NO ONE CAN KEEP YOU DOWN

IT'S BEEN AWHILE This past year has been difficult. It was about this time a year ago that my mother went into decline. By the first part of March, 2015, we were speaking with her oncologist, and decided that the best place for her was in a hospice. She died from lung cancer last September. I have struggled a bit with depression since. During the darkest days, I would question the reason for living - I wasn't suicidal but I did question the point of it all. It seemed so futile. Why do anything if we end up dying in the end? I'm sorry if this is depressing, but this is where I was. I'm finally coming out of it, thank God.

Part of what I've also been going through has  been to look at past hurts, why people do what they do, and why so many of us seem so insecure. Why do some people think the only way they can protect their 'turf' is to put down and be unsupportive of others? Any criticism coming my way is hard to deal with, especially if I don't think it's coming from a place that is honest, helpful, or genuine. It's also a hard thing to forgive. I don't operate that way, and I don't think others should either.

But here's the thing. No one can keep you down. People may try, because to them, your success or ability may mean their lack. It isn't really about that. We are meant to grow, to evolve, to get better at everything we do. I think this is so true, I consider it a universal law.

No one but you can keep you down. And if you give yourself permission to keep going, to keep working, to keep trying, you will succeed in spite of anyone who stands in your way. It's just the way it is. We are meant to evolve in whatever we attempt, so long as we keep going. And if we need to take a time-out, to slack off now and then to recharge ourselves, that's okay. That's part of the process, too.

What I'm saying is don't lose hope. Trust that you'll accomplish whatever it is you want to do. Have a little faith in yourself and in the universe. And above all, be kind to yourself and others.

- Susan.

THE LONG GOODBYE....

AS THOSE OF YOU WHO CHECK IN TO MY BLOG KNOW, I’ve been preoccupied with my mother who has Stage IV lung cancer. Up until three weeks ago, she was doing reasonably well, still able to visit and chat, but that is no longer the case. The cancer has affected her mind. This post is about wishes.

I wish her doctors would have told me beforehand what to expect. I wish they would have said that this type of lung cancer travels to the brain. Instead, I had to follow my suspicions and learn what was happening to my mother by checking out things on the internet. It isn’t as if I didn’t ask them to tell me, for them to give me a prognosis. The best they were willing to do was to give me a time frame, an approximation of how long she has. Even then, they impressed upon me that everyone is different.

I wish I hadn’t been hopefully delusional about her. Still, there is a kindness in not knowing.

I wish people wouldn’t be delusional, and ask me to decide when she’s up for a visit. There is no more delusion about that. She isn’t.

I wish people cared more. Despite the bitchy comment above, you soon learn who your friends are – who gives a damn enough to call.

I wish people would stop saying ‘Fuck cancer.’ Yes, I get the sentiment, but it doesn’t come close to addressing what my mother is going through, or how I feel about it. The saying has become a cliché and it trivializes the disease. You can’t fuck cancer. It fucks you.

I wish I wouldn't get all kinds of crappy links to porn sites because of the above comment. I know I will.

I wish I could keep my mother with me, forever.

And in spite of how angry I may have been with her in the past, I realize now, that anger is only a way of losing grasp of what is really important, of letting one’s ego get in the way, of taking a person for granted. Anger only survives if you think you have time to indulge it. When you don’t, it falls away and leaves love and sadness in its wake. And finally, I wish the very best for all of you, for every one of us. I know - a weird sentiment in spite of everything I've already said.

- Susan.

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.