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.