You called me today. You vented about insurance companies with their heads up their asses. You expressed your concerns about your anemia and the consistent excess fluid under your arm where they removed 25 lymph nodes. You spoke about the pain, the swelling, the tightness. You revealed your worries about possible Lymphedema and possibly not starting radiation on time. I sat there. Helpless.
I hate hearing you stressed or worried or in pain, but I soak up these phone calls more than ever. I linger on every word you say. The sound of your voice. I try my damnedest to ingrain it into my brain. I wish I could take it all away for you. All the shit you have to go through is far more than anyone should ever have to endure, but all this extra shit just takes it to the next level.
I did all that I could do. I sat and listened. I bitched along side you. I consoled. I apologized. I empathized. I loved. When we were done, I hung up. I broke down.
I hate this. I hate that you are in pain. I hate that you feel like shit. I hate that you have to deal with the countless appointments, blood draws, medications, treatments, physical therapy sessions, the stress, concerns, worries and fears.
For the first time in a long time, I asked myself, “What if she is never cancer-free?” It wasn’t just the question or concern or worry that we have all carried with us since we got the earth-shattering news last fall. It was more than that. It was an unavoidable visualization of what would happen if you never recovered. I tried to stop it. I tried to push it back into the dark corner of my mind where it belonged. It wouldn’t budge.
We all die. One day, you will no longer be here. You will breathe your last breath and you will be gone. What if this is your journey to that? What if I never see you healthy again? I hate the thought of it, but I can’t shake it. I’ve seen the possibilities in my head now. I can’t unsee it.
I don’t know if it’s my mind trying to prepare me for the devastating reality that this is all a very real possibility… or what. I don’t know. I’m optimistic. I believe in her. I know if anyone can beat this, she can. But I also know that there’s no guarantee. I know that life isn’t fair. I know the good guys don’t always catch a break. I know that no matter how much you do not deserve cancer, you still get it. I know you can put up the fight and believe beyond reason that you got this and you still die.
I know this is a downhill way of thinking. I know these thoughts lead to deep, dark places that are hard to climb out from… I know that I should have faith and believe and be positive and optimistic and I am… especially with her… but right now, in this temporary moment, I’m sinking. I’m taking on water. I’m filled with unfathomable thoughts.
Thoughts of a life without my mom.
