Anxiety

It's been a long time since I've written anything but I feel things all the time. It's often now that I have bouts of anxiety. Tonight driving home from Milwaukee, I started feeling nauseous. It may have been the amount of macarons that I had eaten or it was anxiety. A little bit of both, I suppose. Every so often I get this terrible uneasy feeling. I start going into a dark place. Wondering why I'm at where I'm at. How I feel so small and insignificant. But this uneasy feeling. I feel like I could stand up but need to sit down. So i'll sit down but it won't help. I feel helpless. Or trapped. I feel like I just need to run away from something. I have nothing to run from. I have no problems. Well, I have a few problems but they're bearable. I can't help but feel uneasy and I don't know how to fix it. Maximum uncomfortableness. I don't know how to stop it. With this feeling I can't help but think about my career. How I'm so small. I think about how I'm probably not giving 100% to anyone or anything. A feeling of not being good enough. This hole in your stomach. This void. Feelings you can't explain. I try to stay cool most times. But sometimes it hits me and I need to move. I need to get up. I need to go outside. I need to breathe different air. I can't be touched. I don't want to be touched. Sometimes I don't wanna talk. The sensation of talking bothers me. Paying attention to every miniscule detail of someones voice or a song and the speakers aren't playing the song well and you can pick out that tiny scratch. And it drives you nuts. Like nails on a chalkboard. But really, you're stuck and there's nothing you can do about it.

 Am I making the right decisions for myself?
Should I stay in Rockford?
Should I leave?
Am I stuck?
Whats it going to be like someday when I'm married and I don't have my mom around?
What am I going to tell my kids?
Will I cry at my wedding?
Am I even getting married?
What if I marry a girl?
What if I fall in love?
(Don't fall in love. Don't fall in love. Don't fall in love.)
Will my family approve or talk shit behind my back?
I haven't talked to my family in a while, they probably hate me.
Do they understand my career choice and how I seriously have no time for family gatherings on weekends?
Do my little cousins know who I am?
What does my family think about me anyways?
The one year mark is coming up. After that do I still get to feel bad for myself?
Am I going to feel like this forever?
Will it get better?
Sure it will.
How do you know?

Those are the questions I ask. The ones that send me into this hole. This black hole where I have no answers. What am I supposed to do when winter comes? How do I cope when I can't be outside for long periods of time?  Everyone goes into their holes for the winter and i'll be left to fend for myself. Then what? Dig a little further into my hole?

Nothing but a pessimistic attitude. And just sitting here typing might help. It might not.
We'll see.

Flashbacks

The best time to write blogs are when i'm all in my feelings and i've been drinking a little bit. That's when it's raw. That's when it's real. Don't mind the typos. Although you will but whatever.

Honestly, no one knows what it's like to go through what i've been through. Since my mom has passed, I have bad dreams. Constantly. The most stressful dreams. I had a dream last night that my 30 gallon fish tank was about to fall over and my mom and sister just let me fix it. They didn't help me. I was getting pissed. I was yelling at them to help me and my mom just said, "you need to calm down." I was super overwhelmed in my dream. Am I overwhelmed in real life? No. Not really. I get by. All I have are bad dreams. People die. People steal my things. I get robbed. Weird things just happen.

I watched my mom die. I think about a piece of that picture every single day. At my final support group, for some reason we started to talk about how our family member died. I was ready to be done with the group and leave on a happy note but we talked about death. The rawness. I don't care if that's a word or not but it is today.

I have flashbacks. On a daily basis. I hear words or phrases my mom would say.

"A pinch to grow and inch." I heard that at work and it was like my mom was saying it. The same tone and everything. She comes to me. Supernatural occurances.

Today I had a flashback bringing me back to her dry lips.
When a person is dying, one of the last things you do for them is wet a sponge for their mouth. It keeps their mouth wet so they don't dry out and it gives them some sort of comfort.

Honestly, how am I NOT supposed to be pessimistic about life? Is this how we live? We live so that we can die. She was 58 years old. Was it the cigarettes that killed her? Or was it just "her time?" How is it that i'm 25 years old and I can't consult my mother about where my tennis racket is? She was supposed to tell me these things. Her car sits in the driveway. She's still here, she just doesn't drive it. No one truly gets it. I don't know what happiness is. Where do I find it? Will it come back? What are emotions? I don't even want to feel love anymore. I don't want to find it because I don't care.

Yeah, I'll find someone and then have to explain to them that my mom died. And I can't love you because I really don't know if I even care about you.

I don't care about anything anymore. I try, but I don't.

People come in and out of your life.
I don't care.

Opportunities come in and out of your life.
I don't care.

I absolutely LOVED my job when I started and I still do, but I want that drive to come back. I want to feel that fire and passion. Everything I knew died when my mom died. The fact that it's rare for regular humans to have been through what i've been through. Not many have. What if I was 35? Would I be in the same boat? My sister isn't doing well and I don't know how to help her. I don't know what to do.

"We'll be okay." "We're doing okay." That's what I say. That's what I tell people. Then I fall asleep and I have these dreams. I HAVE NO CONTROL.

I want my mom back. You have no fucking idea what i'm going through. I have no fucking idea what my sister is going through. How long will this last? Will it be like this forever? How do I get better? I want my mom. I want her back rubs. I want her to call me "cece." I want her to tell me what to do and get mad at me for stupid things and I want her to ask me to bring up her laundry from the basement. I want her back and I want her to help me. I want her to be there and I want her to be there whenever I need her. I need her to be there. I need her to be there because me and my dad don't know how to help my sister and she needs to be here. I need her. I can't open her bedroom door. I can't open any doors. I need her to be here right now. I need her.

You need your mom. You need your dad. I'm jealous of anyone who has both. I have my dad but I want both.

We take these people for granted. And then they leave us. Some will see what i've seen. But if you're lucky, it'll be a while. I hate my life. How do I even deserve this? No amount of money or friends or things will bring her back or take her place. You have no idea. I fucking hate that she's gone. I hope you tell your parents you love them everyday because all I have left are pictures. And memories. She's in every dream but she isn't here. She should be but we were robbed. Now I have a guardian angel providing me with good happenings but i'd take anything else just to have her in the next room.

Open Your Eyes

Another day, another blog.

I figured instead of talking about myself in this one, i'd talk about the world a little bit.

I went to my group tonight and one lady told us that she has COPD.
I had noticed her having a little more trouble breathing today than usual. She always is using her walker to come in to group. But she seemed different today. After hearing that she had COPD, she seemed embarrassed. This made me think about my mom. She had COPD and a whole slew of breathing problems including emphysema. I knew exactly what she was going through and would start going through so after group, I offered to walk her to her car. The smallest things tend to take the most out of you. Sometimes my mom would have to stop and sit down if we were walking somewhere. She couldn't go from the living room to the kitchen without having to sit and catch her breath. She eventually had to be put on oxygen 24/7. 

I was on facebook and people kept posting about "60 eye-opening ads" or something like that. So I started going through them and then I saw this one:

I saw this and thought to myself, "some people are just going to look at this and shrug because they have no idea."

The fact that you have no idea what the person in the car next to you is going through. You have no idea. You don't dare stop to ask.

After my mom died, day of maybe, I was in my car driving somewhere, feeling like a hot mess and I was looking around and I started to wonder if the person in the car next to me was okay. I just started to wonder if I'm having this terrible day in my car, what are they going through?

No one cares about anyone else's well-being anymore. Not if they're a stranger. Everyone has a story. Everyone. You don't know if someone has just lost a child, spouse, or parent. Maybe the person in the car in front of you is speeding because they need to get to the hospital. Maybe the girl in the car over there is contemplating dark thoughts. Maybe the guy over there just lost his job.

Or on a brighter note: maybe this 16 year old just passed a math test. Maybe the girl over there is a new mom! We have no idea so we keep judging. Never changing. Never progressing. We look at the woman with the oxygen tubes in her nose and want her to walk faster. We only care about ourselves.

I guess I'm writing this blog because I just wish people would get the bigger picture. It's true that your time is limited. Everyone is plowing through their own struggles. Some people have absolutely no problems.

I could be having the shittiest day and I can go to the store and something happens to brighten me up a little. Like holding the door open for someone. Anyone. Any age. Any color. Any size. Hold it open.

Smile! Smile at strangers. Most people love that. And 9 out of 10 times it makes someone happy.

Help an older person to their car. Carry their groceries.
My mom always said to me and my sister before we left for school,

"Do something nice for someone and don't get caught." 

My mom always talked to people that she didn't know. She always helped out when she could.
No she wasn't perfect but she taught me to love. No matter where they come from.
We all slip up but eventually you start to keep yourself in check. And people start to matter. And the smallest gestures really are the most important.

So what I'm trying to say is, everyone has a story. Your problems could always be worse. Stay positive and things will most likely come out in your favor.

Rambling.

I wasn't sure if I'd write again.

I've wanted to, I just wasn't sure what to say.
I guess I've just felt super alone lately.
No one really truly understands.
I don't even understand.
I feel crazy because I've experienced supernatural occurrences.
I don't care if you believe me or not.

I don't have it that bad.
I'm lucky.
I think about my mom 85% of the time.
She's almost always on my mind.
I feel bad because I don't really talk to anyone.
The only people that seem to understand are my peers in my support group.
But even still, they feel bad for me.
"You're so young. You shouldn't be having to go through this."
I'll come to my own pity party as long as there's alcohol.

I love my dad.
I've gained a new appreciation for him and all parents.
Death will do that to you.

Death.
We all live and die.
"Live it to the fullest."
I can't stand hearing about people that die of cancer when they're known to be a healthy and active person.
We're all gonna die of cancer soooo why are we trying to eat healthy?

I have a more morbid outlook on life.
Most things that you complain about are petty.
Things that I complain about are petty.

Life is used to cover up mourning, grief, and death.
Working helps me a lot.
I lost my flame and i've finally found it again.
I can thank my work family for that.
If I didn't have to go first for my gourmet meal, I would've not been to school for a while-most likely.
They say that keeping yourself busy is the best way to cope with the pain.
I think it's just a way to numb yourself.
I don't feel things the way I used to.

The only dreams I've had for months are bad ones.

Dream:
I woke up yesterday, washed the dishes, and then went back to sleep. I had a dream that someone had come into my house uninvited and came walking into my room. Not in a disruptive way. They came through the back door. They were a shadow. It could've been my mom. It could've been a man. It could've been real. And then I woke up. It didn't feel like a deep and real dream. It felt like a day dream. They almost looked like a better formed dementor like from Harry Potter. When I woke up, my heart started beating out of my chest. My heart gained 5 pounds and I had to calm it down.

Things happen and you really have no one to tell. People will start to stop caring.

Life is rough. And you have to make the best of it on your own. And that's life.

 

Saying Good Bye.

It was all downhill that Thursday. It was New Years and I don't remember how I spent it. I just remember that every moment counted. She started to decline rapidly and she wouldn't be awake much. That Friday, my mom's hospice nurse came and examined my mom and my mom was still slightly coherent but not much. My mom's nurse, Sarah, took my aunt and I into the hallway and she told us that she wouldn't make it through the weekend. She told me to call my sister and have her come home immediately and that my aunt needed to call my other aunt in Florida to come home if anyone wanted to say good bye. I then broke down, covered my face and cried the hardest I have ever cried. All I wanted to do was run. I wanted to run fast and never stop. I felt like I was gonna pass out. I walked over to the wall and just broke down and my aunt came over to me and gave me a huge hug and we cried together. We pulled ourselves together and I called my sister. She cried the whole way home and I have never been so happy to see her when she finally got to us. My dad was there as well. After years of hate, some of my moms last words were wanting my dad to stay with us. My aunt got in pretty quick as well. She was surrounded by her (nearly) whole family.

I learned a lot about death. How the human body declines. The fact that before you die, your limbs become restless. She would wake up out of her sleep, sit up and try to get up out of bed while we had to force her to stay in bed. She could no longer talk. Her left eye was doing weird things. She was talking to people who had been dead for years. The moment my sister got in to town, she was at my moms bed side crying with her head face down on the bed and my mom became slightly coherent. She heard Gina crying and was barely able to move any other time but found the strength to put her hand on Gina's head to ease her pain. At one point, I was holding my moms hand and asked her that if she loved me, all she had to do was squeeze my hand just a little. She squeezed. That's when I knew I'd be okay. The rest of the time, we'd all just sit in her room and wait. And tell stories. And cry. Taking shifts of who'd be with her for over nights and who'd be there first in the morning. My dad took first shift since he's an early riser and just as dedicated to her in her final months as he was to us all of our lives. Friday into Saturday, it was the middle of the night or early morning and my sister had a dream that my mom had died and she woke up and started balling her eyes out and having a panic attack. I had to ease her pain and we just woke up and went back to visit my mom. That was my moms last day. That night, we had a night with our cousins. Me and Gina and our two cousins just hung out and talked and had a good time telling stories and talking while my mom just slept. The doctors would keep checking her feet and toes. While someone is dying, your feet go first. When your feet are cold, that's the best time indicator. It works it's way up through the legs and eventually the calves are cold, and it just keeps moving up the body. The pulse is faint in the toes, that's when you know. Eventually there is no pulse. The nurses had to rub my moms throat with some absorbing medicine, that would help her basically not choke on her saliva. My mom was sleeping. You just fall into a deep sleep and stay medicated enough to where it doesn't hurt and the dying person feels no pain. That night, me and my sister stayed by her bed and talked to her and had to tell our mom that we would be okay and that she can go now. That she can go and be with everyone who would be waiting for her at the end of the tunnel. We left that night and our cousin Steve decided to stay over night with her and then my dad would be there at 5am to relieve Steve.

At 4:46 a.m. on Sunday, I got the call from Steve that she was gone. I didn't cry. I felt numb. I woke my sister up and she cried enough for the both of us. We stepped outside and it was freezing cold and there were a million inches of snow on the ground. It was the most peaceful sound I have ever heard. I heard silence. I stepped outside and the world was calm. I knew my mom was finally okay. That she was no longer suffering. We got to the nursing home and it was quiet. My dad was waiting there for us and so was Steve. You can still hear things 3 hours after you die. So we talked to her and said our final good byes. My sister had a panic attack and I had to call our social worker because I had no clue how to help Gina when I was the one who had to be strong for everyone. I didn't cry much afterwards. I was too busy being strong. I felt relieved. I was sad but I was happy. It didn't feel real.
She was gone. I didn't want to be around anyone. I didn't want to talk to anyone except my friend Katie who had been there for me since the beginning of the diagnosis. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't want to talk about my feelings. I didn't want to go out or be around anyone. And that was the end.

The Beginning of The End (Part 2)

Watching someone die entails:

making a schedule for yourself to babysit.
making time for hospice meetings.
learning all about medicines and pills.
when to give medicines.
when not to give medicines.
this one every 4 hours, this one every 6, this one for sleep, this one for nausea.
asking them to give you a sign once their gone.
laying next to someone and getting scared that they just stopped breathing.
having to wipe someone's behind after a #2.
having to change diapers.
having to have conversations about "when i'm gone, do this."
having to watch your mom eat 2 bites of food and then just be done with it. Eating maybe 12 bites total that day.
watching someone who was never very big in the first place, lose weight. (She was 80 or 90lbs at the end.)
The list goes on.

It's a lot of work. Its not work for the weak. You don't get paid and it isn't fun, whatsoever. It's going to school or work and having to be happy. It's being 1 smile away from crying in the bathroom or the basement. It's forcing yourself to be okay when your world is on fire and crumbling around you.

Something that really pisses me off to hear people say is, "i'll never go in to a nursing home." We all think it. Because everyone wants to die at home. Well let me tell you something, do you want to see your loved one in a hospital bed in your living room? Do you want your final hours to be in a house but with medical equipment all around you, also while your family is doing their best to take care of you while not sleeping much at all. Being told to give these pills that you can't remember what they were for or how often they should be taken. Saying that pisses me off more than a lot of things anymore. My mom didn't want to go into a home and we never wanted to put her there. But it was the best option for everyone. Her days were numbered. The emergency hospice nurses would have to be called at 2am and they'd come over and talk to her and check her out. We'd put her back to bed, then the count down turned to days, maybe weeks. A 21 year old and a 24 year old, sitting side by side being told that their mom is "declining" and it won't be very long.

One day, my sister, aunt, and myself decided that it would be best for all of us to put her in a nursing home. The social worker told me that the minute my mom says "okay" that I need to call her so that we can start "looking for a bed" at one of the facilities around town. The social worker finally found one and the next day we moved her in. This was all around Christmas time to boot.

After that, my mom would call me and say, "Jennifer, when are you coming to get me? Can I come home now? I promise I'll be good." She would cry. She was the kid, and I was the parent. It broke my heart. It still does to this day and i'll never forget it. I feel guilt. All sorts of it. She finally started getting used to the place and the first week she hated me for it. I didn't blame her.

She was there for a few weeks and finally it was Christmas Eve. We brought her home and planned on making shrimp, lobster, and mashed potatoes (because that's all she would talk about while she was gone.) So being a chef, she got everything she wanted. Bringing someone home who can barely walk and breathe is a real trip. She was sooooo excited! And we were too. I was on my way to have an emotional break down/panic attack (which happened more often than not at that time.) She was sitting in the living room in her wheel chair and she started having a panic attack because she didn't think her oxygen was working, so she got on her cell phone and called 911. On Christmas Eve. We ran into the living and checked her recent calls and then my aunt and uncle walk in to see mom and then we surprise them and tell them she called 911. So the firemen show up and check her oxygen and everything was fine. And she felt better but we were pissed. My aunt and uncle dropped off catholic medallions to us 3 to wear which was really nice. Then me, mom and gina went into the kitchen to eat and my mom barely ate anything. The fantastic meal we cooked and she took two bites.

I've never felt so sad before. We took her back to the home and she couldn't come with us to my cousins to celebrate Christmas. I didn't buy her a Christmas gift because she was gonna die. Why buy a dying person a present? I'd rather just have more time with her which I'd never get.

The week of New Years came. New Years eve was on a Wednesday. I had to work 12 hours. Biggest night of the year. That Tuesday, I spent as much time with her as I could. We were talking about switching her to a new nursing home because where she was at really sucked. That day we had a meeting with nurses and board members and my mom was doing so well that day! She was breathing better and strong and not as tired and I thought things were looking up. I spent my Tuesday night with her and I laid in her bed with her with my head at her feet and she rubbed my feet for the last time. The next day, that new years eve, she had gotten diarrhea and no one came to clean her up. My mom was laying in her own shit for god knows how long. Her a.m. nurse found her and was pissed and told me everything when I got there that morning. I wouldn't have seen her that day if it wasn't for my aunt calling me at 7am and waking me up because the nursing home wouldn't answer their phones anyways. So I went there and was told this story. She had shit all over her and not to mention the floor where she could've slipped and hurt herself. She needed assistance with everything she did. And I had to leave for work. I proceeded to have one of the best nights of my career. That Wednesday was the start of her decline. Her final week.

The Beginning of The End.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm here. In any sense. I don't want people to read this blog but on the other hand, I do. I don't need anyone's pity. I don't need anything except from myself. I go through many emotions. Some days I'm just going through the motions. I hope that this will make me feel a little better on the days that just aren't so good. I'm hoping to give the world a piece of me. My thoughts. My vulnerability. A little piece of what actually goes on in my mind after losing my mom. I don't promise to use proper punctuation and grammar. I also don't promise to keep these posts short. I just promise to give you a little bit of me and a little advice from someone who has lost someone very important to them.

One day my mom called me in the morning and told me to take her to the ER because she was coughing up blood. I told her it'd probably nothing and that she's fine, knowing good and well what coughing up blood ACTUALLY means. Deny. Deny. Deny. Later that day I took her. I didn't stay while they examined her because ER visits take forever. I came back when she called me. I then walked in to the room while the doctor was telling her that she has lung cancer. My mom has battled colon cancer over the years and in 2013-14 so you'd think a person would be fine hearing the news of more cancer. My mom denied it and was very upset that I came into that conversation. The doctor looks at me too but with this terrible look like she feels bad for me. Of course, I cried.

In September 2014, my mom went to see her regular doctor and they did tests as well. She was diagnosed with lung cancer. She told me to come over one day and that it was important. I just figured she'd give me some speech about how I need to help her more or some sort of mom speech how she misses me. I sat down on the couch and my mom told me that she has lung cancer and that they've given her 6 months to live. I remember her telling me. I don't really remember how I felt afterwards. I was in shock. I felt bad for myself. I cried. I did the usual asking her if we could take her somewhere and they could fix it or something. It was a cancer that could not be fixed. A cancer that would not only kill my mom but kill a piece of me as well.

After she told me, I saw my mom as much as I could. I'd visit her every Monday. I'd make her food. My sister and I would be together so us 3 could be a family. Mom would text me on Friday nights around midnight asking me to stop by so we could just have some hot chocolate together. It was late but who knew when her last day would be.

Over the course between September to January, I started to tell people that were closest to me.  Friends. Co-workers. Only a few days after my mom told me, I told my dad. And I cried. And he cried. All I could think about was how I can't do it on my own. My mom has always been the one I go to first when I have a problem. She always knew when something was wrong with me and most of the time knew exactly what to say. You know, like moms do. All I did was feel bad for myself. How i'm 24 years old. How she won't be around to meet my kids or my sisters kids. My spouse. My wedding. Watch me graduate. Birthdays. Holidays. Just normal days. Good days. Bad days. Every day in between.

I watched my mom die. Every step of the way. Like this terrible movie that you don't want to be a part of. Thankfully, the hospice nurses and social worker helped. More often than not, I'd sit in on the meetings and not believe what they were saying to me. Looking at me and telling me that "this is going to be very hard." Meanwhile, I'm in school and working full-time, not to mention being 24 and thinking about my social life. Because let's be honest, i'm the most important. My last semester was quickly approaching. The biggest semester of my culinary career. Not to mention being the first one to prepare a gourmet meal in hopes that my mom would actually make it half way into January.

Watching someone watch them self die isn't easy. Having to watch your mother die isn't easy. Watching your family watch someone die isn't easy. The journey from my side of the pond was selfish and scared. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And it gets worse when I think about how she was feeling. Watching someone die isn't all "let's live every day to the fullest and run through a garden of daisies and eat all of the pizza we want!" No. On my journey, it's having no solid sleep schedule. It's fighting. It's yelling at your mom and making her feel bad for dying when it isn't convenient for you. It's fighting and watching the one woman in your life that has been your strength throughout life be scared. Growing up, my mom was never really scared. She took the cards she was dealt with strength and her head held high. But she was dying now and she was scared. And all she did was worry about me and my sister. She was worried about me not taking care of myself. Worried about me and my sister fighting once it was all said and done. Worried about us getting addicted to alcohol because she was a recovering alcoholic. She was dying and meanwhile taking care of all legal things while going through hell on earth. My mom had her funeral basically planned out. She had most legal things ready to go. Having conversations were hard with my mom because more often than not, when you have bad lung cancer, it hits your brain next. So over the course of those couple months, my mom had trouble remembering things. She'd lose it after 5 minutes. She was on a lot of drugs and pain meds. Meds to help with anxiety. She was on oxygen 24/7. I was asked to be the power of attorney, which basically gives me the right to "pull the plug," as they say. I said yes. I had no idea being that person would be so hard. 



I want to get into the nitty gritty details but on another blog. If you want to keep reading, see part 2.