've always said my "career goal" was. Maybe I was just looking at it from the wrong angle.