Who knew I would be so....intuitive?

Two weeks ago, I wrote about how my mom wouldn't get to meet her grandkids.  And this week, mom let us know that she is stopping treatments.  The doctor has given her around 2-4 months.

A couple of months ago, mom started an experimental, just-approved-by-the-FDA type of treatment.  Mom was informed that this was basically the last type of treatment that they had for her to do.  Well, it wasn't working, and was in fact shutting down her liver functions, as well as other horrible side-effects.

When mom was diagnosed with leukemia in January, my aunt asked her if she would get to a point when she would decide that enough was enough.  If she would know when it was time to end treatment.  At that point, she knew that it wasn't time.  However, now she decided that it is time.

The Sad Times

Mom was diagnosed with leukemia a year ago this past week.  A year ago I was hearing the diagnosis that I might not see my mom past 6 months to a year, and yet she is still here.  Once again, as she has for the past 21 years, she has defied the odds and survived a diagnosis of death.

But it is bittersweet.  She is not the same woman she used to be.  She has lost a significant amount of weight.  She is in the hospital around 20 hours each week.  The joy and the hope that emanated from every part of who she is has diminished.  She is tired of fighting.  She has battled cancer and death for over 20 years, and she is slowly losing the fight.

Even as I type it, it seems unreal.  I have never known cancer to win.  My mom was born a fighter.  An unbending wall of strength and determination.  Even as her body shuts down against her wishes, she still says she is going to fight, because "I have things to do".

I am not blind to the "thing" she has to do.  She wants to be a grandma.  More than she will ever admit to me, she wants to be able to hold her grandchild in her arms.  She wants to sing songs like she did to Ashley and I.  She wants to run her hands down the baby's face and soothe it to sleep with her sweet words.  She wants to feel that unending love of a grandma that cannot be expressed unless you have been one.  All of her friends are grandmas, and she wants in The Club.

And I am unable to do this for her.  For whatever the reason, I have not been able to do this one thing that she wants more than anything in the world.

My entire life, I have gotten everything I have ever needed, and most of what I wanted (with the exception on the pink wallpaper that I wanted to disappear forever, and the jr. high dances I desperately wanted to attend).  And the one thing that my mom wants more than anything I am unable to give her.

I was hoping, shortly after the diagnosis, that I would be able to get pregnant right away.  We had been trying for a few months, and I knew that it would happen soon.  That my baby would give my mom reason to fight even harder against the inevitability.  But as the year has passed, my struggle to conceive has mirrored her struggle against cancer.

I see my mom's broken body, and weary spirit.  I see her struggle to continue, when she has so much that she is unable to do anymore.  She is starting to acknowledge that she has dreams that she may never see realized.

If I were to get pregnant next month, we would have the baby in October (I know I am not pregnant now--stupid period started 2 days ago).  I spent Monday evening just spending time with my mom, and I came to realize something: she might not make it that long.

In my wildest dreams, I never anticipated the possibility of having a baby without my mom around.  I know I would not be the first--I have heard many who have not had grandparents in their lives.  But I never thought that would be me.  I probably should not have been so naive.

I wish I could describe the torrent of emotions accurately.  Devastation, sadness (which is such a weak word), grief, fear, heartache, and also anger, regret, and guilt.  I know in my head that waiting was a good thing for Nick and I.  I know in my head that you never have a baby for your parents or for someone else.  But in my heart, I desperately wish that I were able to give my mom this gift.  After all that she has given me, to be able to give her the gift of a life.  I feel like it would not only be a miracle baby for us, but it would also give her a miracle gift--an extra shot in the arm of hope and determination to fight again.


This entry doesn't necessarily have a point.  But I guess what I'm learning through this journey is that it doesn't always have to have a point.  As my friend Erin pointed out, someday I am going to want to know exactly what I was feeling at this point in my life.  My future child will want to know.

And right now, this is what I am feeling.