Sunday Morning

               It’s Sunday morning, and I’m eating breakfast at the dining room table of my parents’ house. I’m surfing through facebook, my mom is sitting next to me. I get a message on my phone. Mom says, “That’s from me.” I open it to find a picture of her, looking radiant and beautiful. I look up at her, and she says, “That’s for this. It’s the last one of me where I have hair,” while pointing to the obituary section of the local newspaper. I have instant tears. 

                I’ve been here all weekend, caring for my mother who is struggling through her last attempt at chemo. My father is in the hospital, dealing with his own health issues. My husband is at home, tending to our three young daughters, one of which has the flu. This weekend seems so surreal. Every once and a while, a surge of reality hits, and I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is my life right now.

                My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, stage 2, on December 15^th, 2011. I will never forget her phone call. I was pregnant, working full time, preparing for Christmas with my one and three year olds. “I have breast cancer.” She said amongst tears. I had no idea what that meant, but I knew I would never be the same. I hung up the phone and stared blankly at my husband, trying to comprehend cancer.

                She fought like hell for the next two years, undergoing a series of chemo, radiation, and two surgeries. February 2013 was her last Herceptin dose. She remained in remission until July 11^th, 2014, when the doctor told us it was back, with a vengeance. Her liver was full of tumors. The cancer had morphed into a new form, triple-negative, and it was relentless. So the day Lebron announced his triumphant return to Cleveland, my mom’s cancer announced its return to claim the life she loved so dearly.

               

              Since that day, my mom has tried two chemo drugs, one of which held off the disease for almost four months. On November 12^th, she almost died. I was in class, half asleep, when my father texted me “Call me now.” He told me she was dying. The cancer may be in her bones, call the relatives, all of that horrific stuff. I left class and ran to her side. I said I would stay with her that night, but after my brother and dad left, I just couldn’t. I was crawling out of my skin, freaking out. My mother lay peacefully in her hospital bed, asleep, knowing the end was near. I was a sobbing mess. I went home, slept four hours, made my daughter’s school lunch, and returned by 7am. By some miracle, Mom made it through that ordeal. She posted on facebook that she would not give up, and that she was ready to win the battle. We all sighed with relief. Mom would make it through.

               

               She started a new drug. Thanksgiving came, Christmas drew near. On Christmas day, we all met in her home. She had made a lasagna, we opened presents. She insisted that she sit on the floor with her granddaughters, and that we videotaped every second. My brother watched, tears silently streaming down his face. I was happy for this moment, watching her with her granddaughters on Christmas morning. It was beautiful.

                The next morning she calls me. “Don’t freak out.” She says. “I am feeling some pain, I’m going in for a scan.” Hours later another call. “It’s back.”

The next week, Mom’s doctor was out for the holidays. We all stumbled around, watching Mom fidget in pain, anxiously awaiting the next doctor appointment which would be the following Monday, January 5^th. We all met at the hospital early. We were called back early, and the doctor comes in. We hear the news. The disease is just too aggressive. He gives her the option of stopping treatment, or trying one more drug. We are told the best drugs around have not been able to beat this disease. Chances are, the last one won’t either. Mom breaks down in the main hallway of the hospital. Sobbing that she doesn’t want to die, she isn’t ready to stop fighting for the life she loves so much. It was one of the worst days of my life.

So today is January 11^th, it’s Sunday morning, and I’ve been at my parents’ house all weekend, taking care of my mom who is dying of cancer. Last night we discussed so many different things.

“What do you want your headstone to say?”

“Who will be at your burial?”

“When and where do you want your memorial celebration to be?”

“Isn’t that toothpaste commercial so stupid?! She’s scared that her enamel is gone!”

“I will still talk to you every day when you’re gone.”

And now I have the picture for her obituary. She is fortunate enough to have a plan and to share it with us in detail about how she wants to be remembered. She knows what her headstone will say, and how we plan to celebrate her life. We have no idea how much longer she will be with us, how much more pain she will have to endure. We just know that the end is near, and we embrace every second we spend with her. I cherish every single text she sends me, especially the ones about Rafe from Days of Our Lives, while we are both watching it at the same time. I cherish every good night, every I love you, and every good bye, because I know it won’t be long before it’s the last one.

You always see those tacky posts on facebook, “Cherish each moment, because you never know, etc etc.” Well, I’m living that, right now. While you’re posting picture of your margaritas and complaining about the weather, I’m here, hanging on to every last second that I can with her. So please, just cherish each moment.