Sad Days

View from the cemetery where my father's parents are buried

View of the cemetery where my father's parents are buried

It’s been a really rough week.

Saturday we scattered mom’s ashes at the cemetery where my dad’s parents are buried, per her wishes. It’s a beautiful place in the country, with a picturesque view of the land my father’s family farmed for generations. It was a small, simple gathering of just a few family members to say a prayer and say another farewell to their sister, wife, and mother.

Honestly, it wasn’t as hard as I was expecting. Not that it was easy—it definitely wasn’t easy. I cried more than I’ve cried in quite some time. But it was comforting to be in such a peaceful place that I essentially come from, with that small group of people related to me who loved my mother.

Sunday was actually the hardest day for me. I think it was hard for many, many reasons, one of which was that I hadn’t prepared for it. I felt prepared for Saturday, and then it was over, and suddenly there was another day. I didn’t sleep well Saturday night, so that added to my feelings of crazed despair and anxiety. Another problem with Sundays, in general, is that Max typically leaves on Sundays. He offered to stay another day so I wouldn’t have to be alone on Monday, but I didn’t feel like he should miss another day of work right now.

Monday was my mom’s 54^th birthday. It was a very difficult day for me, and everyone else in my family. I wanted to take everyone’s advice and “remember the good times” and maybe even celebrate her a little, but it’s too soon for me. So I cried a lot and I missed her.

Sometimes I do the things “they” tell you not to do. I stuff my face when I’m sad. I stay in bed when I don’t feel like facing the day. I ignore phone calls and texts from people who care.

Because the truth is, while I am healing (I feel it happening constantly), I am still so, so sad. I am the saddest I have ever been times infinity. I am so sad I am sick over it.

But I am also doing my best to be healthy. I am exercising, keeping an eye on my diet, spending time with friends and family, writing about it, and I’ve started looking for a new job. I think about my mom and how hard she worked to be healthy and happy, and I think she’d be proud of the steps I’m taking. 

My Mother's Strength (Part 1)

Mom and Dad dancing at my wedding, September 4, 2010

I have been wanting to write this since the beginning of this blog, but I am having a lot of trouble with it.

Why did I name this blog "My Mother's Strength?"

There are a lot of reasons, but one of the bigger ones is that I think so many people, including myself, can learn a lot from the way my mom dealt with her disease, and essentially, her life, as it became more and more a part of who she was.

Cancer doesn’t just grow in your body; it grows in your entire essence. When it metastasizes, like it did with my mom, it wasn’t just in her lung, bones, brain, and liver; it was in her soul. It became who she was. She was no longer Kristie, wife of Kyle, mother of twins, business owner, church member; she became Kristie, cancer patient, wife of Kyle, mother of twins, business owner, and church member.

I think at first, she fought the idea of cancer being part of her identity as much as she fought the actual disease. But eventually, she realized if she didn’t want to be defined by her illness, she needed to meet it most of the way.

After a friend of mine’s mother passed away when her triple negative breast cancer spread to her brain, my mom got really scared. Then she got mad. She found the drive to find another way. She knew chemo made her too sick to go on, and her doctor at KU was not receptive to alternative treatments (or positive thinking, for that matter), so she decided to look elsewhere.

She read books and read about cancer as a cellular process, not just a disease or a tumor to be removed. She learned the ways in which our bodies permit or even promote the growth of these cells, and decided to fight the cancer with everything she had – her entire life.

She learned about the Block Center for Integrative Cancer Treatment in Chicago, Illinois after reading a book written by the founder, Dr. Keith Block. After visiting their website and talking with her insurance company, my mom decided to go to the Block Center. This was a decision I will always be grateful for.

At the Block Center, she was treated with concern and respect, and everyone loved her. She was given supplements and vitamin infusions before, during, and after chemotherapy to help her body handle the dangerous toxins chemo drugs contain. She was told she needed to make drastic changes in order to live. She made them.

She began a vegan (except for certain fish), bleached and processed flours and sugar-free diet. It was maybe the hardest thing my mom ever did. However, it changed everything, and she lived.

She continued chemo for years, and fought the cancer hard. She started practicing Yoga, having laser therapy to deal with her uncomfortable and scary neuropathy, and even having her chakras aligned regularly. She started exercising daily and even worked with a personal trainer, and for the first time in her life, found control over her weight – something that had plagued her for her entire adult life.

And she prayed. And you prayed. And you sent positive thoughts and love. And she lived.

We had at least three more Christmases than we were supposed to. She was able to attend my wedding and see Kassie’s dreams come true with her career and meeting and getting engaged to Travis.

When people say that my mom “lost” her battle with cancer, I want to correct them – she lived longer and better than anyone ever expected or even dared to hope for. And because of that, she was able to inspire us and teach us what it really means to be strong. 

(Happy) Father's Day

Mom and me, Kassie and Dad

My dad hasn’t always had an easy life, but is always grateful for what he has, and doesn’t complain when things are difficult, because to him, there isn’t a point to complaining. I’ve heard him say “well, that’s life” in response to worries, complaints, or criticisms voiced by my sister or me. And it’s true, as we’ve all learned at one time or another – life is definitely not fair. Life is tumultuous and full of unexpected twists and turns, yet so many of us fight these unwanted shifts and turns and find ourselves depressed or anxiety-ridden when circumstances change. Not my dad.

This is not to say that he doesn’t feel the pain of loss or change. I told you – he is surprisingly complex. I believe he feels these things just as much as anyone else might, but with one difference – he doesn’t indulge the childish voice inside that constantly reminds us, in that whining, sad voice, “it just isn’t fair.” No, it isn’t. But “that’s life.”

Father’s Day is a difficult holiday for my father. His father, my granddad, passed away Father’s Day weekend of 1990. When Dad reminded me that it had been twenty-two years since Granddad died, I was shocked. I audibly gasped. I don’t have a lot of vivid memories of Granddad, but I have a lot of feelings associated with him. When I think of my Granddad, I remember feeling secure, special, and loved. I also remember that it was important to mind my manners and be good, or I would be in big trouble. Much like my own father, Granddad never yelled, and I only have one memory of ever seeing him angry.

I don’t know for sure how old we were, but we couldn’t have been older than three years old when Kassie, Granddad, G-G (what we called my dad’s mom) and I went to Wendy’s for lunch after church. I was so upset that Kassie got to sit by G-G, that when Granddad wasn’t looking, I decided to crawl under the table to G-G’s side. I didn’t make it very far. He grabbed me by the belt loop on my jean shorts and pulled me back out from under the table, swatted me on the rear (in front of everyone!) and made me sit by him the rest of the meal. I was so surprised! My family and I laugh at this memory because Granddad didn’t really tend to get angry (much like my father), so he must have been pretty angry at me that day if he felt the need to spank me in public.

Mom and Kassie, Granddad, G-G, Dad and me

 Another memory took place at their house in the country. They had a pretty big yard next to some railroad tracks and a farm with horses. There were some huge trees in the yard that my sister and I spent hours playing under and climbing. One afternoon when I was three or four years old, I was climbing one of the trees and slipped, landing on something soft. The air was immediately filled with the sounds of screams.

I’d landed on a rabbit. If you have never heard a rabbit scream, you are lucky. The rabbit was fortunate that day because I was still pretty small at that point. He scurried away and got stuck in a basement window well. I was so upset and worried about the rabbit. Granddad calmly put on his medal-working gloves, while explaining to me why it wasn’t ok to pick up a wild animal with your bare hands, and rescued the rabbit. He let me pet him and apologize to him, and then he took him to another shady spot away from where we were playing and let him go.

My dad is a lot like Granddad. I remember lots of times when my sister and I were little when my dad would explain things to us, show us how things worked, or tell us stories. He was and is always calm and patient. I was (and am) very much my mother’s daughter, but as I’ve gotten older, I have started to appreciate more and more his perspective on the world. We don’t see eye-to-eye on many things (like politics and religion), but he is a gentle soul who bases his entire worldview on doing what’s right, even if it is hard or impossible.

Being a good father is about so much more than paternity. My sister and I are so blessed to have a father who has cared for us, provided for us, nurtured us, looked out for us, taught us, and loved us through everything (which I imagine was not always easy with twin girls – especially through the teenage years). We were so lucky to have parents who epitomized the ideal of marriage and being in love with one another until the end and beyond.

Dad and Mom on their wedding day, December 18, 1976