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At this time, one year ago, I was sitting around a table on the patio of Chipotle with my husband, my son, my father, and my Uncle Matt. My mom had passed a few hours before and the funeral home had come and taken her body and we had signed the appropriate forms for Hospice. We were all tired but grief had not set in yet. It had been a very difficult 5 days and we were at peace because she was finally at peace. We chose Chipotle because it was her favorite. Especially the guacamole. She would order a bowl and would get guacamole on top plus a side of guacamole. We also needed to get out of the house. We had a fridge full of leftovers from food people were bringing us and it was all good, but we needed to do something for her. We ate and talked about her and I shared a voicemail that she had left me a long time before then. She started to leave me a message and said "Hi Loretta" (instead of hi Malissa) and it threw her into a laughing fit. She barely gets out "Call me!" at the end of the message and its just her laughing for a full minute. That laugh that you just knew tears were rolling down her cheeks. I have listened to it so many times in the past year. Sometimes it makes me cry and other times I laugh right along with her.
I have been struggling for days about what to do on this day. On her birthday, it was easy to figure out what to do, but this day. This day sucks. There's nothing to celebrate on this day. I know, I know. The "religious" thing to say would be I am celebrating that today is the day she went to Heaven. But I don't feel that at all today. I have peace from those thoughts all the other days, most of the time, but today. No. Today was the day she was taken from me and from the people who loved her most. Today is the day Cancer won. Today I'm angry. I'm sad, hurt, and angry. But I decided I needed to write. I haven't written much this year and even the stuff I did write, I look back on and barely remember it or flat out don't remember it. But that's been my past year. Grief is a time and memory thief. There are significant memories from this past year and even moments of Joy and Happiness, but so many hours and days are lost and I have no memory of them. But then, there are moments and days that I can't forget the smallest details about. I decided to write about them and share them. That's what I am doing today. My mom loved when I wrote. She thought I was good at it. I don't, I just write what's in my head. She was biased ;) But, I enjoy getting my thoughts into word form and being able to look back and read them later, so I'm doing that today. This will not be a fun or easy post to read.
Saturday, Oct 8, 2016
Mom had been sick and not improving, instead getting worse for about 3 weeks. She was staying with me during the day because she was scared to be home alone when my dad was working. Then she was staying with me day and night because it was just easier then going back and forth. She would sit/lounge on on the couch, regularly readjusting, trying to get comfortable. She was always coughing and always in pain. I had been talking to her about going to see a doctor. I was wanting to see if she had an infection that an antibiotic could help with. She had spent Friday night at her place and was coming back over Saturday morning while Dad went to work. Her last text message to me was that day asking if I wanted some carrots. Before she got there, I called my Aunt Dawn. I was asking her opinion and to pray because I had decided I wanted to take Mom to the ER. I explained that I was torn because I wanted to respect her wishes to not be treated conventionally. She agreed with me though, that mom should be checked, just to see what was going on. I told my dad so he would be prepared and he supported that also. When they got to my house, I told my mom what I wanted her to do. Leslie had agreed to let me drop Sam off with him at work so I could go with my parents. The look on her face is etched in my memory. She was angry, defensive, and confused. I was gentle and tried to reassure her while showing her my perspective. I was honest. I told her I was afraid she was going to die and I wouldn't know why. I was afraid that she had an infections that could be easily treated but if she didn't go she would die from that. She admitted being afraid to find something much worse. We all knew what she meant. I was afraid of that too. More than I was willing to admit at the time. I told her if it was something worse, we would face it together - but I needed to know. She finally agreed. It was so hard for her to explain and answer the medical questions they bombarded her with. She was cold (she had a fever) and she was in pain and couldn't get comfortable. They took her for a CT Scan of her chest. I don't remember if we talked or watched tv. We just waited. When the doctor finally came and told us the cancer had spread, I felt like I was holding my breath the whole time. I wasn't surprised. I wasn't anything in that moment. It was in her lungs. In her bones. No wonder she was in so much pain. This all hit me. Over & over. It made sense. It didn't make sense. Once the doctor left, my mom looked at my dad and I and asked if we could let her stop fighting. My mouth said supportive, encouraging, whatever-she-needed-to-hear-in-that-moment words. My heart screamed no. My heart is still screaming no. But. If it's possible to see a burden lifted from someone, that's the moment I saw it. Us reassuring her that she didn't have to fight anymore gave her freedom to let that weight go. She had had this scrunched up, wrinkled forehead for weeks - and her face relaxed. She laid her head back. She had tears running down her face, but her face was smooth, not scrunched up. No wrinkles in her forehead. They admitted her to treat for the pneumonia she also had. She was in the hospital until Wednesday.
To Be Continued.
<Please forgive me for not finishing this tonight.>
Part Two
I spent as much time with her as I could. That time runs all together in small memories of sitting with her. Watching her sleep. Finding pleasure in the simple things like her eating chocolate pudding. She didn't have much of an appetite. Her hold world had been centered around a very specific and strict diet for the last year. She was excited about eating strawberry jello parfaits and chocolate pudding.
I was finishing sewing projects for Baby Joy and she was happy to see them and hold them. Her favorite was a little shirt I sewed some yellow roses on.
She cried when she asked me if she could come stay with me. I told her duh, you're coming home with me. I wouldn't have let anything else happen.
She talked about what types of things she wanted to do in her last months.
She wanted to hold Baby Joy.
She wanted to see the bluebonnets when they bloomed again. I wanted to take her to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra. I was going to decorate early for Christmas. We were going to do Christmas huge because it was her favorite. She wanted to spend her last days surrounded by her grandchildren. She wanted to sit in the sun in the backyard and watch Sam play. We were going to re-watch all of Downton Abbey. There were also lots of moments she would cry. She wouldn't stop saying she was sorry. I asked her if she regretted the treatment path she had chosen and she said no. She did wish she had known sooner it hadn't worked so she wouldn't have had to suffer in pain for so long. We talked about her being in Heaven. I told her God couldn't entertain my Heaven babies anymore and He was calling for their Nana. She laughed, then we cried together. She told me she was excited to be with her mother again. She asked for help to take a shower. I had helped her several times before but this time she was so worried I would hurt myself (nine months pregnant). We had a moment because I made her stop and told her I had done so much more for my dad's mother and I was happy and honored to help her. I didn't want anyone else to help her and she should understand because she was so happy to be able to go help her mother. That was the day before she was going home with me. I went home and put her room together. My dad had brought her clothes and stuff over so I unpacked it.
I have been struggling for days about what to do on this day. On her birthday, it was easy to figure out what to do, but this day. This day sucks. There's nothing to celebrate on this day. I know, I know. The "religious" thing to say would be I am celebrating that today is the day she went to Heaven. But I don't feel that at all today. I have peace from those thoughts all the other days, most of the time, but today. No. Today was the day she was taken from me and from the people who loved her most. Today is the day Cancer won. Today I'm angry. I'm sad, hurt, and angry. But I decided I needed to write. I haven't written much this year and even the stuff I did write, I look back on and barely remember it or flat out don't remember it. But that's been my past year. Grief is a time and memory thief. There are significant memories from this past year and even moments of Joy and Happiness, but so many hours and days are lost and I have no memory of them. But then, there are moments and days that I can't forget the smallest details about. I decided to write about them and share them. That's what I am doing today. My mom loved when I wrote. She thought I was good at it. I don't, I just write what's in my head. She was biased ;) But, I enjoy getting my thoughts into word form and being able to look back and read them later, so I'm doing that today. This will not be a fun or easy post to read.
Saturday, Oct 8, 2016
Mom had been sick and not improving, instead getting worse for about 3 weeks. She was staying with me during the day because she was scared to be home alone when my dad was working. Then she was staying with me day and night because it was just easier then going back and forth. She would sit/lounge on on the couch, regularly readjusting, trying to get comfortable. She was always coughing and always in pain. I had been talking to her about going to see a doctor. I was wanting to see if she had an infection that an antibiotic could help with. She had spent Friday night at her place and was coming back over Saturday morning while Dad went to work. Her last text message to me was that day asking if I wanted some carrots. Before she got there, I called my Aunt Dawn. I was asking her opinion and to pray because I had decided I wanted to take Mom to the ER. I explained that I was torn because I wanted to respect her wishes to not be treated conventionally. She agreed with me though, that mom should be checked, just to see what was going on. I told my dad so he would be prepared and he supported that also. When they got to my house, I told my mom what I wanted her to do. Leslie had agreed to let me drop Sam off with him at work so I could go with my parents. The look on her face is etched in my memory. She was angry, defensive, and confused. I was gentle and tried to reassure her while showing her my perspective. I was honest. I told her I was afraid she was going to die and I wouldn't know why. I was afraid that she had an infections that could be easily treated but if she didn't go she would die from that. She admitted being afraid to find something much worse. We all knew what she meant. I was afraid of that too. More than I was willing to admit at the time. I told her if it was something worse, we would face it together - but I needed to know. She finally agreed. It was so hard for her to explain and answer the medical questions they bombarded her with. She was cold (she had a fever) and she was in pain and couldn't get comfortable. They took her for a CT Scan of her chest. I don't remember if we talked or watched tv. We just waited. When the doctor finally came and told us the cancer had spread, I felt like I was holding my breath the whole time. I wasn't surprised. I wasn't anything in that moment. It was in her lungs. In her bones. No wonder she was in so much pain. This all hit me. Over & over. It made sense. It didn't make sense. Once the doctor left, my mom looked at my dad and I and asked if we could let her stop fighting. My mouth said supportive, encouraging, whatever-she-needed-to-hear-in-that-moment words. My heart screamed no. My heart is still screaming no. But. If it's possible to see a burden lifted from someone, that's the moment I saw it. Us reassuring her that she didn't have to fight anymore gave her freedom to let that weight go. She had had this scrunched up, wrinkled forehead for weeks - and her face relaxed. She laid her head back. She had tears running down her face, but her face was smooth, not scrunched up. No wrinkles in her forehead. They admitted her to treat for the pneumonia she also had. She was in the hospital until Wednesday.
To Be Continued.
<Please forgive me for not finishing this tonight.>
Part Two
I spent as much time with her as I could. That time runs all together in small memories of sitting with her. Watching her sleep. Finding pleasure in the simple things like her eating chocolate pudding. She didn't have much of an appetite. Her hold world had been centered around a very specific and strict diet for the last year. She was excited about eating strawberry jello parfaits and chocolate pudding.
I was finishing sewing projects for Baby Joy and she was happy to see them and hold them. Her favorite was a little shirt I sewed some yellow roses on.
She cried when she asked me if she could come stay with me. I told her duh, you're coming home with me. I wouldn't have let anything else happen.
She talked about what types of things she wanted to do in her last months.
She wanted to hold Baby Joy.
She wanted to see the bluebonnets when they bloomed again. I wanted to take her to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra. I was going to decorate early for Christmas. We were going to do Christmas huge because it was her favorite. She wanted to spend her last days surrounded by her grandchildren. She wanted to sit in the sun in the backyard and watch Sam play. We were going to re-watch all of Downton Abbey. There were also lots of moments she would cry. She wouldn't stop saying she was sorry. I asked her if she regretted the treatment path she had chosen and she said no. She did wish she had known sooner it hadn't worked so she wouldn't have had to suffer in pain for so long. We talked about her being in Heaven. I told her God couldn't entertain my Heaven babies anymore and He was calling for their Nana. She laughed, then we cried together. She told me she was excited to be with her mother again. She asked for help to take a shower. I had helped her several times before but this time she was so worried I would hurt myself (nine months pregnant). We had a moment because I made her stop and told her I had done so much more for my dad's mother and I was happy and honored to help her. I didn't want anyone else to help her and she should understand because she was so happy to be able to go help her mother. That was the day before she was going home with me. I went home and put her room together. My dad had brought her clothes and stuff over so I unpacked it.
![Picture](/uploads/3/8/0/0/38005427/published/imag1225.jpg?1509244058)
In the morning while she was being discharged, Sam and I went to the store and picked a pumpkin and flowers for her. Sam had picked out a pumpkin for himself the day before so he decided Nana needed one too. "Flowers for Nana" - Sam picked out some orange daises.
We made her some Jello. She came home and we got her settled. Hospice came and started her services. That night I checked on her a few times and she was peacefully asleep each time. Snoring even.
Thursday, Oct 13, 2016
I went to ask what she wanted for breakfast and she was awake but she looked like she was dreaming. She couldn't see me or respond to me. I checked her vitals and I touched her face. She smiled at me, but the stranger smile, not my smile. I called the hospice nurse and they said they'd come see her soon. She stayed that way until the nurse came. She became more talkative then, but the nurse explained that we would probably lose her over the weekend. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Each day was a nightmare worse than the one before. Death is vastly different for each person. My mom was still young and still trying to stay alive. Her body and will were at battle. It was awful and I can't and never will put those worst moments of those days into words. The only things I want to remember of these: Her love for Sam. She was in and out of consciousness the whole time and most of the time, pain. But when Sam would come into her room, she would light up. She would smile at him and reach for him. He would go to her and they would stare and smile at each other like they were the only ones in the world. He would bring her his favorite toys and books and talk about them and she would hold him, rub his back, stroke his hair and her eyes followed him out of the room. She would be smiling as he walked out and then she would close her eyes and lay her head back on her pillow and tears would roll down her cheeks. She didn't want to leave him. Everyone who came to see her were witnesses to these precious precious moments because they happened often. The last time he came in the room, she wasn't concious and I think her spirit was already gone because he looked at her but then looked around the room and turned around and walked out and never went back in.
Secondly, Her touch. Her hands. I would keep one of my hands on her and she would slightly wake up and touch my hand. She would squeeze me or caress me of just put her hand in mine. I miss her hands. I miss her loving touch. One night it was so late and I was so tired but I couldn't leave her. I crawled up on the bed next to her and laid my head on her stomach. She immediately put her hand on my hair and brushed it from me face. I took her other hand in my hand. I don't know how long I stayed like that, but I'm so glad now I did. It was crazy. I was 9 months pregnant and I had to climb over a chair and the foot of the bed and up the bed to get to her, but that was the last time she was able to hold me.
I went to ask what she wanted for breakfast and she was awake but she looked like she was dreaming. She couldn't see me or respond to me. I checked her vitals and I touched her face. She smiled at me, but the stranger smile, not my smile. I called the hospice nurse and they said they'd come see her soon. She stayed that way until the nurse came. She became more talkative then, but the nurse explained that we would probably lose her over the weekend. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Each day was a nightmare worse than the one before. Death is vastly different for each person. My mom was still young and still trying to stay alive. Her body and will were at battle. It was awful and I can't and never will put those worst moments of those days into words. The only things I want to remember of these: Her love for Sam. She was in and out of consciousness the whole time and most of the time, pain. But when Sam would come into her room, she would light up. She would smile at him and reach for him. He would go to her and they would stare and smile at each other like they were the only ones in the world. He would bring her his favorite toys and books and talk about them and she would hold him, rub his back, stroke his hair and her eyes followed him out of the room. She would be smiling as he walked out and then she would close her eyes and lay her head back on her pillow and tears would roll down her cheeks. She didn't want to leave him. Everyone who came to see her were witnesses to these precious precious moments because they happened often. The last time he came in the room, she wasn't concious and I think her spirit was already gone because he looked at her but then looked around the room and turned around and walked out and never went back in.
Secondly, Her touch. Her hands. I would keep one of my hands on her and she would slightly wake up and touch my hand. She would squeeze me or caress me of just put her hand in mine. I miss her hands. I miss her loving touch. One night it was so late and I was so tired but I couldn't leave her. I crawled up on the bed next to her and laid my head on her stomach. She immediately put her hand on my hair and brushed it from me face. I took her other hand in my hand. I don't know how long I stayed like that, but I'm so glad now I did. It was crazy. I was 9 months pregnant and I had to climb over a chair and the foot of the bed and up the bed to get to her, but that was the last time she was able to hold me.
![Picture](/uploads/3/8/0/0/38005427/published/imag1232.jpg?1509246123)
Lastly, her immense love for the baby she never got to hold.
Joy didn't kick other people while she was in my stomach much. Like hardly ever. She would kick at my hand, but once someone else touched by belly, she would still. It was frustrating for my mom of course, because she wanted to feel her.
This picture was taken moments before the last time she felt her kick. And Joy kicked and rolled all over for my mom. And my mom started sobbing. That moment. This picture and what it represents is too enormous for words to accurately describe. It's the pain of love in picture form.
Joy didn't kick other people while she was in my stomach much. Like hardly ever. She would kick at my hand, but once someone else touched by belly, she would still. It was frustrating for my mom of course, because she wanted to feel her.
This picture was taken moments before the last time she felt her kick. And Joy kicked and rolled all over for my mom. And my mom started sobbing. That moment. This picture and what it represents is too enormous for words to accurately describe. It's the pain of love in picture form.
These small but vastly precious moments gave me the strength to get through the next hours, days, weeks, and eventually months without her. I have replayed them in my head a million times. I'm writing them for my children to read someday. I never want them to forget how much their Nana loved them.
This past year of grieving for her has been intense. So much has happened in our lives and it's been difficult to function on a world where she doesn't exist. I've questioned my sanity. I've never felt more alone. Alone as a person, alone in my thoughts and feelings. Just alone. I've questioned if I did enough. I question if I communicated fully how much I loved her. How much I appreciated her. How amazing she was. Did I tell her enough? Did she know? She deserved so much more than what this life gave her. She deserved the life she wanted us to have.
My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and Righteousness.
This past year of grieving for her has been intense. So much has happened in our lives and it's been difficult to function on a world where she doesn't exist. I've questioned my sanity. I've never felt more alone. Alone as a person, alone in my thoughts and feelings. Just alone. I've questioned if I did enough. I question if I communicated fully how much I loved her. How much I appreciated her. How amazing she was. Did I tell her enough? Did she know? She deserved so much more than what this life gave her. She deserved the life she wanted us to have.
My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and Righteousness.
![Picture](/uploads/3/8/0/0/38005427/editor/img-20161119-114306.jpg?1509246291)
- My Mother's Mother