I am anxious, hear me roar!

Today, I did something I never thought I would do in my whole life. Coming from a family prone to depression, I always thought, in the back of my mind, I might have to some day face the facts that I may too have depression at one point or another. But after losing my mom and aunt within the same six months, I guess I've come to it honestly. Ahh, the silver lining.

Hello, Celexa, new friend! A half a tab of you every day is just what the doctor ordered.

Truth be told, I'm not your standard depressed gal. No crying, no over-eating, no woe-is-me. I have my good and bad days, justified by the pains of missing my mom something terrible. I think it's a legitimate reason to be sad, and I let myself be sad and then move on. No problem there. My doctor agrees.

But. On what feels like a constant basis, I am overwhelmed by eminent doom. This, of course, is not normal. My doctor agrees.

You would be amazed at how many terrible pictures, frightening scenarios, and horrific images pace through my mind during the day. Just in my hour-long stand-up meeting at work every morning, I can go through about twenty different ways my husband might die on his way to work.

It's not on purpose. I don't want it to happen. And I try to make it stop.

Most people in our meetings completely zone out. But not me. I intently pay attention, so closely, in fact, that I can practically repeat everything they are saying. Word for word. Just so I won't be conscious of the worries and fears that are racing through my brain at that moment.

I worry about being shot at a gas station. I'm scared my husband will slip on some rogue black ice during his morning commute. I have dreams about my residents dying in horrific ways, and I replay the images of my mom, so sick and so pitiful looking, imposed on their faces. I'm almost embarrassed by this. I wish my brain wouldn't do this, and I wish there was some way to control it.

Between tons of water, exercise, cooking, writing, spending time with family, working, and vitamins....I thought something might help my brain and make these images go away. But whether I'm asleep or awake, they are there. Hollywood should hire me to think of scary movies....they would make some pretty good ones with me on their side!

When someone throws a cigarette out of their car, I actually flinch. Images go through my mind of that cigarette jumping up from the pavement and into my car's underside...and blowing up. Good lord. I need help.

Well, help came today in the form of a tiny pink tablet and a few gulps of water. I am told by my doctor that this "eminent doom" thing isn't ok and is a form of anxiety and that this medicine is very good for that. Despite the stigma that unfortunately often comes with taking an antidepressant, I feel as though taking care of myself and not feeling so scared all the time outweighs the judgments I may receive. You judge me...you can suck it, alright?

But why is there such a stigma with antidepressants anyway? It is one of the most common medications being prescribed and one of the most common "diseases" today, and more people than you would probably ever realize are on them. I can't imagine why people would be judged for taking an antidepressant. What is wrong, I ask you, with accepting that you need help and having the guts to ask for it? Nothing. In fact, I think it's noble. I have known several people, my mom included, who would not, no matter what, take them for fear of what people may think. We are granted a short time on this Earth, and walking around with a rain cloud over our heads or peeking around every corner for a blood-thirsty zombie isn't worth it. It's time we accept our need for help and the chemical imbalance in our brains. It's time we start taking those freshly-prescribed antidepressants that have been sitting on the kitchen counter for a week without being looked at...by "we," of course, I mean me.

It's time we face the facts and do something good for ourselves! Get off those couches and march straight to your doctor!

I am anxious, hear me roar!

Missing teeth and a hunchback?!

I have had such a hard day today, and I'm totally caught off guard by it. It came from out of nowhere. I've been fine, really feeling good lately with everything, although my mom has been on my mind more than normal since the holidays are coming soon. Christmas is ten days away, and I'm definitely feeling the massive hole in my life. She is everywhere I turn.

Today I had an uncomfortable discussion with a person in my life that I wish would be more in my life but has created a totally different life for themselves after mom died. And I am feeling the repercussions from it. A lot.

I'm not sure why, but after my mom died, literally within minutes of her last breath, my self-esteem took a serious downward turn. I don't know why. I've never been that person who walks around thinking they can do anything a thousand times better than anyone else, but I at least was confident in myself and comfortable in my own skin to just be me. Since she's been gone, I have felt the complete opposite and almost like I'm not worth anything. Why take vitamins? Why put on makeup? That sort of thing. And as unhealthy as that is, and as much as I know better than this, it's how I feel. And I can't shake it.

I recently went on a birth control shot that severely altered my hormones and left me, all said and done, twenty pounds heavier (despite running two miles nearly everyday when I started taking it) and with horrible adult acne. As if I didn't feel bad enough about myself with the loss of my mom, now I look like this? It's been really tough to be me, and to look at me, and to know that I have no control over what is happening to me. For a perfectionist-dietitian-runner who likes to take care of herself, this has been an extremely huge adjustment, to say the least.

So now, off the shot, while I'm "waiting it out" for the hormones to leave my body and let me be, I am struggling with how terrible I feel about myself combined with my confidence issues I have inherited since losing my mom all rolled together with the approach of Christmas. Holy. Crap.

I don't turn on lights when I walk into a room, I avoid mirrors, I can't fit into my work clothes comfortably, and I am really having a tough time. When I get really down like this, mostly after conversations with that person I wish would make more of an effort to be in my life but does just the opposite...I go into this negative downward spiral. "What's next? Missing teeth and a hunchback?!" Really. That's what goes on in my brain.

How terribly negative. And how disappointing. I barely recognize myself anymore and this person that I've become. Maybe not "become," but the person I currently am. This is not who I wish to end up as, nor is it the person I will become. I won't. I won't let it happen.

But I'm starting to think I can't fix it on my own. Between antibiotic lotion for my face plus an oral antibiotic, working out, eating mostly fruits and vegetables during the day, drinking tons of water, and seeing a counselor...shouldn't something give somewhere along the way?

I guess not. I guess I need something else to help.

I called my Aunt Janny tonight to tell her what happened earlier today and to discuss what I've been struggling with. We have had the same conversation over and over again, but tonight seemed a little more serious. I cried harder than I've cried in a long time, and felt, for the first time in a long time, like I couldn't help myself and I had nowhere to turn. I told her I didn't know what to do for myself.

She was crying and her nose was stuffy. "I don't doe, baby, I just don't doe."

Tonight, I do not feel hopeful. Tonight, I do not feel as though I have any self-worth. Tonight, I feel like I can't move on without my mom. Tonight, all I can picture myself doing tomorrow is laying in bed all day.

This, folks, I believe is called "Depression."

The good thing that comes from all of this is that I felt really good after I talked to my Aunt Janny, and truly, it feels good to get things like this off my chest and to get some reassurance that I'm not doing anything wrong, or feeling anything wrong. These days, I doubt myself quite often.

I work at a nursing home and I love (love, love, love!!!) my residents. I have written about one in particular that melts my heart on a daily basis and I have dubbed her lovingly as "Gunna Gunna." From my previous post you may remember that Gunna Gunna can literally only say the word "Gunna," brought on by a terrible stroke. But she is the most wonderful, most lovable woman and despite her limited means of communication, she says more than most. I just love her to death. With Christmas coming, a "wish list" has been posted of what the residents would like for the holidays, with the expectation that the managers at work will purchase some of them.

What in the world does this have to do with depression, you ask?

Well, I know for me at least, doing something nice for someone else really makes me happy. Gunna Gunna wants a sweater or a glove/hat set for Christmas. You better believe that after a night like tonight, Gunna Gunna is going to get that sweater and her gloves and hat....and a box of Twinkies.

Welcome to Heaven

I haven't written in such a long time, mostly because my thoughts and feelings tend to be the same these days. I am not as much of a roller coaster anymore, but rather I have found a steady pace. My thoughts are often with Karyssa, who has come out of her coma and is participating in intensive therapy up at the Cleveland Clinic to regain her normal life again. And they are often with my Aunt Polly, wondering if she's met Princess Diana and Mother Theresa yet up in Heaven. But mostly, they are with my mom, wishing nearly every hour of my waking life that I could see her again and trying to heal my heart slowly but surely.

At first, when people told me that "time heals all," I wanted to scream and yell and cry, knowing that all I cared about was turning back time to when my mom was cancer-free. But, believe it or not, as hard as I resisted it, this saying is very, very true. While I am still not the same, and I will probably never be the same, I feel different. Better--no, not yet. But different. I feel like some of the weight has been lifted, and slowly, with every day, it lifts a little more. There are days where all I can do is think of her, but sure enough, those days don't hold as much sadness as they used to. In the back of my mind, though, my thoughts are always with her and if she's missing me like I miss her.

Tonight, however, they are also with someone very special to me. My dear friend at work has had a very similar life to mine, although we are separated in age by several years. I am as old as her oldest daughter, but we get along very well and have bonded over our stories. Like mine, her family has suffered several great losses and has battled cancer over and over. She has lost two children, her husband is a cancer survivor as is her oldest daughter. When I first shared my story with her, we bonded right away as she opened up to me as well. I have been thinking of her a lot lately.

Her 49-year old sister is dying of cancer. They were informed of her diagnosis (and prognosis) just two weeks ago. After becoming incontinent and paralyzed from the waist down, a few tests showed that cancer was wrapped around her lower spine, in most of her organs and originated, they believe, from her lungs. A very rare cancer that occurs in women typically in their 40s.

Her life expectancy at that point was only a few weeks. It has been two weeks since they found out.

She is now on hospice and was sent home with my friend, who is a nurse. I question this choice, and at the same time, I understand it. That struggle between wanting to be there at every second, to savor every last drop while fearing the worst with every minute that passes. I get it.

I wanted to be by my mom's side at all times, knowing full well that what I was seeing, smelling, hearing...would haunt me forever.

I do not want this for Cheryl. She has had enough. Why is this happening to her again?

Sometimes, and many times, I wonder who came up with the saying "God only gives you what you can handle." How many times can you suffer these types of things before you break? Are we supposed to be pushed to our breaking point? Who is in control of all of this, and does He actually know what our breaking points are? Or is it all just a guessing game?

When do we get to hold up our white flags and surrender? Is that even an option?

I am very sad for my friend tonight, especially after seeing her today for the first time in two weeks. Two weeks ago, we went to a friend's wedding from work as "dates," laughing and having fun together, not knowing that in just several days her whole life would change and she would receive the news that her sister was dying of cancer. Today, she tried to be brave and come in to work. She lasted a couple of hours and went home. She was crying a lot, and her face was all red and she looked so different. Cheryl is usually very bubbly and such a joy to be around, and today, she didn't even feel like the same person. She is so sad. It was very hard to see her like that.

After many unreturned phone calls and much worrying, I was so excited to see her today that I wrapped my arms around her and held on really tight. She cried and apologized for not calling me back: "I'm too afraid to call you because I don't want to upset you. This is too close to home for you."

Good Lord. Who worries about someone else besides themselves and their family at a time like this? Cheryl. She would. I couldn't believe it. I just hugged her a little more and told her not to worry, that I just wanted to check up on her and she didn't have to call back if she didn't want to.

I do wish she would call me though. I can identify, and while other people would struggle with what to say, I know how it feels, and I get it. But I understand, because I didn't want to talk to anyone either.

My only hope for her at this point is that her sister goes to Heaven in the most comfortable, painless way and that she is welcomed safely by members of her family who have passed before her. I hope that when this time comes, she is surrounded by her loved ones, especially Cheryl, and that she is not scared. I am sure, at such a young age, there are many things she has not done in her life that she would like to do, but for the things she has accomplished, I hope that she enjoyed them and will never forget them up until her last breath.

Even though my mom and my Aunt Polly have never met Cheryl's sister, I like to think they are hearing my prayers to them...my request to welcome her safely and lovingly into Heaven. If her sister is even one ounce of all the amazing things Cheryl is, she deserves to be welcomed in such a way. Thinking of this brings a little smile to my face, knowing how unbelievably different my mom and Aunt Polly were and their "styles" for showing someone around Heaven. I can see my mom take Cheryl's sister by the hand and calmly and quietly explain to her what's happening and where she is and that she shouldn't be scared. I can almost hear her voice as she says, "There is nothing to be afraid of Honey. It's all over now."

Then I think of my Aunt Polly, who would probably be a little tired of my mom's "sugar coated" version and she would cut straight to the point: "Listen. You're not in pain anymore. You're in Heaven now. I know it's tough to be away from your family, and you are going to miss them, but you will see them again, ok? I promise. You wanna go meet Elvis?"

I can totally picture it. And I hope this is how it happens for me too.

Only mom knows why

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my mom's death. I can't believe it has been a year since I touched her or hugged her or laughed with her. One year since we talked. One year since "I love you."

It feels like she died only weeks ago. I am so surprised.

I did my best to not anticipate how I would feel. I didn't want to jinx myself in case I was meant to have a good day. And I didn't want to have a self-fulfilling prophecy, where if I thought I would have a bad day, I would. I just wanted wake up and see what happened.

Everything was alright. I woke up knowing what day it was and I gave myself a couple minutes to assess how I felt before I got out of bed. Alright. I went through my daily routine of getting ready and driving to work. Still alright. My day at work was non-eventful...so much, in fact, that I left early because I finished everything and wanted to enjoy the sunshine.

What I was anticipating, however, was my time to meet Karyssa and her family. I was very nervous and wasn't sure how I would react. Seeing someone on the vent is so scary, and for me, that person was my mom. I can still remember the smells and the sounds, her eyes covered with tape and the tubes down her throat. I didn't want to see such a young girl, or anyone for that matter, in the same condition.

But she was beautiful. Despite some facial fractures, her face was as perfect as the morning I first saw it. To look at her, you would never know the ordeal she went through. She does not have tubes down her throat, but she has a trache, which is a little uncomfortable to see but not as bad as I anticipated. She moves her hands and her eyes, although she is not awake yet.

But she will be. I just know it.

I feel so positive for her, and I have such faith in her strength and her ability to overcome this. I haven't felt this way in a very long time, probably from the second my mom was diagnosed.

I can't understand it, and I can't explain it, but I just know she will be ok.

Her family was lovely, and so so so welcoming, and they reminded me of my family. So much, in fact, that I was a little shocked. Most families are not like mine, and that is sad to me. Knowing how we interact with each other, and knowing how others tell us we're lucky to have each other and they wish their families acted like us, it's almost rare to find another like ours. But I did. They all seem to be very close and happy and so hopeful for Karyssa. I was so happy to see this and couldn't help but feel how odd it was too. Meeting Karyssa on the anniversary of my mom's death. Meeting another family just like ours. Knowing how rare it is, and seeing it all come together like this. I am baffled at how things are turning out.

Walking in to her room, I didn't feel nervous or upset or like I would cry. I knew my mom was with me, and I knew there was a reason I needed to go and see her. I don't know what that reason is, but I am waiting to see where this all goes. It really is very odd how things turn out, whether we understand them or not.

I felt brave today. And happy. And proud. And at ease. Things I have rarely felt this last year. I am not sure if my mom was keeping me strong for Karyssa, or if Karyssa was keeping me strong for my mom. Either way, I have two amazing women keeping me going. One I love very much, who knows me inside and out...the other, a perfect stranger, thrown into my life from someone else's poor judgment, for whatever reason.

Who knows how I would have felt yesterday if it hadn't been for this accident, and for this new-found hope, and for Karyssa. I can't begin to imagine, and I'm glad I don't have to. Maybe this is the reason. Perhaps our lives, mine, Karyss'a, Melinda's, are supposed to intertwine somehow. I am not sure. But I am interested to see where it takes us.

For now, I am happy and thankful to have made it through yesterday with a strength I did not expect and one I never knew I had. I have several people to thank for that, some I can see, and some I can't. I can't help but feel that my mom is somehow involved in this, knowing how empty I would have felt otherwise. Although it is extremely unclear, we all somehow intersect. Maybe only she knows why.

The well-oiled machine meets

Dear Mom,
Today was amazing and I want nothing more than to be able to tell you about it. I am sure that you have been watching what has been going on down here, with the accident and the young boy and girl who were hurt and how I have been dealing with it. I don't know if you realize this, but tonight is the anniversary of learning you were going to die, starting with them taking you to ICU. I can't believe it has been a year, a year since I last talked to you. I am completely amazed by that, and the way my life is unfolding now.

The young girl in the accident, Karyssa, as I'm sure you know, has really changed my faith. I am aware she's in critical condition and that things can always change, but for now, she is out of ICU and starting to slowly improve. It is a miracle, and for once in nearly a year, I believe good things can happen again. I have such faith in her that she will be ok and that things in general will be ok.

Today I met Melinda. We met at Starbucks for coffee. I'm sure you were watching down on us that morning, watching us work together to help try and hold Karyssa on this Earth. She was slipping fast, and we both knew it and there was nothing else to do but help. Neither one of us thought twice about it, and I know that my strength came from you. I wasn't sure if I could do it. I also wondered if you were there, waiting to take her. Or helping her stay here. Were you there?

I thought I felt you. Which side were you on?

I am sure, knowing you, that you have felt my turmoil and my anger and my fear through this event, and I am positive you have done whatever you can to help. I hope you put a good word in for Karyssa. It seems to be working.

As I have said before, Melinda is a complete angel and she has done something I am sure most people would not have the courage to ever do in their whole lives. There is not a stronger expression of love for people than sacrificing your health and safety to take in someone else's blood into your body in the attempt to save a life. Not even knowing if it might work. She is a hero and an angel, and I think more people should be like her. The world really would be a better place.

She is hurting right now, and I hope that you take some time to offer some love and support. She deserves it, and even though she, nor I, can see you, I have felt you many times when I have needed you and maybe she will too. See what you can do.

Tonight, we talked as though we were good friends, like we just knew each other. An instant "click." I think this definitely reflects in our efforts that morning, working like a "well-oiled machine," as I mentioned in an earlier post. I am wondering what will come of this tragedy and I'm starting to feel as though the positives far outweigh the negatives.

I have had such a hard time finding something to believe in, and for the first time in a long time, I believe. I believe in so many things right now. Karyssa is the reason for this, and I am so thankful to have her in my life.

And, the most exciting part, is that I get to meet her on Friday. She is still in a coma, but she is getting better and I can't wait to tell her that I believe in her and how much she has helped me. On your anniversary.

Isn't this bizarre how it's turning out?

I still think about you non-stop and so many things remind me of you. I am a little nervous to see Karyssa but I know that you will be behind me all the way. I am simply amazed at the way this is all unfolding, and I am wondering if you have had a hand in it. You know I never really believed in the whole "everything happens for a reason" idea. I do not see a reason why you died, or why Aunt Polly died, or why things ended up the way they did. But maybe, just maybe, there is a reason for all of this: why I was at that accident, and why Melinda was at the accident too. The first step has been made to figure out all of this, and it started tonight when Melinda and I met. The next step will be Friday, when I get to meet Karyssa and her parents.

I am interested in seeing where this goes and I have a feeling you are playing a big part in it. Thank you. Did you see how low I was getting? Did you see I needed rescuing? I am sure you did--you're my mom, and no one knows me better. Thank you for sending me this opportunity, I am doing my best to learn from it and I am continuing to work to be a better person. I love you. I miss you. You are my angel, and I see your love even though we are apart.

I get it

I have such amazing news. The young girl from the motorcycle accident is alive, and I could not be more relieved. As the (very) misinformed police officer told me she had died, my heart completely sank.

Since the loss of my mom, I didn't know it could go any lower.

Monday night, my friend informed me of a discussion forum on the internet regarding the accident, and her parents have posted that she is alive, in serious condition in the ICU, but she is fighting hard. I just couldn't believe it. I am so happy.

I have been told by several people that I was supposed to be witness to this, for one reason or another. My counselor has shared that she thinks I was meant to be involved because I have fought so long and so hard to deny death and its consequences and hurt. I have wanted to put it all aside, the loss of my mom, the emptiness in my heart, so that I could move on "peacefully." But there is no peaceful departure from loss. I am starting to understand this, and I am starting to embrace it.

As I read the details from her parents on the forum, I felt something I can't explain, not even now. Almost like an adrenaline rush of sorts, but combined with hope and faith and happiness.

I can't tell you the last time I felt anything like this. It's been far too long.

Her condition is very serious, and she is on life support, but for some reason, some unexplainable reason, I feel good about this. I have faith that something good is going to happen, and that everything might really work out for her.

Faith and hope have been so absent in my life, it took me until now, Wednesday, to recognize them. My life has been so dark and my outlook even darker. For the first time in a long time, I feel renewed and hopeful.

I am sorry it took such a traumatic, monumental event that has impacted so many for me to realize all of this. I feel bad about that. My counselor assures me this is the way it needed to happen, because my block against life was so strong and hard to break down, it required this type of event for me to see.

I understand it now. I had to stare it in the face. I had to feel immense loss again. And I had to be lifted with hope. My faith had to be renewed. I get it. I am there. While her life hangs in a delicate balance, and the outcome may not be as I wish for her, I am hoping for her with the strongest faith I have had in nearly a year, and that has got to count for something.

I will never forget today for as long as I live

This post is unlike any of the others before. It is not about my mom, or about dealing with her death. I will say that will be gruesome and at times, down-right disturbing, but it is an account of what happened to me this morning that I will never forget for the rest of my life. If you are easily upset, do not read this.

Yesterday was the year anniversary of my mom's bone marrow transplant, and although I felt a strain all day, this morning I felt great. Back to normal. I got up early for work and left out for my commute at seven. I was stuck behind a school bus who had stopped at railroad tracks, and as it stopped, I and everyone else in my lane and the left lane next to me had to stop as well. I heard a loud motor coming from behind me and saw a motorcycle speeding ahead the traffic, left of the double yellow line in the oncoming lane. Just as my brain was able to register what was happening, I saw him approach the intersection with the railroad tracks and collide with a van who was turning left out of the left-hand lane, the same lane he was riding illegally left of. This was always one of my worst fears, to witness a motorcycle accident. It was horrific.

I could hear the collision and no longer saw the bike or it's riders (a guy and girl). I was able to make my way over them, and I was the first to arrive on the scene. I was calling 911 as I parked my car on the curb and ran to them. The bike was shattered and in several pieces along the road. The boy was on the side of the street, jutted up against the curb and partially lying in a rain gutter. He was moaning, and I saw him and immediately started to panic. I kept telling him it was ok, but I kept saying "Oh my God." I've never seen anything like it. His legs were backwards. He, believe it or not, was telling me to calm down. I grabbed his hand, and he did not squeeze my hand back. He kept moaning a girl's name. I finally saw her out of the corner of my eye. My God. Horrific. She was curled up next to the telephone pole, and it was extremely evident she had hit it head first. Her body lay mangled on the ground, nearly wrapped around the pole. Blood was everywhere.

Neither of them were wearing helmets. The 911 dispatcher told me ambulances were on their way and I immediately hung up. The girl was breathing very shallow and gurgling blood. Blood was coming out of everything. Another woman came up behind me, and she was yelling "We have to do CPR!" By this time, many people had stopped, but for what only seemed for them to watch, not to help. I think people were in shock and probably didn't know what to do. I cannot ever possibly tell you how surreal and horrific it was. The woman knelt down by the girl's head, I at her chest. The girl wasn't breathing. The woman breathed two breaths into her mouth, and I began compressions. I counted out loud, nearly screaming from panic. The boy could hear us talking about her not breathing and he began to panic for his girlfriend. He screamed her name over and over. He never complained of pain, not once.

On my 30th compression, the woman would give two breaths. It was amazing, looking back now, at what a well-oiled machine we were. I could feel the girl's heart beat again under my hands, it was so fast I thought it might explode. Her breathing was shallow, but finally returned. She coughed and sputtered blood, and we turned her over onto her side to help it out. We continued CPR for what felt like an hour but in reality was probably only 7 minutes or so. The girl continued to start and stop breathing, but she never gained consciousness or made noise. The paramedics arrived and got in place to take over our job. They quickly got her onto a stretcher and left the scene, sirens and lights screaming.

I looked up at this woman who's job it was to breath air into the girl's lungs, and her face was covered in blood. "You're an angel," I told her. How many people would put their face to another person's face, into their blood? The woman said it was in her nose and in her mouth. What a selfless person she was. She was amazing. As both of us wiped blood from our bodies, I asked her name. Melinda.

"Well, Melinda. You are an absolute angel. You are amazing. You are absolutely amazing," I told her. She hugged me. Both of us were shaking. And crying.

As I wrote down my statement, another office pulled onto the scene, and said very quietly to the officer who was helping me, "Most likely fatal." My heart sank. I looked at him in fear. "She's dead?" I asked quietly, but with panic. He nodded and his face looked strained. "She was in bad shape from the get-go."

In a way, I wasn't surprised, but in another way, my heart wanted to believe she lived. Did he really know for sure?

Many people gave statements. The woman driving the van that hit the motorcycle was on her way to take her son to day-care. They took her to the hospital in one of the ambulances. I've never seen someone so white and in shock in my life.

Melinda had to go to the hospital to get tested, since she was in contact with so much blood in her mouth and nose. I'm glad they took her. She looked just as much in shock as the driver of the van.

I was asked to go to the hospital as well. I declined. I had blood on my hands and feet and pants, but I didn't see any real danger for myself besides being shaken up. Since it was nearly just two minutes down from my house, I was able to drive home.

I sat in my car, in front of my apartment, for nearly 20 minutes without a thought in my head, just staring. I looked down at my hands and realized I still had the girl's blood on my right wrist and hand.

I sobbed. For her and for her boyfriend. For their families. For the innocent woman driving the van. For Melinda. There will be many people tonight who will not be able to get that image out of their minds, whether that be the actual accident they witness or unfortunately, what Melinda and I witnessed.

I know I will never forget that. I did not go to work today. I cried most of the day, sat in shock during the parts I didn't cry. I immediately took off my blood-stained clothes and put them into a plastic bag to be washed. My shower felt like it took an hour. I washed everything twice and shampooed my hair three times.

I still did not feel clean. Even now, hours later, I do not feel clean. I feel uneasy, and I feel sad and worried for that boy, having to find out that his irresponsible actions have killed his girlfriend.

Looking back on this event, it feels as though it did not happen. It is almost too hard to believe, and my brain can't possibly process all of it. I am not the only one who will feel this way tonight, and I hope and pray that everyone involved is able to find some peace tonight, and if not tonight, soon.

To Melinda, wherever you are: The world would be a much better place if more people were as amazing and selfless as you. God bless you.

The truth will come out

My husband and I have been house hunting for the past several weeks. It is so interesting how people choose to live in their houses, what color they paint the walls, what type of carpet they walk on, and how lovingly, or un-lovingly, they live amongst all of their things. One thing, the main thing, I have learned is how completely deceiving pictures can be. To look at the pictures of a listing and to actually see the rooms themselves are often two very different scenarios. I find it almost appalling how the outward appearance of a house can be polished, charming, and simply lovely, and the inside can be a complete disaster. Candles melted into carpets, ceilings with water marks and rot, bricks covered in white powder, exposed by the calcium buildup from a flooded basement. When you see the outside of the house, your mind immediately makes an opinion of the inside, and then, the truth comes out. Filthy. Rotting. Moldy. Sometimes, unlivable.

Sometimes, in order to make up for the inside, we have to put up a facade. A fake appearance in attempt to prove that the inside is good, worthy. If you think about it hard, you can find many instances in which this discussion applies to far more than just houses.

Off the top of my head, I can name several people who fit this description. Those who have terrible insides, only to put on a front for all the world to see. Those who have to "mold" themselves into something they're not to make up for the part, or the whole, of themselves they do not like. I bet you can too.

On the flip side, I have seen this play out in my own life. I did not realize it until just recently, however. From my previous posts, I have mentioned that I have recently continued to see a counselor due in large part to my denial of my mom's death and how hard I have worked to keep it a very small part of my life. Unfortunately, as we all know, it is real, and probably the hugest, and realest, part of my life. I have worked so hard to put it away, to not accept it, and to not look at the reality of the situation that has, in fact, made myself and my life, harder to deal with as this truth, this awful, heartbreaking truth, works its way out into the open. I am amazed at how your brain and your heart will not let you hide your pain, and it, unfortunately will come out when it sees fit: while you're driving on the highway, when you're at work in a meeting, when you're at a wedding celebrating your friends' life and marriage. Inappropriate versus appropriate, good versus bad, safe versus dangerous...it will find its way out. It does not care.

I am told that this happens when we suppress things for far too long. They will come out. Eventually. And when they do, we have no control.

I have experienced this. I am now dealing with the harsh reality that I have not wanted to let myself accept for 11 months. My mom is dead. I watched her die. I told her everything would be alright. I was part of the decision to "pull the plug," as we so lovingly call it.

As part of my therapy, I read my blog from the first entry to my birthday entry, four months total worth of postings. I relived every moment, every emotion, every memory. Except, they did not feel like my memories to me. Reading through descriptions of the moments leading up to her death, the events that took place before she left for the hospital, the day of the bone marrow transplant, the last 36 hours of her life--they were not things I recognized in my memories. You know how pictures or a letter or journal entry can jog our memories and take us back to scenes in which we once lived?

This was not the case. Reading through four months of my life did not feel like my life at all. I felt as though I was reading a novel, not something that I myself wrote, much less from memories that I myself encountered. I could not believe what I was reading. Things slowly came back to me, and I felt as though she was dying all over again, and I cried so much for myself and for her.

And I let myself. And I kept crying. And I tried as hard as I could to understand that these were not stories, but things that I once lived and breathed. They were real, from the moment I heard "leukemia" to her last dying breath. All real, and all mine.

I continued to read until I couldn't take it anymore. But the reason I stopped wasn't because my sadness prevented me from moving on...it was the complete and utter bullshit I wrote about after she died. Things like "I might actually be OK" and "I feel really good today, I am starting to move on." What a joke, and how embarrassing to realize the falsity and forced feelings of "being ok."

There's a huge difference from saying you're ok and actually being ok. I was just saying I was ok. I would be lying, now, to say that I am ok.

I mean, I wanted to be ok. I really wanted to. With everyone so distraught around me, I felt like I had to be the tough guy. Crying was weak. Being sad was weak. Letting myself feel anything was weak. So I was strong, and blocked it all out, "moved on," and forced myself into "being ok."

If you did not understand the facade comparison, this is where it comes in. I put up a facade to the world, to my family, to my friends, and to myself. I acted like nothing was wrong and eventually believed nothing was wrong. But all in time, it shows its ugly head. Just like the leakage in the room or the cracks in the foundation, you can see it in someone's eyes, in their face, in their smile. You can see that sadness that lies within , that truth that's dying to come out and be real.

My mom is dead. She has been dead for 11 months. I am miserable. I want her back. Nothing seems real without her.

I admit it.

My first post states that I will always end my blogs on a positive note, that I would not let cancer take me down, and that it would not take my mom down. It has taken her down. And you and I both know that I have not ended this blog on a positive note in a very long time. In the attempt to be honest with myself and my feelings, I cannot end this on a positive note myself, but I can let someone else do it for me.

At work, I have a patient who, due to a massive stroke, can only say the word "gunna." She can read and write, and she can understand what you are saying to her, but she can only express herself using this solitary word. Believe it or not, it is rather easy to talk with her. Despite the extremely limited vocabulary of my patient, her facial expressions and her hand gestures can do most of the talking for her. Today, she was readmitted to our facility after a bout with abdominal pain that turned out to be nothing serious. Upon my assessment of her, I attempted to find out if this hospitalization in any way changed her nutritional status. To put it kindly, she is not the thinnest of women. However, she has the most precious smile and kindest heart and for her to speak to you and wave to you to say "hi" simply melts your heart. She truly is a joy to my day, and I missed her while she was gone. I asked her if her appetite was still good like before she went out to the hospital. She was talking as she reached for a large snowman sitting on her nightstand. It is September, so this in itself was rather odd, but I began to think for a second that maybe she really didn't understand what I was saying.

She put the snowman on her bed, popped its head off, and showed me what was hidden in the belly of the snowman. Inside were probably 20 twinkies and ho-hos in individual plastic wrappers, all of which she dumped out of the snowman and onto her bed. She displayed them by waving her arms as if to say, "My appetite's fine! See what I have here!" I couldn't help but laugh. I laughed hard. This woman, who literally fills my heart with joy every time she greets me in the hallway, made my entire week, maybe my entire month, by this simple act.

She told on herself. And she didn't care.

For those of you who don't know, I am a dietitian. I am often loathed, to put it mildly, by my patients and sometimes by their families. But I mean well. On a daily basis, I am bombarded with people who weigh 300, even 400 pounds, with diabetes, heart disease, hypertension, who, while I'm assessing them, will drink two regular sodas and eat two bags of Doritos in front of me, all while telling me they wish to lose weight. I am not exaggerating. It's horrible and so very, very frustrating.

I am lied to, directly to my face, on (probably) an hourly basis. It is insane the things they will lie about. But not this lady.

She is herself, and no one else. She does not lie, she does not make excuses. Although she cannot speak, she can say more than most of the people I come in contact with every single day. She does not hide anything.

You cannot get any more honest than showing your dietitian your secret stash of guilty pleasures that have more calories in one cake than most humans need all day long.

We should all take a lesson from her. Why try to hide it? The truth will come out some day.

Faith Noir

I haven't written in a while, mostly because I feel a little awkward posting the same thoughts and feelings I've had since last year around this time, even though now, this year, they seem to be stronger and more pronounced in my life. I recently met up with someone who mentioned they read my blog, and then followed that statement with, "Has it gotten any more positive? I remember it being a little...noir." I immediately felt the need to apologize. This statement had really hit a nerve.

I have been extremely tired of myself and my feelings and sadness and loss, and I am always so afraid to put any of that on someone else. Especially my husband or my friends. I try to keep as many things to myself as I can, and this sometimes feels like my only outlet. Are you tired of me too?

I'm so sorry if you are, I can't help how I feel. Maybe I need to find a better way to express it?

I see a counselor regularly, who believe it or not, feels as though I do not express any of this enough. My first visit back to her, after my "break," I began with, "I know it's been ten months and I shouldn't be feeling like this, but I feel like she died yesterday. I feel like it just happened. I'm so sad, more so than I was when it first happened."

She told me never to say anything like this again. That I can't apologize for feeling the loss of my mom, that ten months is "two seconds" in grieving time, especially when it was my mom and especially when it was so traumatic. I'm trying not to feel bad for feeling how I feel, but sometimes I just do.

This whole situation and it's ripple effect it has had on my life have made me question a lot about religion and faith. I know this is a sensitive subject for many, and if you are easily offended by discussions like this, I suggest you stop reading. I can't help but wonder why God would put such a wonderful, amazing creature like humans on this Earth for them to suffer? Good, honest, hard-working people that have never wanted anything more than to have a family, suffering, and struggling, only to die in the end, for nothing. I don't understand it. The sad thing is, none of us really do. We can think we know, but none of us know for sure what this is all about.

That's a scary thought to me, to not understand why I'm here. Since my grandma got sick in 2000, me and my family have done nothing, and I mean nothing, but watch one of our loved ones suffer from cancer. Chemo, radiation, weight loss, hair loss, self-esteem loss, fear, hospitals, surgeries, medicine, doctors, nurses, dietitians, vomiting, screaming, crying, fighting, praying. Dying. All three of them. Gone. All of it, it all was for nothing. Why would you create such a beautiful person like my mom, only to make her watch her mother die, then her sister, then put the same fate on her? Why even do it?

I perfectly understand that we all die, and that it must happen for all of us. But not that way. Not the way any of them died.

How cruel. I do not understand.

We are all now dealing with the repercussions of this decision to create, to destroy. I watch my aunts cry and mourn for their sisters, their best friends they've grown up with. Their deaths were not peaceful or quick. Not by any means. How could you put them through that? These wonderful women, how could you make them suffer like this?

How unfair.

There are so many questions I have that remain unanswered, and no matter how hard anyone tries, they cannot be answered. For we do not know the answer, not one of us on this earth.

Faith allows us to walk among this place with hope in our hearts that this is all worth something, that our hard work to be good people will pay off some day. Faith keeps us going, and keeps us trusting that those who suffer do not do it in vain. Faith is the base of religion, of belief, of knowing that we will one day find the answer to why we are all here.

I am envious of those who have faith, and of those who cultivate it in a time of loss and mourning.

I once had faith. It faltered here and there, after my grandma, after my Aunt Polly. It was even once the cause for an argument between a friend. Some of us have such rock-hard faith we barely understand suffering or the empathy to support one another during a time of questioning. I have never been able to understand that kind of faith, but I could at least make sense of what it stood for.

It was shattered after my mom.

I know that it will never come back. At least not as "faith." Maybe understanding. Maybe respect for others' opinions. Maybe an open mind for different views and the ability to appreciate a different perspective. But not faith. Maybe just simply an appreciation for others' faith.

I hope that I am not being judged for this type of thought, and I hope that it is with an open mind and open heart that these postings are read. Otherwise, stop. Please. I have always been interested in religion and faith and belief and people's opinions. I have always wanted to hear what others think on the subject and have hoped, during these conversations that I am able to adapt their thoughts and feelings into the way I see things. I have always tried to appreciate differences among people. Please appreciate mine.

I do not understand why we're here. I go about my day, taking care of others, worrying about others, especially my family and my patients, and I wonder what the point is. Am I just supposed to be a good person? I certainly try hard, and I am hoping it is noticed. But. Is a "good" person a successful person in God's eyes? What if I'm not happy? What if I don't feel whole anymore? What if I'm not even myself anymore, but instead someone everyone wishes I was? What if I walk around all day, trying to be "better" and "over this" and "stronger than before," but all of it is just a show with no real meaning to it? What if I'm just faking?

Am I still a good person? If none of this is real, it's all for show, and I come home everyday feeling lost and sad without her, am I still good in God's eyes? If I'm not happy or myself, the person He created 24 years ago, and I'm struggling to remember that person, am I still succeeding, in the grand scheme of things?

What is this world, really, without the one's we love by our sides? If we've lost such large pieces of our hearts that we can't fully live the way we used to? I just don't get it.

I know that eventually I will move on and learn to live my life the way I need to, without them. I fully understand that. That doesn't mean it has to make any sense.

It is what it is

I was looking through old facebook pictures while I was waiting for my nails to dry, and I came across some of my mom before she got sick. And of my Aunt Polly, while she was sick. It is amazing how, at one point in your life, you can be worrying about losing a person and enjoying them while you still have them, all the while, not even realizing how different your life will be in just one year, preparing to lose someone you never thought possible. After everything we went through with Aunt Polly, I never imagined we would be thrown such a curve ball like what happened with my mom.

My heart breaks all over again when I think about her, and how much I miss her.

I was looking at pictures of my mom, my aunts and I in Disneyworld. It was our last "sisters" trip with all of us together, preparing to lose Aunt Polly and wanting to take a "final" trip with us all together. We all had so much fun, and it was so amazing to experience that together, knowing what we were in store for in a few months with losing Aunt Polly.

It's really baffling to think that our group, the sisters, could ever be torn apart. We were reluctantly ready for the first time. We were blind-sided by the second time. I can't believe how quickly everything changes. But it really does. In a matter of seconds everything can change.

I am not sure why this has happened, I never will understand, and I know I say that over and over again, but sitting here tonight in my quiet house, I feel, really feel, how immensely your life can change and just how quickly it can happen. I would have never imagined a world without my Aunt Polly, and especially not one without my mom.

Feeling lonely and sad and quiet tonight, I let myself really understand how sad my heart is for my mom, and for my aunts, and for myself.

Since I hid my feelings for so long and pretended as though this never happened....lived in denial, and now I am just realizing the monumental-ness of it, I feel as though she just died. The day my whole world went black and I lost it, about a month ago, that was the day she died, for me. That was the day it hit.

It has been almost 11 months. I feel like it was not even a month ago.

I can't believe what has happened to my life. How full it was. When two huge pieces of your life go missing, you start to realize how small it really is.

It can't be seen by the naked eye, without them. At least that's how it feels sometimes.

I have nothing positive to say tonight, and I won't even try like I usually do. Sometimes things are not flowers and rainbows, and sometimes people die, and sometimes we miss them terribly. I am terribly upset tonight and lonely for my mom so much that I almost don't understand how I'm alive on this earth without her. I do not. It makes no sense to me to be here without her and to miss the things we were supposed to share together, the things she dreamed about sharing with me while she was still pregnant with me, I'm sure. All the things mothers dream about sharing with their daughters. They have come and gone, without her. My heart feels so empty, I'm not so sure it's even there.

I could not possibly end this on a positive note. This is healing. It is not always ok. It is what it is.

Time's up

Today is the first day I have cried at work. I have been there a little less than two months, and I knew eventually this day would come for one reason or another. My work involves me getting to know and care for old, sick people... and then eventually they die, so I thought for sure the first time I cried at work would be because of one of my patients dying. Surprisingly, I have been handling that rather well.

As part of the clinical management team, I have to attend meetings with the patients and the families within the first 72 hours being in the facility to introduce ourselves and give an update of what has been happening on our end of care. Today's meeting was with a very quiet woman who does not enjoy staying in our facility and away from her family, and because of that, she is unhappy with us. Her daughter, who is a doctor, is a little skeptical of all of us, and it reads all over her face and her body language. She was very stern and had her arms and legs crossed, and her expression on her face never changed throughout the meeting. At one point, she looked over at her mother, who had an eyelash on her face, and she reached out to brush it away. It took several swipes before she finally got it, and then she ran her hand down the side of her mom's face, and her mom leaned into her as she did it. I am telling you right now that it was one of the most touching, most precious things I have seen in a long time, something as simple and as loving as brushing something from her face. My heart melted for how much she loved her mom, and how much she loved her back. I have not seen something like this in a long time, and I think it is sad that more people do not have a mother-daughter relationship like these women and like my mom and I did.

Immediately I felt the urge to cry, and it shocked me how fast my heart began to hurt for myself and for my mom to be away from each other. I excused myself from my seat and walked as quickly as I could, with my head down, to the bathroom. I barely shut the door and I nearly collapsed with how utterly sad I felt inside and how much I missed my mom.

I miss her so much my insides hurt. Nowhere in particular, just inside.

I thought of all the times I have done that for my mom. Pick an eyelash off of her face, brush a hair off of her shoulder, rub my thumb under her eye when her mascara is smudged. I watched this woman silently and dutifully care for her mother in the most subtle, gentle way and I felt a rush of jealousy that I could no longer do that for mine.

Then the pictures started happening again. The images of my mom dying, of my mom crying and saying "No" and shaking her head, knowing she was dying and not wanting to. I brushed her tears from her face with my fingertips and patted her head and her shoulders, trying to love her as much as I could because I knew it was limited. For the last hours of her life I knew everything was limited.

When you know they're dying, your brain automatically takes you to those places, those memories locked inside that fill you with warmth. Trips to Disney World, road trips to Amish Country, riding in the car and listening to the oldies, walking the isle at graduation and seeing her crying like I was. They flash through your brain in a matter of seconds, and then you start to imagine the things in the future that will not have her in them. My wedding, my Master's graduation, my first house, my first job, my first baby. She will not be there. All in a matter of seconds, it hits you like a truck.

When you look up and see that flatline on the monitor and a once-rising chest lay still, it's as though someone just hits you square in the stomach and screams, "Time's up! That's all you get!"

That's all I got...all we got. And now it is over.

I do not know why I am 24 and our time was up so quickly and why this woman, grown, with children of her own who are also grown, gets so much more time with her mother. Regardless of the reason, that twinge of jealousy and that question never cease to come up. And after this never-ending question, I have to remind myself, really force myself, to be happy for her instead of how I actually feel. This is very hard. I struggle with this part, but once I start to feel happy for them that they still have each other, that struggle dies down and I am able to move on with my day.

This situation that occurred today lasted no more than 10 minutes, and when I say that I was able to move on with my day, I mean it. I gathered myself back together, waited until my red eyes were back to normal, and walked back to the meeting. And continued on with my busy day like normal.

I think this resiliency is a sign of something bigger on the horizon. I know that I am far from "normal," and probably will never be again, but I can at least process things and let myself be sad for myself, as long as it stops when the time is appropriate. And when the situation is appropriate. Today, it was appropriate. I really missed her. And I was so sad for myself to not have what this woman had. And I let myself grieve for her.

I liked today.

36 hours

On my oh-so-exciting weekend off with my husband that I have been waiting for all week, I came down with food poisoning (we think), and I have been sleeping almost non-stop. This morning I woke up early, the house nice and dark and quiet, with Adrian still sleeping. I had the scariest dream. I still do not have dreams about my mom that are happy and peaceful. I'm still having dreams about her dying or knowing that she will die or where she is already dead, and they are so scary and so real to me.

I remember a couple months ago I had a recurring dream that was in the form of a game show where I had to save my mom's life. We would re-wind to Tuesday night when we found out she had the infection, and then they would "release" me into the hospital to try to save her knowing that she was going to die Thursday morning if I didn't. I never could, and time would run out. And she would die. I'm pretty sure I have written about this dream before.

Last night, my dream was more like the movie "Saw," where I was given weird clues and riddles about where my mom was and how to save her. My time started on Tuesday night, and if I didn't figure it out in time, she would die on Thursday morning. I was in a huge castle, but not like a medieval castle. It was very modern and dark, and I was cold. I was in a chamber of some kind that held tons of electronic control panels for what appeared to be the whole house, controls for lights, doors, that sort of thing. There was a video screen. A movie started, and it was of my mom, her and I together, her and her sisters together, shots of memories playing over and over. Then the screen went black, and then re-appeared as a live shot of my mom, sick like she was in the hospital the night we found out about her infection, laying in a bed, in a room with nothing in it. She was screaming my name like she did in the ICU. The video didn't tell me what I had to do, but I already knew. That is so weird how your brain just knows in dreams. This room was slowly filling with water, and I needed to save her before the water got too high. I had 36 hours-Tuesday night to Thursday morning.

So I started to run all over the castle, searching for a control to the water in the room. Long story short, I figured out a clue that led me to the controls, which were right in front of the room. I had a large glass vase to break it with, and I couldn't see inside the room at all to know if I was too late. I raised the vase above my head and smashed the controls over and over again until all the lights on the control went blank. Water began to spew out from under the door of the room, and I knew that I had done it. I had saved her.

But then I just stood there, hesitating to go in. Enough water came out of that room to flood the hallway in front of it. What if the water did get too high, and it looked as though I was successful because it all came out but really I wasn't? I didn't want to find out. I didn't want to walk into the room and see her dead, knowing that I hadn't in fact saved her at all. My heart couldn't stand the thought of that, and I stood in front of the door for a long time.

Then I woke up. I woke myself up, like how you do when you're having a scary dream and you can't take it anymore. I couldn't stand the thought of failing her and knowing that I couldn't save her in time. Somehow, I knew that she was already dead, laying in the room among all of the water. I already knew.

I am sure, like the other "game show" dreams, that this is supposed to tell me that no matter what, this is how it all had to end. Nothing could have changed the fact that the infection could not be stopped. The drugs weren't strong enough and her body couldn't help her fight. We all had to stand there and watch, not being able to do one thing about it.

I wasn't even allowed to be with her while she screamed for me in the ICU. She could see me through the glass and she wanted me around her, not the nine nurses and doctors trying to help her. I should have gone in and at least held her hand but all I could do was stand there and watch them hook her up to things. She wanted me, not them. I should have gone in. There are so many things that make me so sad about what happened, and it's not just that she lost her life after such a battle. The fact that our visits were limited when they knew she was dying and the rules couldn't even be bent for a family that was actively losing one of their own. The fact that there was nothing anyone could have done for her, or the fact that we had to make the decision to "pull the plug," as our society likes to call the choice to end your own mother's life.

In my mind, she was already dead. That wasn't her. And when they stopped the IV's keeping her heart pumping, it stopped immediately. She really was already dead.

It did not matter how fast I found the controls to that room and broke them. It did not matter if I would have stopped the rising water. She was already gone, and I knew that without even having to go into that room.

I know my brain is trying to help me cope with the fact that I was helpless in this situation and that is just how it had to be. No one, not the nurses, doctors, the amounts of prayers sent up, could have helped her. She was far beyond help, and there was nothing that could change that situation. I know my body is trying to help me move on, I'm sure it is as sick of dealing with this as I am and it's trying to speed up the process. Despite the fact that it makes all the sense in the world and that the "game show" and "Saw" concepts are just a metaphor for what was really happening, the truth is that I understand what my brain is trying to tell me but it doesn't help me feel any better.

Maybe I can't let this go because I felt like I should have been able to help and I couldn't?

At my job, and in my schooling, I am taught to exhaust all options to help someone and to keep them as comfortable as possible. Serious measures are only taken when the need is obvious. I wouldn't just order a hole to be put in someone's stomach unless the need is really there, right? But, I would still do it if it would help them from dying. In my mom's case, I couldn't do anything for her and had to take a back seat and just watch it all unfold.

I was completely helpless.

As I ran through the corridors of the castle to find what I needed to save her, I was crying and yelling, "I would do anything for her. I would do whatever it takes to save her. Please don't let her die. I'll do anything." I kept saying things like this over and over again, hoping it would change whoever's mind was controlling the room with the rising water. It didn't work. No matter what I said, no matter how fast I released all of that water, it would do no good.

36 hours can completely change your life. Tuesday night to Thursday morning. 36 hours is all it takes for your whole world to be turned upside down. It took 36 hours for her to move from the Bone Marrow Transplant center to the ICU, for the pneumonia to completely wipe out her right lung, leaving her left to work for its life, for the infection to invade all of her organs. It took 36 hours for her kidneys to fail, her liver to fail, her heart to fail, and her lungs to fail.

36 hours is all it takes to realize that in this world, in the big scheme of things, we are not in control. We are completely helpless and left to stand and watch, for a big hand to slap you in your face back to reality. Prayers. Medicine. Breathing machines. They are not in control. None of us are. We are all helpless.

When it is time, it's time. 36 hours is all it takes to realize this, no matter how many times you play it over and over.

Wait for me, World

Tonight I went for a run for the first time in nearly four weeks. Needless to say, it was extremely challenging, and I felt awful the whole time. My legs hurt, my shoulders hurt, my lungs hurt. My body is so out of shape, which is so disappointing for me to have lost all the progress I had made before this sad-streak took hold. I was running 2.5 miles a day and lifting weights, I felt so good about myself and like I was really taking care of myself. Just doing well in general.

It is amazing how fast things can change. Wham. Five pounds heavier and can barely even run a mile.

But I did. Barely.

I was looking forward to running to release so much from my brain, to listen to music and just lose myself in thoughts and processing. My iPod wouldn't work, and I literally almost cried. I thought, "No. Stop it, this is ridiculous." I felt like I couldn't do it without it. But I really wanted to show myself that I could.

Once I finished, I stretched my stiffness away. I grabbed my hands in front of myself and stretched them above my shoulders, leaning my head back to breathe deep. I opened my eyes and looked up to the sky.

It was beautiful. I haven't seen it in over three weeks.

I have been so dead to the world. Going through the motions of life, a sad life without my support and love that used to fill it. I wasn't looking at anything, seeing anything, just existing. Tonight I realized how much I have been missing. Even simple things like clouds in the sky. I have been missing all of it.

I need to snap out of this. This is very different from before. I can't just snap out of it. When I would go running, or see something beautiful, or write a passage here, I would feel so happy and lifted. I do not feel that way. It is a very different feeling with very different realizations. I feel like I am slowly awakening. Like I was sleeping for a long time while the world just passed me by.

I do not like that idea, and I am sad and disappointed that I let myself get into this situation. I have avoided processing this and realizing this no matter how hard the world tried to force me to face things. I wish this wasn't the situation in which I am now finding myself. I want it to stop and be better. Poof! All better!

Too bad things don't work like that. Life does not work like that. Especially after first losing your aunt to a slow battle with cancer and then losing your mom to a 36-hour struggle against infection with no defense. I knew Aunt Polly was going to die. We all did. We were prepared. We were not prepared for my mom. That was beyond shocking to my system. I never thought I would lose her, not like this, and not this early. I was not ready. I am still not ready.

I wonder if my heart will ever be the same.

At this point, I am trying to focus on the small things and work my way up to the big things. Like...I wonder if my legs will ever be the same? After this neglect of almost a month of not running, of not taking care of myself, will they feel the same again?

Will anything ever feel the same? Regardless of whether or not it ever will, the world will continue. With or without me. I have been absent for some time now. I hope it will wait for me, I want to climb back on.

Just call me "Fort Knox"

It has been so long since I've written that I feel almost like I have forgotten how. I obviously know how to write, but what I mean is that I, in a way, feel like I can't remember how to feel anymore. It has been nine months since my mom died and over a year since Aunt Polly died. Since that time, I have finished my internship, completed my graduate classes, finished my thesis, graduated, gotten married, and two weeks after I graduated, I was lucky enough to get a full-time job as a clinical dietitian at a very challenging and busy facility. I am now learning that although I am blessed to be married, to have achieved a Master's, to have finished my thesis, and most importantly, to have been granted a full-time job, I have buried everything so far that I can now barely bring it to the surface to deal with it. And because of this, I am back in counseling, by my own wishes and clarity. I do not want to feel this way anymore. And really, I have only been feeling this way for about three weeks and yet I can barely stand myself.

I can say, wholeheartedly and honestly, that I am more sad and missing my mom more than I ever have. I tried so hard to be brave and so hard to be strong for everyone else around me that I forgot to let myself accept the fact that she is gone. Now that I am finally done with the pressure of school and a thesis and finding a job and settling in to a routine, a storm of missing and wanting have hit me. Hard. I have never felt like this before. And it scares me.

Several weekends ago I had an episode of panic that struck so badly I had to pull over...I was driving on the highway. It hit me how lonely and how sad I was for my family and how I missed the way things used to be with us--I wanted things to be back to normal. It all started with hearing my mom scream my name in the ICU. I understand that I have post-traumatic stress and that this type of thing will happen from time to time, and I usually deal with it so much better. Not this time. I immediately felt hot and sweaty and started to breathe hard and heavy. I got lightheaded. I scratched at myself and pulled at my hair, I would have done anything to make her screaming stop. I called at least ten people in my phone. No one answered. I sat on the side of the highway for a while and I was able to get a hold of myself. I was so scared of myself and yet didn't understand what was happening to me or who I even was. That wasn't me. It was like an out-of-body experience where I knew it was me but couldn't do anything to control it, or more importantly, stop it. This was a Saturday. I called my psychologist on Monday to make an appointment for the first available. It had been nearly seven months since I had seen her.

I thought I was fine.

When I told her what had happened, she explained to me that because I have been so "busy" and so "focused" on my life and "getting past this" that I haven't actually dealt with it at all. I suppose this wasn't surprising for me to hear and yet it was something that never had occurred to me on my own. I can honestly say that after nine months of my mom being gone, I thought I had dealt with it. At least it felt that way.

She told me that I am hard on myself, that I never let myself feel pain, that I am not good company for myself to be around. That I haven't dealt with any of this and how incredibly bad my heart and my life are hurting. She's totally right. So here comes the whammy: What are we going to do about this?

"You are so structured," she explains, "that the only way for you to let yourself feel how sad you are is to schedule it. Yep. Schedule an hour a day to just let yourself feel bad. Let yourself cry. Let yourself be mad. If you don't, you will be pulled over on the side of the highway, not being able to breathe, not being able to cope, ever other weekend."

I nodded.

For those of you who know me well, you know I'm a good student. I took what she had to say, and I took the plan, and I really worked hard at it. I tried so hard to let myself remember her screaming, remember her yellow eyes, remember the blood in her catheter, and to remember her choking against the tube down her throat. I tried. I imagined and remembered the most painful things I could think of, and how sad I felt for her that she was going through it and not me. I wanted it to be me. I wanted to save her, and I couldn't. I tried so hard. My tears would come, and no sooner would I realize and then force them aside.

"No. Don't do this," I would think to myself. I am thinking that now. I try so hard to be strong. I have had to be so strong for everyone for so long, and I feel like mostly, I have had to be strong for me mom, while she was alive but more so after she died.

I don't want to let her down and let her know that I am hurt because she is gone.

How could I cry during my Aunt Polly's eulogy? How could I cry during my mom's? I would have never been able to get through them if I had let myself be upset. I wouldn't have been able to honor them in the way they deserved.

How can I walk into my new workplace with red cheeks and mascara smeared all over my face? I can't. I'm a professional, and I'm not at work to take care of myself...I'm there for all of the patients that need taken care of. How would I be able to do my job? I wouldn't. I don't want to be upset at work.

The only time I feel like I can be upset is on my way home from work. I have been trying so hard to focus on these things on the drive home. Nothing. Not a single tear.

I am the worst griever ever.

When I went back to my psychologist this week, she asked how many times I cried since I had last seen her. I was disappointed in myself as I reported, "Not at all." I then added, "But I tried," in hopes that she wouldn't be disappointed in me too. She then began to say things that I am pretty convinced she was trying to make me crack and sob all over the place. I didn't. I choked back tears but didn't let them go in front of her. "I know you're fighting it back. If you can't do it in front of me, how will you ever move on from this? You may not want to lose it at work or in front of your husband, but you can't even do it with me."

"Why are you here?" she asked me.

Now come on. We both know, and so many others probably know, why I am here. Why I am here, in this spot in my life. Why I am stuck. Why I can't get out. The question is...how can I fix it? That's why I see her. I need help getting out and I can't do it myself.

I do not understand why I force myself to be so strong. After my mom's eulogy, my cousin came up to me, shaking his head. "I don't know how you just did that. You are a rock." Yep, that's it. A rock. I can't break for anything. I'm scared of what will happen if I break. And in front of whom I break. I wish I could break, sometimes. I know that would be best, and I know that's what I need but as soon as the emotion and the hurt and the anger and the loneliness build into that lump in my throat, I immediately swallow it. I am a rock. I am a rock. I am a rock. It's three times before we really believe it, right?

But paper beats rock. Being a rock is not always the best. I know this. Why can't I let myself crumble? I wish I would crumble, so I can begin to build myself back up again.

I am who I am because of you...Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

Today is Mother's Day. I have been dreading this day since last month, and oddly enough, when I first woke up, I was ok with it. But after getting on Facebook to check a couple messages and reading so many dedications to so many mothers, I couldn't help but feel slightly empty...and definitely deprived of something so precious. You. Here, with me, like last year and all the years before.

I have only had two dreams about you and I don't know why. I think about you almost on a constant basis and I wish so much that I could at least see you in my dreams. I like when I have them, even if they scare me or make me sad. That's ok. I miss seeing your face every day of my life, and sometimes, it is so empty without you. Especially today.

I tried to go shopping for graduation by myself, the first big event I will not have you here for. I was really struggling and felt awful about myself that day. Nothing looked right, nothing fit right, everything was wrong. I found a dress I liked but knew it needed something else. In the jewelry section, I definitely found something else--Marilyn. She helped me feel good. She assured me I would look beautiful and that you would be proud of me. Did you send her?

I think you did. Thank you.

Maybe I'm a fool for believing that. Maybe I'm not. But, regardless of what anyone else thinks, I believe it. And I think it is amazing how far your love can stretch. I have always known that you would do anything for me, and I have understood that from a very young age. I have always realized your love and your strength and how badly you wanted to have me. I always knew, and you never had to remind me although I know you liked to every now and then. I always knew, Mom.

Did you know how lucky I felt to have you in my life?

I am not sure, still, after seven months, why this has happened. I do not understand why you were taken from me or why we were no longer meant to be together. And now, there is so much that you will miss.

My final exam of graduate school is Tuesday. My graduation is Saturday. I am not going because it would not feel right. It already doesn't feel right. My graduation party with our family is Saturday night. Adrian and I are getting married soon. And you will not be there, for anything. Everyone says you will "still be there," but to me, without you by my side these events are not whole for me. They are just days. I'm going to try to do my best to make the most out of them for you and for everyone coming to celebrate with me. I will try really hard for you because I know how important these days would have been for us.

Regardless of the fact that you are not here with me any longer, I do believe that you know what is going on in my life and that you are still proud and still happy to be my mom, just like I am still proud and happy to be your daughter. Maybe more now than ever, after I watched you fight harder than you ever knew you could. And even though you are not here to read this message, I still want to deliver it:

I am so thankful to have had you in my life for 23 years, and I am so sorry that the last six months of your life were so hard and so frightening--you did not deserve that. Believe me, although you struggled through your treatments, I struggled far more watching you suffer. And I am still struggling. But you are not, and that is more than I could ever ask for. I am 24 now, and I have lived seven months without you, and now more than I ever, I see how you have impacted my life. With all of the decisions I have had to make and all of the strength I have needed to make them, your logic and thoughtfulness and strength were with me the whole time, and I could not ask for more than to still have your love and guidance surrounding me. You were the most amazing person in my life and my love for you could not be contained and still cannot be. I love you more than I could ever put into words.

You are my love, my strength, my hope, my conscience, my guide, my mother, and now, my angel. Thank you for all you have done for me. I am who I am because of you.

PLEASE READ THIS: Gifts from a stranger

I could NOT wait to get home and share this story. I am having a graduation party next weekend with my family and close friends for my Master's, and so I was at Target picking out a dress to wear. I found a very plain teal dress that I loved, and I was in the jewelry section trying to find something to match. I was putting necklaces around the hanger and holding them up together to try and get a better idea of what the ensemble would look like, and a lady, probably in her late fifties walked past me and said, "That looks nice together!" I turned around to look at her. She was your standard loving mother/aunt/grandma type of woman with gray hair and nice eyes. She was smiling, and she was wearing black Keds with Tweety-Bird on them! She was so cute, and although I am usually uncomfortable when talking to a stranger, I let myself go with her.

"You think so?" I asked. She began to point out all of the colors of jewelry that would go nicely with my dress, and each one she picked up she placed around the hanger and stepped back so I could see them together. We did this for about ten minutes, and she began asking me about myself and what the occasion was. Typically, I would be a little alarmed by a stranger doing this, but not her. I told her about my graduation and my party and how I wanted to look really pretty that night. She was very happy to hear about my accomplishment and patted me on the back, "Well you must be so proud of yourself! You should get a matching bracelet too!" I laughed at how cute she was and we began trying to find the perfect bracelet for my dress.

The conversation went something like this...
Woman: Don't you just love it when a stranger talks your ear off and helps you pick out jewelry??
Me: Actually, I do! I think this is fun.
Woman: I do too!

She picked up a color of jewelry I would never have paired with my dress, and she held it up and stepped back and it was just perfect. My mom used to do things like that...pick up things I wouldn't like at first glance and never consider, and somehow, it always worked. The woman looked at the pair together and gasped.

Woman: Well isn't that pretty together? It's amazing how much a different color can change the whole outfit! I think you would look darling in this.
Me: I love that, it's perfect...

I began to choke up, and I can't really even explain why. I thought it was so nice of her and so lovely of her to help me and talk with me as if she knew me for years. It was nice to know that I would look nice on my special night and that it was confirmed by a stranger simply looking at jewelry with me. She was so warm and loving to me, and she didn't know me from a ham sandwich.

Woman: Oh, don't cry, honey. You should be so proud of yourself!
Me: I am, I am. My mom died in October. She had leukemia. And sometimes I really miss her, especially when I'm trying to pick out this kind of thing. Thank you so much, you're so nice.

The woman began to tear up and I could see that I was making her upset.

Woman: Well, I don't have any daughters, so this is good for me too. I'm really enjoying this. What's your name?
Me: Julia.
Woman: Well, Julia, I'm Marilyn, and your mother would be very proud of you and you should know that. And you will look beautiful at your party.

I cried even harder. I thanked her again, and we took one final look at my outfit and then she walked with me through the store a little longer. We said our goodbyes, and for some reason, I kept crying, although I'm not sure why. She was a lovely person.

I wanted to share this story because it has warmed my heart to meet such a wonderful person in our world, when sometimes, unfortunately, it seems as though they are few and far between. I will not hold back that I wished I would have exchanged numbers, because I would love to take her out to dinner since she helped me so much and made me feel so good about myself. It meant the world to me, and I wish more people would do this type of thing for each other.

You never know who you will reach out to and how you will touch them. She was so warm and really touched my heart in a way I have not felt in a long time-in a motherly sort of way.

I will not forget this day or this lovely woman, Marilyn.

A good day

From my recent posts I think it's pretty clear that I have been missing my mom a lot. I have noticed that as the time passes since her death, the "missing" becomes transformed into different degrees and manifests in different manners.

I love watching "Say Yes to the Dress" on TLC, and lately it has been really touching my heart, as so many of the wedding dress appointments are young women and their mothers. They always talk about how this day is something they've always dreamed about and how important it is for the two of them to be together on such a special occasion. I usually cry when I hear these types of comments, but instead of being angry and resentful at these girls who are able to have their moms with them, like I would have felt several months ago, I am happy for them and wish so badly I could be in the same position. There is no more anger. Just questions and lots of "missing" going on.

I have had my second dream about my mom, finally. I think it's odd that I do not dream about her or my Aunt Polly very often. Saturday night, I had to go to bed early so I would feel good for work Sunday morning. Of course, with my sleeping issues I'm still having, I ended up falling asleep around one in the morning. I had a dream that mom and I were in my old middle school, and I was pushing her in a wheel chair and she had on her favorite white ball cap. She had just had chemo and was sick, vomiting and crying and such. It broke my heart. I just pushed her around in her wheel chair until she would feel sick again, and that was how most of the dream went. It felt like hours. Then, I took her over to the gymnasium, and I knew that I was dropping her off and would not see her again. I think it's so weird how your brain can process things in your sleep. I knew she was going to be gone forever once I left her there. She was able to stand up from her wheel chair and we hugged really hard and both of us were sobbing and holding on to each other, knowing we wouldn't see each other again.

You know how when a dream scares you, you can make yourself wake up? I did that. I'm not sure why, since my dream was more sad than scary, but I forced myself awake. It was four in the morning. I laid there for a long time, and cried quietly, careful to not wake Adrian sleeping next to me. I tossed and turned until about six, and then just got up since I knew it was hopeless to go back to sleep.

I decided to go to work a little early and get a jump start on my day. I made sure to eat healthy and take the stairs to try to keep myself happy and focused and energized. I was having such a wonderful day, even when I had to cover several patients in the ICU. This was the first time I had ever entered an ICU since mom died, and I was pleasantly surprised at how well I was able to focus and do my job the best I knew how. Other than being made fun of by a stupid resident who didn't agree that a vented patient needed to be fed after three days without nutrition of any kind (!!!), it was a good experience. I will not be afraid to go into the ICU the next time I work.

Near the end of my day, I was taking the stairs when I heard someone hysterically sobbing. It was so loud I thought she was in the stair well, but I couldn't find her. Near the fourth floor, I realized she was in the hallway right outside the stairs and decided to see if I could help or do anything for her. She was a woman about my age with dark, curly hair and gray eyes, and she was crying so hard her mascara was running down both of her cheeks. I walked up to her and asked if she was ok. She told me that her grandma had just passed away unexpectedly, that she wasn't even sick. The woman was shaking. She was so heartbreaking, and I teared up and put my arms out to see if I could give her a hug. She walked right into my arms and we both cried for a couple minutes together. I know this sounds odd to hug a complete stranger, but in a moment where all you want is comfort, I have no problem offering it....or receiving it. Even though I was crying with her, I felt some relief from it. I asked if I could get anything for her or her family, who was also standing near by in the next hallway. She declined but thanked me for asking. I told her again how sorry I was and that I knew it was a difficult time for her.

As I walked away from her, I began to cry a lot harder and felt so much sadness for her and her family and also for myself. I stood in the stairwell and cried for a few minutes, then collected myself and moved on to finish the rest of my work day.

Oddly enough, I left work that day feeling like I had accomplished so much and somehow felt lighter and like I had left some things behind me. It was a good day.

Hallmark sucks

After seeing so many commercials on tv about Mother's Day soon approaching, I can't help but feel a little anxious about this Hallmark holiday, regardless of how Hallmark-ey it is. To me, it is much more this year.

I have slowly been anticipating Mother's Day since the first commercial advertising jewelry. And then another advertising shoes. And then another for clothes. Is this really what we have come to? Not only does our society market mothers in a cookie-cutter way by creating tens of thousands of generic greeting cards, but also takes advantage of making the big bucks by advertising more of the same junk that we give our mothers every year. Here Mom, I got you another set of slippers. Happy Mother's Day. Here's a Hallmark greeting card with a generic message that I did not write myself but that I hope you will like. It took me three minutes to pick it out today at Walmart.

Sometimes, sadly, it takes events like looking at your mom laying in a hospital bed with an IV pole attached to her arm to realize that this is not the way Mother's Day should be celebrated. Just one look at that bald little head and those big blue eyes told me to go another route. I bought blank cards, and I wrote a note to her that was special for the two of us, telling her how much I loved her and how much I wanted her to stay with me...that she couldn't leave me yet. I wanted her to know how much I loved having her in my life and what I wouldn't give to keep her in it. I painted her a picture of two angels, one taller than the other with her arms around the smaller one. They were looking at each other. You could tell how much they loved each other, and I gave it to her as her present. She kept it by her jewelry box on her dresser so she could always see it.

We buried her with it. I wanted her to always have it.

My heart aches some days more than others, and I am dreading having to even be conscious on Mother's Day. I have not felt this way about any other day so far. And it may turn out to be fine, but for right now, I feel like it will be the hardest, even over Christmas or my birthday. I already want to hide.

I was in Target with my friend Sara last week, and there is a huge display of Mother's Day cards. We stopped and looked at a few and picked out a really great one for her mom. Several days before, I picked some out for my aunts, but not actual Mother's Day cards. They're from the section that says "For Someone Special" instead of one that is actually for your mom. I got three, one for each of them, because even though they are not my mom, they have tried very hard to make things ok without her.

I started looking at some of the cards if I were to pick one out for my mom, and I gravitated towards the little-kid-cards, the ones with goofy dogs on them that said something like, "Thanks for all the things you do, and thanks for being my mom." I liked those best. I cried. A lot, actually, and I couldn't get a hold of myself for a couple minutes.

Instead of buying any cards, I got two Nerf guns for Adrian and I to play with in our new apartment. It made me feel better to get him something, and I put a big red bow on his and put it on his pillow so he would be surprised when he got home from work. It healed my heart for a little while to see him so happy just by receiving something so silly like a $5 Nerf gun.

I have noticed lately that my heart only feels better for a little while instead of longer periods of time like it used to. Maybe this all will pass when Mother's Day has come and gone. By the way, it's not even May yet.

I haven't painted in a really long time, mostly because I can't think of anything creative to do anymore. I know I am not myself anymore, and a lot of my heart is gone with hers. I have decided, though, that I am going to paint her a picture, even if I can't actually give it to her. Which is not fair. But will have to do for now, because I have no other choice in the matter.

Back by popular demand?

Well, I'm not so sure about "popular demand." This is more of a tongue-in-cheek joke, of course, but I have had several requests to continue writing, and figured today, being the first day I have not had thesis or schoolwork to focus on, would be the perfect day.

I have most definitely felt the effects of not writing regularly anymore, and that combined with several major life changes that my mom is not here to share have taken their toll more than I have wanted to admit. Easter was pretty difficult, which I did not suspect, but her presence was most certainly missed, and several days after that was the six month anniversary of her death. Needless to say, I struggled with that week and have continued to struggle, although it becomes less and less with each passing week, now that May is almost here.

I completed the final stage of my thesis, which is called a "defense." This term basically means that you present your work to your committee and defend your reasoning and research to the death, with most of their gripes being "pet peeves" rather than actual issues with the paper. Of course, I was granted with my final set of corrections, and walking through the parking lot back to my car, instead of breathing a sigh of relief that it was all over, I cried like I was seven years old. I wanted to scream, "I'm done! Does anyone even care??" My mom would have, and I wanted so badly to call her at work to let her know that it was over. She probably would have yelled "Woohoo" at her desk the way she always did when something good happened, and we probably would have gone out to dinner that night to celebrate. Instead, I did not talk to anyone, cried all the way home to my house, and laid in bed all night missing her. More heartbreaking than that was the realization that major things like this feel as ordinary as anything else without her here. Thesis defense? Just another Wednesday.

I have been working as a personal trainer at a local fitness center, hoping to make some money until I graduate and get my dietetic license so I can finally, after six years of school, get a "big girl job." I have placed 92 applications. All within the last month, I have been given my job back at the hospital as a tech so I can keep working on my clinical skills, and I have been promoted at the fitness center to their weight management and wellness dietitian. I can't call myself a "dietitian" yet since I do not have my license, but I will now be able to consult with personal training clients and discuss issues, goals, and nutritional concerns associated with their fitness level and health. Also, my boss wants me to host bi-weekly grocery store tours and support sessions for those who are struggling with either diet and fitness concerns. He is making it mandatory that each personal training client meet with me once a month to improve their diet and overall success. I will also be writing an article in the monthly newsletter, creating a "food of the month," hosting walking and running groups, creating teams for local charity events, and hosting cooking demons. For those of you who know me, this is a HUGE deal, as working as a wellness dietitian has always been my dream, and without my mom here, although I am happy for myself, something is lacking.

I also have an interview this week and one next week, both for completely amazing dietitian positions, both for prestigious companies and hospitals, both that can work around my wellness job. It's definitely a sense of relief to feel like I'm finally getting recognition for all of my hard work, but I am so sad that my mom isn't here to see it, after her never-ending encouragement through school and my internship, especially on days when I needed it the most. She always knew when those days were, and without her, I have had to dig very deep to muster the encouragement for myself.

My heart seems to heal and then is broken again by these types of things that should be exciting and thrilling in my life but somehow are not. Sadly, they are just another reminder that she is gone. Don't get me wrong, I am thankful to finally be in this situation, with almost being done with school, done with my thesis, graduating with my Master's, and having several job prospects. I'm happy and relieved, and the hurt I feel is quiet and stays inside, but it is there nevertheless. After six months, I am starting to wonder if it will ever fully go away. My guess is no.

The thing that keeps me going is knowing how proud she would be of me, which I can 100% guarantee would be even more so than I am for myself. I am now focused on building my savings account, paying off the one year's worth of school loans I have, working on wedding planning, and working with Adrian to provide ourselves with the means to start our life together.

Her memory is always with me, the good and the bad, and I must admit, after hard days at school or walking through the oncology floor at work, the bad days hit a lot harder than I ever can imagine. Something as simple as hearing the click-clack of heels walking through the grocery store makes me think of her and remember our trips to the store together, and I can't help but feel a sharp pang as I stand in the frozen food isle.

My life will never be the same, and I know this. I think after such a traumatizing, monumental loss in your life, you walk the fine line between thinking you will never be able to live without them to realizing you can and slowly learning how, regardless of the struggle. I am there.