I’ve been doing a lot of breathing lately. I know, obvious statement is obvious. But I mean real, purposeful breathing. The kind where I sit and focus on the way the air feels as it comes into my body and how it feels as it leaves. Today I did that while sitting cross-legged on the floor of my closet. I’d just had a half hour sobbing fit and had flown past the ugly cry straight to a severe inability to breathe like a human being but like a car stuttering its way along on half a gallon of gas. Every coughing, sobbing breath I took in made my body shake and my chest hurt. It didn’t help that my boyfriend was on a business call in the other room so I had to stay quiet. It was bad. So bad that the dog, who is my comforter and my steadfast protector, took one look at me and left because he didn’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do.
My mother is dying. Every day brings her closer to her final day. In January of 2018 she was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer. The doctor told her that the cancer was at a point that, with aggressive chemo and radiation, there was absolutely no way she shouldn’t have a full remission. She could beat it. But she chose another route. Chemo and radiation are scary. They mean losing hair and losing too much weight, losing energy, and losing time. They mean putting chemicals in your body and having your scalp hurt when the wind blows wrong because your long locks are now wispy shreds of what they used to be. I get that. It sounds terrifying. Getting high IV doses of vitamin C and mistletoe to fight the cancer sounds much more appealing. Whether it was fear or God who led her down that path, which is what she has told us, it was the fate she chose for herself. No amount of family, friend, or church intervention would convince her otherwise.
She shouldn’t be alive today by all rights. Lung cancer is a nasty beast that spreads and kills quickly. It’s killing her quickly now. I haven’t been able to see her since January because I moved to another state to be with my boyfriend and then Covid hit. I’ve had people tell me she doesn’t look good. She doesn’t sound good on the phone. She’s at risk of another stroke or a heart attack because they can’t get her blood pressure under control. Two weeks ago the doctors told her they want to do a CAT scan and have yet to schedule it. When I told her she needs to call about it, she said, “Well, they must not be that worried about it if they haven’t scheduled it yet.” Which is how she’s handled this whole thing.
When my father had a stroke in May last year, she was like a tick on the doctors treating him. Every appointment needed to be scheduled asap, every phone call returned, every T crossed and I dotted. So it’s maddening to watch her let her life slip away from her while she does absolutely nothing about it. What’s even more maddening is that I can do nothing about it.
Since I was eleven years old, I was the mother. My dad left us and she just shut down. So I took care of her any my little brother. Even when things went back to “normal” and my dad came home, I was still taking care of everything. I was the problem solver, the sole provider at times. I was doing remote schooling (before it was cool) my senior year so I could work a full-time job because we were homeless. Part of the reason I failed my first year of college was because I was so anxiety-ridden over their financial situation yet again. I needed to save them. I needed to save her. I always have. But I can’t save her this time. And it’s breaking me. I feel…so broken. And numb at the same time. Honestly, I go back and forth between the two and welcome the numbness when it finally settles after the breakdown. I also have moments where I am ridiculously happy, and I always feel guilty about them. Is it okay to be happy when I know my mother is dying and my father is still really struggling in hos own recovery? Whether it is or not, I cherish those moments as well.
The one big, beautiful, shining light in my life right now is Conrad. He doesn’t always know what to say or do when I’m in the depths of this, but he’s always beside me when he knows I’m falling apart. Sometimes he holds me, sometimes he just holds my hand. Whatever he does is always perfect and just what I need. 98% of the people in my life disagreed with my moving down here to move in with him, but it has been the best decision I have ever made for myself. Without my faith and without this amazing man I know God led me to, I don’t know how I’d be surviving. Covid, my mother’s cancer, my DOA writing career, my moments of self-loathing and self-doubt…all of it. Conrad has been a rock for me and I honestly thank God for him every day. I know living with someone whose emotions are so mercurial cannot be easy. But he loves me till I’m me again, and that’s an amazing thing.
I’m going to try to write in here a little each day. It helps, I think, to be able to just word vomit. Please don’t share this blog with my mother. I always said I wanted transparency and openness on my author blog, but this is a little too raw to share with the world, and she eats up everything she knows I post online. I need a safe space. I don’t expect people to follow or comment. But a lot of people have asked me how I’m doing. Well, now you know. And now you have access to my word vomit. Congratulations?
