Full Circle

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.

Then my grandpa died.

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.

Tagged as: cancer, death, family, life, love, remembrance