SURFACING... FOR NOW.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE BEEN checking my blog, lately, I want you to know I appreciate you doing so. I've disappeared, I know.

My mother was diagnosed with Stage 3-4 lung cancer last spring. Her oncologist gave her a year to live. She refused to believe it, saying she intended on living at least another five years - or until the new stadium in Edmonton was built and she could see it. That's my mother - she doesn't ask much from life and her goals are small. She won't be here to see the new stadium, except if she sees it in spirit.

I've posted about her a few times on Facebook. She developed breathing troubles last Christmas, and wasn't due to see her oncologist until this April. When she woke up panting for breath a month ago, we got her in to see her oncologist sooner. Three weeks ago, I took her in to the Cross Cancer clinic. She never went home. They kept her there for treatment (she had developed blood clots on the lungs), while we decided if it were better to send her home with home-care, or if she would be happier and more comfortable in a hospice. She's in St. Joe's hospice, here in Edmonton.

The thing is, she looks deceptively good. Her cancer is now in both lungs, but fortunately, she isn't in  pain, except when they drain her left lung. I am thankful she is clear-headed, able to talk and visit, even though she likely has only months (or less) to live. I am sharing all of this, just to let you know where I have been, and where I will likely be, if my posts are few and far between.

I went through a lot of grief last year when she was first diagnosed. In a way, being given a year has been a blessing - not only to share this time with my mother, but also to prepare for her eventual passing. I believe strongly in an afterlife (which is obvious, from my books). This 'belief' isn't based so much on any religion per se, but on the many brushes I have with those who have died and gone on to whatever new existence awaits us, or those earth-bound spirits who remain clinging to this one.

Yes, I know. I'm weird. What can I say? I also know, when the time comes for my mother, it won't make losing her any easier.

- Susan.