With an upcoming surgery looming in the near future, I knew we needed to go see my mom this week. With the new knowledge the kids had about my mom’s health, they were beyond grateful to be going up there to see her. We were all very aware of how different this visit was going to be.
It had been a while since my mom first called me to tell me the news. I’ve had time to sit with it. Time to think about it and talk about it. Time to process it. Time to accept it. Or, so I thought.
After a 6 hour drive filled with rain, wet highways and a detour, I saw my mom for the first time in this new phase of our lives. Seeing her face.. hugging her body… feeling her lump… I quickly realized I hadn’t processed anything. I hadn’t accepted shit. I was only taking in the information and delaying my full emotional reaction for another time. During my visit with her, we tried to keep it light. It was discussed, but I was still just gathering facts, only to deal with it later.
On our last night there, the emotions were starting to bubble to the surface. I wanted pictures taken. I wanted a picture of me and mom… to look back on… to feel closer to her… to see her… to remember. Just in case.
We have smiles on our faces. In that moment, we were laughing and being silly. But the undercurrent of emotions was swelling. The air was loaded with emotions. Raw emotions. The sadness… of what is and what could be. The fear… of what is to come. The realization that this is really happening.
We have a date now. Mom is happy to know the date. She doesn’t like when it is, but she likes knowing. She can start preparing and planning.
It’s different for me. The date is more concrete. More set in stone. Solidification. More realization that this is happening. Despite what I thought, I have not found acceptance in this. I have not processed it and I have not made peace with it.
The plans for surgery have changed. They seem more drastic now, but it’s a safer surgery. A shorter surgery. I do feel better about that.
While we were there, she gave me the kids’ Christmas and birthday presents. She’s always been a planner and starts on things early, but I wonder what thoughts ran through her head when she was shopping for these gifts.
Did she want to be sure the kids had presents in case something went wrong? Did she think these might be the last presents she ever buys them? It breaks my heart to think that might be what she was thinking. Or did none of this come to mind and she was simply buying them, because that’s what she does at this time of year?
Situations like this make you rethink and overthink everything. I find I’m constantly trying to figure out her mindset in all of this. Is she being strong and does she really think she can beat this? Is she keeping the stage of the cancer from me, or does she really not know?
So many questions and I can’t find it in myself to put her through the questioning.
Are my own fears and worst-case scenario mind manifesting a future that none of us would hope for? That’s a question that I continue to ask myself. I find no answers. I try to stay positive, but that’s a road filled with big, topsy-turvy hills.
Time comes for us to say our goodbyes. “It’s going to be okay. I’m strong. I’m going to be okay. Don’t you worry.” These are the words she says to me as she holds me tight and fights back the tears. I nod and say, “I know. You’re going to be okay. You’re too stubborn to not be okay.”
I welcome yet another delay in us going, as she gets a plate of cake for me to take home. One minute. I just need one minute. I go to the back bedroom and cry my eyes out.
60 seconds later, I emerge with a renewed strength and will to get through the goodbyes. The thought that this might be my last time to see her… hug her… smell her… hear her… haunts my thoughts, but I push it aside and say a proper goodbye with lots of hugs, kisses and love. All the while, hoping this isn’t our last. Believing that she can get through this. She has to. She has no choice.
