13

It snuck up on me this year.

I hadn't forgotten.  We had a mass scheduled for Sunday and Rich and I had been discussing dinner options and who would be attending.  I've been distracted.  I wasn't paying attention to dates and Memorial Day was early this year.  It all hit me last Tuesday.

There's the typical day-to-day with the girls, which seems to be amped up right now with end of year school stuff and the upcoming dance recital.  I haven't wanted to talk about what's been going on with my mom but it's difficult to explain what's been going on without actually saying what's going on.  Over the new year, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.

My father's health is such that he no longer drives, and even when my mom has/had appointments where she could drive, it would be difficult for my dad to sift through and remember all the information thrown out by the doctors and specialists.  I've been the one to go to (almost) all of the appointments - sometimes simply for support, sometimes to help my mom in making decisions.

My mom is receiving outstanding care at Newton Wellesley Hospital but that location isn't exactly convenient to us.  With absolutely no traffic, it's a 30-35 minute drive.  This is Boston though and we may find a midday window with no traffic, but otherwise, there's traffic.  One morning last week, it took us 90 minutes to get there.  (I do have to add that my youngest brother lives nearby and with his swing shift schedule has been able to help as well.  For chemo appointments, you are looking at 5 hours at the hospital and I simply couldn't do that (even with appointments beginning at 8:30) and get back in time to get the girls from school.  On those days, I would stay until noon and then my brother would take over and drive my mom home, pick up prescriptions, etc.)

Each and every May, I dig my heels in and attempt to pull against time because I know the end of the month to June 4th is full of sad memories and reminders and a resurgence of grief.  But this year was different.  This year, I wanted May to be over with.  It feels like a full year has passed just through the months of March, April and May.  My mom underwent four chemo treatments - the first was February 28, the last was May 2.  Chemo was a brutal process for her and she was supposed to feel better at the end of May so I wanted time to speed up.

I grew up Boston Irish Catholic.  We are not known for showing our emotions.  Lately, I've found myself holding it all in and then having it explode.  When that one person says something to try to get under my skin.  Or when someone says something so profound and kind, you don't know how to respond.  (Chantel, I cry every year for Curtis and for your kindness in remembering.)  There are some days where I'm so emotionally drained, I don't want to feel anything at all.

How do I feel after 13 years?  I actually asked myself this question yesterday.  Odd, I know.  Empty is the first word to come to mind.  It's been 13 years and there's still an empty space where a child should be.  Time will never change that.  A child cannot be replaced with other children.  13 years and I've accepted that there's a permanent hole, in my life and in my heart.


(Again, I don't really want to talk in detail about my mom but I think it's weird to post that she has cancer without more details.  The type of cancer she has is survivable.  It wasn't caught early, but it wasn't necessarily caught late.  The cancer cells were grade 3 and looked "funky" so although the doctors are fairly certain all the cancer has been removed, the fear is that one random cancer cell may be hanging out somewhere, make its way into her blood stream and attach somewhere else in her body.  For this reason, my mom underwent chemotherapy.  She also started radiation treatments last week, which is fairly common with breast cancer as studies have shown radiation reduces the risk of cancer returning years later.)