And It Continues

First, I’ve changed the title format of these posts about my Mom. Reality Check is beginning to get on my nerves. And if my readers can’t figure out that a post is about her then, well – they shouldn’t be trying to read grown up stuff.

I went to see her last Wednesday. I would have written about that visit before now, but I’ve been pretty busy. She will be going for her third chemo session tomorrow. After that, there will be three more.

The chemo is wearing her down. The last two times that I’ve gone to see her, she was upstairs in bed, propped up on pillows and watching television. There is a small table now set up next to her side of the bed, with all of her medications, books, a lamp, writing materials, etc. For the most part, I think that she is camped out in bed. Her hair is now gone, and for someone who doesn’t care about it, she will not take the scarf off of her head – even when it’s just her and my step dad there.

We’ve begun to talk about a myriad of little things when we find ourselves alone together, like a long overdue letter that I needed to write to one of my aunts for something that she did for me a long time ago. It’s one of those things that probably doesn’t matter in the long run, but feels very important. Sometimes, saying, “Thank you” for help and guidance is extremely important. I asked her for my aunt’s mailing address, and told her that I needed to write to her. She said, “B***?” I replied, “Yes,” and she said, “My B***?” I again replied, “Yes.” She wanted to know what I needed to write to her about. When I explained it, she was quite surprised at the whole thing. I think, though, that she was also grateful to her sister.

Watching my mother right now causes a strange mixture of feelings. It’s a painful thing to watch her. Until very recently, she was a lively, almost hyperactive woman. If you pissed her off – and I have a knack for doing that sometimes – her voice could overpower any other noise in the room. When they moved to the apartment where they now live, I watched her first pack, and then unpack with an energy level that was utterly amazing. When I think about that move, it strikes me that this fucking cancer was already at work in her body, with the sole purpose of gaining enough of a foothold to kill her.

There are other times, though, times that are becoming a bit more frequent each time I visit her, when I can feel us growing closer. For the sake of those who may have stumbled in here, and don’t know the back story, my family has never really been all that close.  Even though I live just ten miles from my parents, I would go months without visiting them. They didn’t expect it of me. So, when I say that my Mom and I are growing closer as we walk this path that she’s been put on, it is really a feeling that I haven’t experienced since I was a little boy. Honestly, it’s been something of a very bittersweet experience. I enjoy the closeness, I enjoy telling her that I love her, and hearing her tell me the same thing. I enjoy kissing the top of her head before I leave, even if it is through a scarf.

I feel as though I’ve found my mother again, after a long absence. That absence was, to be blunt, almost entirely my fault. But then, I’ve been operating under the assumption that my mother is immortal.

I know differently now, and I’m not going to squander the time that I have left with her.