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.
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