good grief

i have this thing when i grieve. sometimes it hits me like a kick in the gut and i find myself kneeling on the floor, doubled over, wailing.

and i try not to let it all out when it hits me...because it usually makes the dog pretty nervous.

but the dog is east and i am west and i found myself on the floor for a moment tonight.

it wasn't a long moment. something just caught me by surprise. something silly.

i am taking advantage of the dog-free time to do some organizing and i am packaging rarely used dishes that are in a cabinet so i can use the cabinet for something more practical. and the dishes are wrapped in paper. and the odd bits: the gravy boat, sugar bowl, creamer, etc... are carefully wrapped with notations on the outside of each like "ivy gravy boat" or"ivy sugar bowl lid." in mummy's handwriting. because she was as excited as i was when i found a thousand dollars worth of antique california pottery at the salvation army store in santa monica for $150. that christmas, she gave me a book all about california pottery. when i moved up to san francisco she helped me pack it. when i unpacked it, i left it in the paper.

she helps me pack. she helps me clean. she helps me figure out where to keep dishes. she and i have so much fun together no matter how mundane the chore.

and the moment of doubled over sobbing was brief...because she is still here. and although i know that she will not be here forever, there is comfort in the fact that i see her handwriting all over my house and all over my life.

but there i was on the floor. and then it passed almost as quickly as it came over me. and i was left staring at some really ugly linoleum tiles. and i got out a utility blade and started to pull them up. only to find uglier ones underneath. and it is therapeutic because it is hard work. and now i don't have to wonder how i am going to spend these next few nights alone on the west coast...because i have started something that i now have to finish.

a year ago in july, lisa called me and told me that her little brother had died suddenly that morning. it was so incredibly unfair. and i found myself on the floor in the guest room (mom's room). and after it passed i was left with my face pressed against a really ugly wall to wall carpet. so i got out a utility knife and cut it out. and then i got pliers and found every carpet tack that had been stuck in that floor since 1928. and i spent the whole day on that floor.

it hits you, and then it knocks you over. and then you open your eyes and you don't worry about anything except that which is right in front of you.

it becomes good grief when you can turn the rush of bad feelings into something good and productive and positive. it becomes better when you realize that no matter how awful you feel at any given moment, you realize that we are not wired to feel awful forever. thank god.

my kitchen floor is hideous.

So Thankful

i am home again and i am thankful.

mummy was in great spirits when i arrived and her appetite was strong. i had braced myself for severe weight loss, but it was less than i had expected...so all was good.

i have come to learn that there is always a new "normal."

first it was mind-numbing fear, then fear was normal. then it was the shock of her abbreviated life expectancy, then that became normal. we adjust.

i did talk to a man who told me that radiation and chemo bought his friend's wife five more years, and i started to go there. i was in the shower, a week ago tuesday, thinking about my mom who, at that exact time, was starting chemo. and i let myself think, "five more years would be awesome."

not a minute after i got out of the shower, i heard the phone ring. it was maura calling to tell me that mom was now ineligible for the double blind study for a 3rd chemo drug because the MRI from the previous week had shown a suspicious spot on her brain. it's a roller coaster. one minute, so high, the next minute, unspeakably low. the new normal is shattered and the bar is lowered once again. your knees buckle. you sob for a while. and then you adjust.

i can't wrap my head around losing her brain. i just can't. she taught me how to think.

but, as if telepathic, lisa called me within an hour of my call from maura. she lost taylor to brain cancer. she already understood so much of this that i couldn't begin to understand until i was in the thick of it. we talked about my upcoming trip and mom's brain and thanksgiving and sisters and i calmed down.

i met lisa's first husband (taylor) after he was diagnosed with brain cancer. he had at least eleven years after that. enough time to bring molly into the world and let her know that she was truly loved by her father. but i digress.

the point is, that when taylor finally lost his battle against brain cancer, he was still taylor. he had a really great (and sick) sense of humor. and when he died, he still had that. and he still was taylor. and he was most certainly still the man who loved molly baldwin more than life itself.

so i was panicking...but i realized that i was getting way ahead of myself.

molly is 14 now and i see so much of taylor in her. and i know that his love for her has transcended his death. that brings me a great deal of comfort.

so did an e-mail from carisa that described her marathon run. it described signs from her mother, including a woman who ended up running in front of her for a leg of the race with the word "marion" in large caps on the back of her shirt. carisa's mom, MARION, ran with her that day.

so i remind myself, again, to live in the moment. and i remind myself that death is not the end.

not long after i arrived, mom's chemo kicked her ass. she was incapacitated by intestinal unrest.

i still sleep downstairs with the nursery monitor, but she doesn't have the energy to grab her walker and sneak to the bathroom. she finally gave up and asked for the chamber pot.

who knew i would miss the sound of her walker trying to sneak across the flagstone floors in the middle of the night?

i empty the chamber pot.

there is an old saying that goes "there are no athiests in foxholes."

basically, it means that when men find themselves at war, they usually also find god.

fighting cancer with someone who you love so much must be like being in a foxhole. your perspective about everything changes. and i remember things that the nuns told me that must have been buried pretty deeply in my subconscious. i'll spare you the details, but it was a story about jesus washing the feet of his disciples on the night before his crucifixion. and it was a lesson about love and humility. (those of you who know me well know that i have a thing about nasty feet. so this one hit home.) and the lesson was that when you love someone, really love someone, to be able to do something like wash their feet (or empty their chamber pot) is more of a gift for you than it is for them.

she was too sick to have the second and third parts of her first round of chemo as originally scheduled. we did take her in to the treatment center so she could get IV fluids to combat the dehydration caused by the long bout of intestinal unrest.

we also had an x-ray to make sure that her bowel wasn't obstructed.



that was tuesday. today is friday and she is finally eating again. she is back on the pain meds and is suffering less.

we tried to watch "i heart huckabees" this afternoon, but i kept falling asleep. i was curled up behind her in her twin hospital bed, and she was holding onto my leg and we both kept falling asleep.

she is asleep again now.

fang is here with me. i am on a pull-out twin sleeper in the family room and fang is curled up, under the cover, leaning on my leg.

he and beastley have gotten better with each other, but they are not buddies.

this afternoon, when i was playing catch with fang in the back yard i realized that he is practically blind. he fakes me out when we are at home because he knows exactly where everything is. here, everything is unknown and he can't hide it nearly as well. it explains why he gets so defensive when the beast comes to talk to him. he hasn't drawn blood since last saturday...so that is progress.

aunt jane and uncle john fed us on thanksgiving. aunt jane came by this morning and they will both be back tomorrow evening. we left a love letter on their pillow before we left on thursday evening.

elly came by and gave mom communion again today. one of elly's kids will be passing through rockville tomorrow with his family. i will go up the street and take pictures of her grandchildren when they stop by. i just want to do something meaningful to thank her for everything she is doing for mom.

uncle jude called today. he said that he's got a pot of water on the stove and he is ready to deliver maura's baby as soon as she is.

we are so loved. and we have mummy in flannel p.j.s, tucked into a cozy bed. and we are so thankful.

Tonight, I am Scared

i can't say that i don't know how to do this without her....because she taught me better than that.
she taught me that i can do anything i set my mind to.

i know that i will get through this.

but we are so intertwined. she is as tangled in my spirit as that cancer is tangled in her lungs. inoperable. inseparable.

we think the same way. we have the same tastes. she is a much better person than i am and i want her to stay so i can learn how to be as good as she is.

she is so smart. there is so much i still haven't learned. she hasn't explained finance to me. she has tried. i bought a few stocks. but i was afraid to sell them. she told me why i needed to be able to let go. i still don't understand it very well. she knows how to do everything. she taught me how to change a tire, and fix a toilet, and now she is teaching me more about determination and will than i have ever known.

she has always been a person of great character. she does the right thing. whether it is popular or not. without hesitation. without fear of repercussions.

i call her when i am really happy or really sad or when i need to know how long to bake a potato. i call her when i cross bridges. she teases me about that. but when i cross the bridges here, i first am taken by how lucky i am to live here, and then i think that it is perfect "except" and the "except" is that she is so far away, so i call her from bridges.

i talked to her this morning. i told her that liz (our receptionist) has been giving me recipes for things that are soft to eat, but pack a huge nutritional punch. mom loves liz. when she was out here in june for magee's graduation ceremony, she asked if she could come by the office to say hi to liz. (alas, liz was on vacation that week.) on my first day back in the office after my month home with mom, i held it together pretty well, until liz saw me, unplugged her headset and walked around the front desk to give me a hug. today, mom told me that the next time she comes out here she is going to come to the office and give liz a big hug.

and when i hung up the phone, i quietly put my head in my hands and cried tears that fell so hard on my desk that they splashed back at me, because i don't think she is ever going to make it out here again.

i want her here forever. and not in my heart. in my face. in my house.

to her, i am "angel", "sweetie", "bones." and when she says "nite, nite, angel" at the end of every phone call, it is like she is tucking me in from 3000 miles away.

I am trying to remember not to get caught up in the loss. She is still here with me. I talk to her every morning and write her a letter every night. (Usually about some way that I have misbehaved at the office.) I can't wait until I get to see her face again.

How do you prepare for the loss of the person who loves you the most in the world?

My mother has never said anything unkind to me. Ever.

Dogs Know

when i got the call from maura that mom was in trouble, i rushed home, called the good (fang-friendly) kennel. it was closed. so i called the other kennel (which had banned fang for life) and begged them to take him in. indefinitely. they said "okay...if you can get here by 5:30. i drove like a maniac, threw open the door to my house, found fang in his usual after-work perch (curled up on a love seat), threw a seat-belt on him and headed toward the bad kennel.

fang is usually pretty mellow. he is the alpha dog in our house, so there is not much i can do to upset him. but he shook, violently, the whole three mile drive to the kennel. and as much as i told him it was okay...he knew it wasn't. because he knows me. and as calm as i pretended to be, he knew i was petrified.

when we brought mom home from the hospital, beastley (a 116 lb boxer who does not yet understand he is not a lap dog) did not jump up to greet her. instead, he followed, two steps behind her walker and laid down by the new, noisy hospital bed and watched his girl.

beastley took care of all of us while we were at mom's. he seems to sense when you are in despair and he walks up and lays his chin on your knee. he looks up at you with his big brown eyes and gives you unconditional love.

when i came back to california sunday night, fang was already home because magee had sprung him from the kennel before i returned.

and, as usual, he ignored me for the first 20 minutes i was home...(he punishes me for leaving him)...but then he climbed into bed and curled up with me for what i thought was the most of the night.

but i woke up the next morning to find the contents of my purse strewn all over the living room.

and i realized that i had fallen into such a deep sleep that i missed fang's temper tantrum. (and that made me happy because i had been in desperate need of a deep sleep.)

monday night was really hard. i was alone for the first significant chunk of time in over a month. i did a lot of crying. and fang stayed glued to my side.

he is leaning on me right now. snoring.

mom loves fang. she has a gift with animals. dogs and horses especially. fang behaves for her in a way that he never behaves for me.

when i moved to san francisco, the rental market was extremely tight. i had accepted a job at riney and then found that i could not find a place to live that would allow me to have a dog.

i called my mom, in tears, one night and told her that i was afraid i would not be able to keep my dog and the new job.

she said, "of course you can. we'll take care of fang. fang's a mooney now."

and she flew out to los angeles and picked up fang and brought him home with her. she kept him for two years. he sat on her lap in the mornings while she drank her morning coffee. he listened to her when she told him what to do.

again, in a way that he has never listened to me.

i look at everything now in the context of my experiences with mom.

how will i ever sell this little bungalow? mom bought me the front door. she moved the furniture around so it made more sense. she made the shades in the living room. she is all over my house. she hasn't seen my car. she would love my car. she loves my boat.

i tease her about a string. she always makes things better. and one visit, she was doing laundry and she noticed that you can't leave the lid to the washing machine open because there is a cabinet right above it. So she found some string and she made a braided cord about three feet long. She screwed two eye hooks underneath the cabinet and attached the string. now i loop the string over the lid and i have two hands free to load the washer. genius.

she installed a light over the kitchen sink in my new york apartment.

she let me sleep in her bed for days when my first love dumped me.


i talked to her this morning and she sounded so good.

and i am trying to remember, every day, that i haven't lost her yet. and i am trying to remember to live in the moment.

because the thought of living in this world without her paralyzes me.

my world is good. but she always makes things better.