Full Circle (June 30, 2009)
I've heard people say that life comes full circle, but I don't think I've
ever heard anyone say that death does, too. I've come to the conclusion
that it most certainly does. I suppose everything does. There really
isn't any way to sugarcoat what I need to write about (and those that
know me, know that purging via typing truly is a necessity). My mother
is dying. I'm angry that the doctors knew how serious it was months
ago, but didn't say a word and let my mother think that all she needed
was a hysterectomy and then it would be more or less taken care of. I'm
angry that they could have started doing something sooner, but they
didn't... and now they want to steal what time she has left with an
aggressive and simultaneous chemo/radiation treatment. She sent her
charts and paperwork to her best friend, the head nurse of an oncology
department up in Pennsylvania. Her friend is going to give her an
honest opinion of her chances. If it's any worse than a 60/40 percent
chance of survival, my mother is going to start traveling and when I
stop receiving post cards, I'll know that she's gone. If it's really
bad odds, she's entertaining the idea of skydiving. This is how my
mother works and while I wish these things were all speculation, they
are facts. In addition to the doctors, I'm angry with my father. He
beat my mother and drove her away before my first birthday. With no
job, no money and no friends in Florida, she asked my grandparents to
take me until she could get her life straightened out. I suppose being
in Miami during the early 80's wasn't the best place to get your act
together, but eventually she did. My father had remarried and I was
five years old when she asked permission to come back into my life and
he refused her, telling her that I thought she was dead. For all the
horrible things he did to me throughout my childhood and for depriving
me of over twenty years of knowing my mother, I am angry. And while
we're on the subject of being angry, I'm pissed as hell at the
universe. People like my father are allowed to continue living,
infecting others with negativity... and my mother, who has only really
known me for about six years, has spent nearly all of it trying to make
up for lost time. I'm just not ready to lose her. It took me so long to
find her and to form a close bond and love her. It isn't fair that I've
already had to watch three loved ones over the course of my adult life
wither away into nothing as a result of cancer... and I just don't want
to let her go. I don't know how I'm going look forward to holidays...
or try to explain to my son about how awesome his grandmother was
because he won't remember her. My mother is fifty years old and dying.
And I'm mad as hell and nowhere near ready to talk about it. So for the
select few that will be able to view this private entry, thank you for
letting me vent in silence for now. It was hard spending the weekend
down in Miami... and when I'm ready, I think I'd like to write more
about that.
ever heard anyone say that death does, too. I've come to the conclusion
that it most certainly does. I suppose everything does. There really
isn't any way to sugarcoat what I need to write about (and those that
know me, know that purging via typing truly is a necessity). My mother
is dying. I'm angry that the doctors knew how serious it was months
ago, but didn't say a word and let my mother think that all she needed
was a hysterectomy and then it would be more or less taken care of. I'm
angry that they could have started doing something sooner, but they
didn't... and now they want to steal what time she has left with an
aggressive and simultaneous chemo/radiation treatment. She sent her
charts and paperwork to her best friend, the head nurse of an oncology
department up in Pennsylvania. Her friend is going to give her an
honest opinion of her chances. If it's any worse than a 60/40 percent
chance of survival, my mother is going to start traveling and when I
stop receiving post cards, I'll know that she's gone. If it's really
bad odds, she's entertaining the idea of skydiving. This is how my
mother works and while I wish these things were all speculation, they
are facts. In addition to the doctors, I'm angry with my father. He
beat my mother and drove her away before my first birthday. With no
job, no money and no friends in Florida, she asked my grandparents to
take me until she could get her life straightened out. I suppose being
in Miami during the early 80's wasn't the best place to get your act
together, but eventually she did. My father had remarried and I was
five years old when she asked permission to come back into my life and
he refused her, telling her that I thought she was dead. For all the
horrible things he did to me throughout my childhood and for depriving
me of over twenty years of knowing my mother, I am angry. And while
we're on the subject of being angry, I'm pissed as hell at the
universe. People like my father are allowed to continue living,
infecting others with negativity... and my mother, who has only really
known me for about six years, has spent nearly all of it trying to make
up for lost time. I'm just not ready to lose her. It took me so long to
find her and to form a close bond and love her. It isn't fair that I've
already had to watch three loved ones over the course of my adult life
wither away into nothing as a result of cancer... and I just don't want
to let her go. I don't know how I'm going look forward to holidays...
or try to explain to my son about how awesome his grandmother was
because he won't remember her. My mother is fifty years old and dying.
And I'm mad as hell and nowhere near ready to talk about it. So for the
select few that will be able to view this private entry, thank you for
letting me vent in silence for now. It was hard spending the weekend
down in Miami... and when I'm ready, I think I'd like to write more
about that.
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