There are a jumble of words kicking around my brain at the moment, yet I can’t seem to grasp the ones I need. It’s been a rough couple days to say the least, so please excuse the disjointed thought process that may follow.
When it comes to difficult situations I am rarely the one to breakdown in tears and become a blubbering mess of emotions; for inexplicable reasons I tend to be the one that tries to lighten the mood, take charge and divert from the issues at hand. My accomplices (read: my children) are wonderful at assisting me when it comes to those uncomfortable, sad, tragically devastating times.
Today was one of those times.
As I’ve had a little bit of time to breakdown the past two days and see just what’s really come of them – particularly today – it paints a really beautiful image. Beautiful, yet completely heart wrenching.
I’ll take you back a little bit further….
My mom has two sisters. One older, one younger; then there is Liz. Liz is their cousin with whom they were extremely close with throughout their childhood and teen years. She is my aunt, though not really, she just is. Outgoing, confident and headstrong; Liz’s laugh and smile are completely and utterly contagious. She’s always, always made me feel comfortable, welcome and loved.
When my grandmother immigrated to Canada, as did her brother. My grandmother married and had children while my great uncle and great aunt adopted a daughter. Strong and vibrant, I’ve always viewed her as the glue that held the feuding and very different sisters together. She was the one to call them on their shit, the one that never seemed to shy away from a conflict, to face everything head on.
The feuding escalated to a point where even the glue was unable to bind the frail and broken pieces. Words had been said that could never be taken back and “family” became a figure of speech.
Since 1998 my maternal side of the family has not had a complete family gathering. The last time we were all together was my grandpa’s funeral. My mom has not seen her older sister in nearly ten years.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday the glue brought everyone back together.
Liz, still the glue.
Liz fought a somewhat silent battle with brain cancer. Not until surgery, radiation and chemotherapy were complete and the cancer had regressed did anyone know of the battle she was fighting. The battle that she was winning: a cancer surviour, doctors had given her two to four years life expectancy and she’s been here eight. Eight years she’s fought the battle with cancer and won; she’s a fighter in every sense of the word.
The past six months her cancer was back with a vengeance. No one but her immediate family knew, once again she was fighting a silent battle. Not until two days ago did we know the turn she’d taken. Not until two days ago did we know it was now time to say goodbye. She’s still holding on; with a little help from some machines she’s still here with us, for now.
Hudson and I were at the hospital today with family. Four generations of our family in one room, again. For the first time, he met his great-great uncle, great-great aunt, his great aunt and uncle, as well. Smiling, cooing, laughing, he was oblivious to why we were together, bringing smiles, laughter and a little bit of happiness to a heavy and sad situation.
Now that we’re at the crossroad, there are so many things I am wishing I had done differently. I wish we had spent more time together. I wish I hadn’t been so self absorbed in my life and taken more time to visit with her. I wish she had a chance to meet and hold Hudson.
For a little bit of time she was able to open her eyes and see that we were all there for her. As I brought Hudson around into her sight, her eyes widened as she raised her eyebrows. I could envision just what she would have said, could she have been able to. Tears streamed down my face as I watched her expression change. I wanted so bad for her to have the chance to hold him.
As much as I long for what could have, or maybe should have been. We can only move forward from here. Take the remaining days that we have and hope that she is pain free and knows just how much she is loved.
Because she is in a small town, close to her home, the hospital doesn’t have a palliative care wing, but instead she’s taken care of by the obstetric nurses in the maternity ward.
Ironically, she spends her last days where many begin theirs.
Karen Sugarpants says:
I’m so very sorry Sam. xo
January 4th, 2009 at 8:31 pm
Mrs. Schmitty says:
Oh Sam, I am so sorry. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers. Hugs to you!
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January 4th, 2009 at 8:38 pm
Gabriella says:
Lots of hugs to you…this is tough and no one should have to deal with this….so so sorry.
Gabriella´s last blog post..The Other Side of the Coin
January 4th, 2009 at 9:23 pm
iMommy says:
oh, Sam. Hugs, and love. This is a really difficult thing to go through. We lost my grandmother to bone cancer, and I felt those same feelings of regret for not taking more time to connect and make memories You have the exact right idea – you just have to look forward and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Best wishes to your family.
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January 4th, 2009 at 9:43 pm
Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] says:
I’m terribly sorry to hear about your aunt. My thoughts are with you and your family.
January 4th, 2009 at 9:52 pm
maggie, dammit says:
Oh, babe. I’m so very sorry. So sorry.
maggie, dammit´s last blog post..Because it needs to be said.
January 4th, 2009 at 10:32 pm
major bedhead says:
Oh, how sad. I’m so sorry to hear about your aunt. *hugs* to you.
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January 4th, 2009 at 10:43 pm
Brenda-SeriouslyMama says:
I am so very sorry, Sam. I can totally relate to the family issues. My grandma died in 1998, her 12 kids (my mom being the oldest) fought so badly during the days leading up to her funeral that 10.5 years later, her estate is still not completely settled.
Take care.
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January 4th, 2009 at 10:48 pm
Devilish Southern Belle says:
I am so sorry about your aunt. I wish peace of mind for all of you, and pain-free last days for her. *hugs*
January 4th, 2009 at 11:27 pm
Vic says:
*Hugs*
My thoughts are with you and your family.
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January 5th, 2009 at 5:25 am
daysgoby says:
I’m sorry, Sam. I’m thinking of you.
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January 5th, 2009 at 9:14 am
ali says:
hugs, Sam. many, many hugs to you!
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January 5th, 2009 at 11:22 am
always home and uncool says:
I’m sorry to hear this, Sam. Maybe this sadness will help pull your family together again.
always home and uncool´s last blog post..Resolving to Wake Up
January 5th, 2009 at 11:34 am
Brenda says:
I’m so sorry Sam. (((HUGS))) My prayers are going out to you and your family.
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January 5th, 2009 at 4:14 pm
mrs nm says:
my thoughts are with you . . . I am so very sorry for you. Regret is an awful thing and this just sucks. I am a firm believer though in ‘just in time’ and I know it’s not good enough but I think everything you saw in her face when she saw Hudson was just her being so proud of you and how much she loves you and that was such a great, positive gift for her at the end.
So sorry for your loss x
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January 5th, 2009 at 4:46 pm
heather... says:
Oh Sam. That was beautiful. I’m so sorry.
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January 5th, 2009 at 6:42 pm
mrs.chicken says:
I am so sorry, Sam. Thinking of you at this hard time.
mrs.chicken´s last blog post..A Picture Worth 2100 Miles
January 6th, 2009 at 7:46 am
Jennifer, Playgroups are no place for children says:
I’m so sorry Sam.
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January 6th, 2009 at 2:44 pm
Miss Britt says:
Ah, Sam. I’m sad for you and glad for you all at the same time. XO
Miss Britt´s last blog post..More Degrees Of Separation
January 6th, 2009 at 4:38 pm
Lotta says:
Oh my goodness. I’ve been away and didn’t see this. I’m so sorry honey. What a time you are having!
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January 29th, 2009 at 1:43 pm