The Beginning of the End

Dear Mamacita,

I have started this blog as an outlet for all of the pain, rage, and despair I feel since you have left this life. I know there's a lot of things I need to work through mom, so I guess I should start at the beginning. I hope that by writing you these letters I can process some of the stuff going on inside my brain and heart and I hope it eases the intense desire I have to talk to you again. There are days that I think I am losing control of myself because I need to call you and talk. People have said that it gets easier with time.... I don't believe that right now. It's been 3 months since you've gone, and it just feels longer and longer and longer since I've heard your voice and felt your love and joy and support in my life. And I know it's only going to get longer till I feel your arms around me again. I'm not sure how to deal with that mom. Anyways.. back to the beginning....

The beginning of the end started last July when we were all at Wisconsin Dells. You had a hematologist appointment at the V.A. in St. Cloud in the middle of the week we were there. It was a long drive for you to go there but you needed to get in to see this specialist. I remember waiting and waiting at our condo to hear from you. We knew there was something strange going on with your blood counts but so far no one had figured it out. Then you called me on your way back to the Dells.... You wanted to tell me in person what they told you, but I was too impatient and stressed out to wait, so I made you tell me on the phone. That was the first time we heard the dreaded "L" word. They weren't sure, but some form of Leukemia was a real possibility. After I hung up with you, I walked straight up to Dave and burst into tears. How could I possibly tell him that my amazing mom might have cancer?? After you got back, we were all in shock and I think I avoided you and talking about it with you, out of sheer fear. When you and I did get some alone time, all I could do is cry or just be angry. I didn't understand how they could tell you have have Leukemia and just let you leave the hospital, so part of me still chose to believe that it couldn't be true.

Things were getting worse physically for you that week. You couldn't walk down the hall without support and several breaks. You were so weak. My heart broke every time I saw you struggling to follow our boys (your babies) down the hall. It was a bittersweet week. It was the last vacation we would all be on together. The good memories are precious and Sam and I will never forget the special ones.

The next thing we knew it was Maxwell's 2nd birthday! We had a party here at the house for him and you and Dayton came. It was a good party but you had to go lay down for a nap. A few hours after your nap you needed to lay down again. That really concerned me, so I came into our bedroom to check on you and you were absolutely freezing! I had the mattress warmer on, every blanket I could find, I even put pillows on top of you for weight and a heating pad on your feet. Then I climbed in next to you until the shudders stopped and you were more peaceful. That was the first time I was really scared.

Then came the day that changed my life forever. The day before my birthday you weren't feeling well and went to the hospital in Mora, you were too sick for them to care for you, so they transported you by ambulance down to Abbott hospital in the cities. They started all the tests and got your body stable. Then came my birthday. I took the afternoon off, so that I could go be with you at the hospital. Dayton kept calling me asking when I was going to be there. I could tell something was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me what. When I got there, you sat me and Adam down and explained what they doctors had found out from all the tests they ran. It was official. You had MDS, a form of Leukemia. Very calmly you told us that the doctors told you there were 3 options. The first option was to do nothing...no treatment. In which case you would live a couple more weeks. The second option was to do just chemo, in which case you might live 3-6 months. The third option was to do chemo, radiation, and go through with a bone marrow transplant. The odds of surviving all of that were around 35%. It would be the greatest battle you ever fought if that's the route you chose.

After finding all of this out, I left your room and went to call Dave to tell him I needed him at the hospital immediately. He left work and was on his way before he even ended the call. I was terrified as I sat in the family waiting room crying and crying, trying to make sense of what I had just been told. How was it possible that my mom only had a 35% chance of living through this disease??! The rest of that day is blurry to me. The last thing I remember is laying in bed with Dave that night, all cried out.. my heart and soul just numb to everything. We shared a pair of earbuds and listened to an acoustic version of "No woman, no cry" by Bob Marley. That's how I fell asleep that night... in my sweet husbands arms, listening to quiet calm music....

I have to stop here now mom. My chest aches and I need to step back from the memories for a little while. I love you so much and I will write again soon. Please come visit me if you can...let me feel your presence. I won't be scared. I'll know it's just you...

Con todos mi amor,
Su hija,
Lucy