In theory, I should have been prepared for the grief. We’d known the end was coming, and I’d been the one to get the call that there was nothing left to do. I’d been the one to sign the papers for it, and I’d been the one who had to look her in her beautiful face and tell her it was time for hospice, when she’d been in physical therapy the day before. Besides. It was cancer. What kind of happy ending was I expecting?
grieving
I Lost My Mom To Breast Cancer
This was MY MOM. No one should have to fight this hard, this long, on so many different levels while knowing it was a losing battle. But do you know how many times I saw my mom cry in almost 5 years? Twice. Once after her metastasized diagnosis, and then the day I had to tell her it was time for hospice. Can you imagine the kind of strength that took? To face every day knowing your fight was ultimately going to be not enough, and this disease would eventually win?
“IT IS WHAT IT IS”
By that time, mom hardly ever made any sense at all. She could still speak, but having any sort of conversation was an act in futility. But she’d still say that stupid fucking mantra, “It is what it is.” Ask her what she wanted to eat, she’d say some mumbo-jumbo and add, “It is what it is,” at the end of the sentence. “How are you feeling, Ma?” Goobledygook, “It is what it is.”
5 Things No One Tells You About Cancer
October 2016 is when I realized that pink-washing everything may be vital in fighting this disease, but it was nowhere near enough. Because breast cancer is so goddamn much more than a pink ribbon. Bringing awareness to the disease, and even donating the proceeds to research, doesn’t touch on the lives of the women who are in the trenches. Actually fighting it.
No, I Don’t Have My Shit Together, Thanks.
My first thought was, “Oh, shit, I do not have my life together enough to be a grandmother.”
