Four Months - Only So Much

Our Family Photo from Thanksgiving 2011
Travis, Kassie, Dad, Mom, Uncle Wayne, Aunt Vickie, Max, Me, and Murphy

It has been four months since I said goodbye to my mom.

Actually, that’s not true -- we said our goodbyes before that, and I’ve been saying them ever since.

I think my goodbyes began on October 14^th of last year, the day after I had my gallbladder removed. My parents had gone to Chicago for chemotherapy at The Block Center, and then traveled to Lincoln so they could be with me after my surgery. My mom wasn’t doing very well – her liver was not recovering from the chemo, and she was starting to show signs of liver failure. Her skin had a yellow tinge, and she was very, very tired. The day after my surgery, my mom was too weak to go up the steps to our apartment, so my parents decided to go home so she could rest and be more comfortable.

I thought that was the last time I was ever going to see my mom. I was recovering from gallbladder surgery, which wasn’t super invasive as it was done entirely laparoscopically, but I was hurting, and I was very weak. I wanted to be with them, but I could barely do the steps, myself.

So, my parents left, and I said goodbye.

I look back and realize that that was such a huge moment for me. It was my first realization that my mom might not beat this disease. That she might not see my sister get married, or either of us have children. That we might never go shopping together again, or do all the things we’d planned to do “someday.” It isn’t that I gave up or lost faith – I saw a glimpse of how dire the situation was – something my mom had never let me see before.

Every birthday and holiday that followed became extra special and meaningful. We took family photos at Thanksgiving – that alone is something I will always be thankful for. I stopped going out as often when I was home, and instead stayed in to watch HGTV with my mom. I started thinking more seriously about the future, including things like children and my career.

Something else also happened during that time after my surgery – I felt a very abrupt change in my mom’s attitude. Again, I don’t believe for a second that she gave up or gave in, but she was so, so sick, and so, so tired. She’d made so many changes, so much progress, and gained so much time because of it, but now her liver was suffering due to all of the chemo and drugs that had been forced through it.

There is only so much a body can take.

This is the reality I denied for many, many weeks after she died. Why didn’t we find different doctors? She’d had no trouble in the past leaving doctors in favor of ones who shared her attitude and views, so why didn’t we do more? When she went for her final doctor appointment two days before she died, why didn’t they do anything for her then? When I begged the attending physician at Saint Luke’s to put in the catheter to drain the fluid that was building up inside her because her liver wasn’t doing its job anymore, why didn’t she do anything else for her? Why weren’t the doctors at the Block Center presenting us with new plans?

Now I know and believe that there is only so much a body can take. And by spending the past three years working WITH her body by feeding it the nutrients it needed and depriving the cancer of the toxins and sugars it needed to grow, she surpassed the expectations of all of her doctors.

Sometimes, though, I am just a greedy little girl who doesn’t care about any of that, and just wants her mom.

One of my daily rituals has become that “active mourning” exercise that I shared with you in my last entry. Once a day, I sit down somewhere quiet and look at photos of my mom with me, my sister, and my dad. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel better afterwards, and sometimes I feel worse. It all depends on how I woke up that day.

I think I’ve been waiting since last October to feel like my old self again, but I’m starting to think that is never going to happen. As my sister so aptly put it, “This is my life now.” 

There’s no going back. Only forward – and that is something I can try to do to honor my mom who was such a perfect example of moving forward when it was the hardest thing to do.

Mom and Dad, Thanksgiving 2011