Monday, January 17, 2011

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.

6 comments:

  1. Oh, my sweet, sweet friend...I am sitting here reading and typing through blurry, tear-filled eyes for SO many reasons:

    I am proud of you for being so brave to document your journey in such a public way. You ARE a strong woman.

    I am remembering many of those same feelings of hurt, envy, confusion, uncertainty and so on that I dealt with for years while seemingly everyone around me added children to their family. Have you torn up people's Christmas cards yet? Yeah, I was there...

    I am grieving for your mom, for your dad, for your sister, for all of you as you have trudged and skipped and trudged and skipped through all of the ups and downs that this cancer has laid out for you. I honestly don't have words, and I so wish that I did. One of my 7th graders lost her mom 2 weeks ago after a long battle with breast cancer. Most precious young girl I think I have ever taught in 10 years...her relationship with her mother and her positivity through the whole experience has been truly becoming in a girl so young. She was sitting in my classroom...MY classroom...when the office called in to tell me that I needed to send her to the main office for early dismissal. As I walked her to the door, we both communicated so much to each other in just a long look into each other's eyes. It just about ripped my heart out. I had no idea that things had taken such a turn for your mom, and I was seriously sitting at this funeral last week thinking of you and your family, uttering up breath prayers for you and your family in the middle of a Catholic mass that I didn't understand at all. Through my reflection, pain, sadness (I agree, that IS a really weak word!), and more over the fact that a middle school girl has just lost her mother (only child, too), I have thought so often of you. Is that strange to say? I hope you know that that means that I just really love you, not that I associate you with something that is so terrible. Make sense?

    Anyway, I am SO glad that you started this blog and have shared this with us. In doing so, you have welcomed us along this journey with you, and I for one can say that I am privileged to walk it with you. May the peace of God that surpasses ALL understanding be with you now and always. I love you, dear friend.

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  2. Allison, I am so glad that you wrote this down. What a beautiful way to express how you are feeling; you completely choked me up. Allison, I pray that you will be able to look back at these words, while your momma is holding your baby. And, sweet friend, I pray also, that if that is not God's will, that He will give you the strength for that situation. Love you!

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  3. Dear friend, your posting touched my heart in so many ways. I know the grief that comes with losing a parent....of struggling to conceive....of moving across the country and knowing no one...of raising children away from family and feeling so very alone. My heart is heavy for you and your family. I am praying for you that God's strength will be shown in these moments of weakness. I know the Lord has great things planned for you and Nick and the rest of your family. I am priveledged to be a spectator in all that he is going to do in your life.
    On a slight side note- I am excited that you will be a short day's drive away from us in just a few months. We love you- J

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  4. Allison, Thank you for inviting us back to read your blog and your personal thoughts. I have always said that suffering and sadness is at its worst when we ride it alone. I count it a privilege to be able to walk through our lives together, as dear friends, no matter what the days and years may bring. Words of comfort often escape me, but I pray for you my dear friend. Of course I want all of your dreams to come true but, as Christy said, I pray that God will sustain and comfort you through through the difficult days. Call me any day and at any hour. LOVE YOU.

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  5. My dear -
    I love that you are allowing us to share in your journey. Thankful we talked last week too! Hope we can talk again soon. I have no clue what God is doing but HE HAS A PLAN. If he didn't, I would be screwed! :)
    love love
    grubert

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