Hello Honey:
I'm sure you know how much I have been missing you lately. I don't think I will ever get over not having you here; not having your common sense around me.
I have been thinking a lot about life honey. Once upon a time when I was young, I thought I was smart. Then, everything seemed either black or white, wrong or right. I know I developed my way of thinking from several factors, two of them being society and the religion I was born into. It has taken me all these years to find out, that way of thinking is incorrect. Nothing is that simple.
Who deserves to be called wrong or right, good or bad? No one knows, so how can we place an erroneos label on another. For example:
Our son suffered with his addiction for most of his life. His addiction caused him to make perhaps choices that made life harder for him and for those who loved him. But was he a bad person? A lot of people would label him as so, based on what drugs brought out in him. But did they really know him. Do they know that because Daren went through the battles with his personal demons, his six other siblings didn't fall into the same trap that he had fallen into. Do they know that his twenty-three nieces and nephews also made the choices to not follow in Daren's footsteps as far as drugs were concerned?
I know honey, you are there with Daren now. I know that you and he now know the purposes of so many things; Daren's life included. And honey, I feel it with all my heart, that this boy, this man who walked this life as an addict perhpas wasn't "bad" as some might label him, but instead had made a very difficult decision to make a sacrifice in this life; a sacrifice to be an addict so he could be a teacher. I have said many times, the greatest teacher I had in my life was Daren. He didn't teach me from a classroom. He didn't teach me from a pulpit. But he taught me none the less. He taught me unconditional love. For I did love him unconditionally. He taught me patience. He taught me understanding. He taught me compassion. He taught me so many things that exemplify Jesus Christ. Is this the work of a "bad" person. I think not.
Honey, the same can apply to those in our family who suffer from mental health problems. Should they be labeled as "bad" because their illness might create problems that others do not suffer. Are they less than "good" because of the hand they were dealt? I have watched our daughter suffer so much. Yet, when someone needs her, she is there. She doesn't hesitate to share her talents, her money, her time. Is this the work of a "bad" person? Again, I think not. Yet there are those who would label her as not good enough.
I will be careful in labeling anyone honey, for my children have taught me that to place a label on someone when you do not know their purpose in this life, is unfair. None of us know the purpose of another's life. Are they the students of life, or are they the teachers?
In a court of law, an accused is either defined guilty or innocent because of all the evidence that is put before them. They cannot be judged guilty, unless there is proof to their guilt. Unless the unknown is made known. Until we as people can know the unknown, we shouldn't judge anyone else. We shouldn't label them as good or bad, because we really don't know the whole story.
So, when you see our son again, give him a hug for me. Tell him that I am so thankful that I was entitled to be his mom. Tell him I appreciate the lessons he taught me and because of his being so-called "bad" helped me to be better. My life was blessed because of him.
And my darling husband, my life was better because of you too. You too were my teaacher. I am better as a person by being your wife.
I love you honey. Far Beyond the 12th of Never.
Susie
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Monday, January 19, 2015
Daren's Letter ~ January 19, 2015
Hi Honey:
Has it really been two years? Your dad always said when you look ahead, the future seems so far away, but time goes by so quickly. Time has gone by quickly honey, but it seems like only yesterday that I lost you.
"You died without an enemy. You were the light in my eye, the darling of my heart." This is what Abigail Adams, John Adams' wife said about their son who died from alcohol. When I read it, it was so the way I feel about you.
I went to your house at Christmas time. Christian invited me over. He took good care of me honey; just the way you would have wanted him too. He made me dinner of crab legs, salmon, baked potatoes and Red Lobster biscuits. He attempted pie dough from a recipe I gave him, but I had to tell him when baking pies, you really do need measuring spoons and measuring cups. I will see he has them next year. He had the tree up I gave to him and Vince, all decorated in the mountain man ornaments. I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet and saw your shirts hanging there. Your well-worn orange Mark Whiting Construction shirt was the first to catch my eye. I held it close and tried to capture your scent on it, but I couldn't. Christian gave me all your old Levis. I cut the legs off them and will turn them into quilt blocks and then into a quilt for your boys. Tucked between the Levis were your old camo shorts you wore so often. I couldn't cut them honey. They had to remain whole and old and worn.
Vince stayed in Utah for Christmas. He is still here honey. Mark is teaching him the ropes of Utah construction the way you would have if you were here. Vince says dirt is in his blood too. Rainee made certain he was taken care of for Christmas.
The three of us, Vince, Christian and I make it through each day but I look at them and I can see the loss in their eyes. They miss your dearly my boy...they love you dearly. But then you are easy to love.
Christian and I talked about how much you hate lemon pie; when you said it made you mad for anyone to like it. But you loved my lemon jello even though when you tried to make it you said it was like lemon rubber bands.
I'm glad I didn't know the future honey. I'm glad I didn't know you would be leaving me. You always said you would, but I wouldn't let myself believe you knew what lay ahead. I'm glad I didn't. It's hard enough to look back and see myself without you, than it would have been to look ahead and imagine myself without you.
Life goes on, and I can't imagine sometimes how. How can it go on when part of your heart is missing, when part of your world has collapsed. But second after second, minute after minute and soon a day is yesterday and I wonder how I have made it through another one without you and your dad.
It does comfort me to know you are together. Perhaps so very long ago before our family time began, it was pre-arranged for your dad to go and be there to meet you. I don't know for certain honey. I can only imagine, only what-if.
You have left no enemies honey. You are the light in my eye. You are the darling of my heart.
I'll love you forever. I'll love you for always. For ever and ever my baby you'll be.
Sweet Peace My Darling Boy.
Mom
Has it really been two years? Your dad always said when you look ahead, the future seems so far away, but time goes by so quickly. Time has gone by quickly honey, but it seems like only yesterday that I lost you.
"You died without an enemy. You were the light in my eye, the darling of my heart." This is what Abigail Adams, John Adams' wife said about their son who died from alcohol. When I read it, it was so the way I feel about you.
I went to your house at Christmas time. Christian invited me over. He took good care of me honey; just the way you would have wanted him too. He made me dinner of crab legs, salmon, baked potatoes and Red Lobster biscuits. He attempted pie dough from a recipe I gave him, but I had to tell him when baking pies, you really do need measuring spoons and measuring cups. I will see he has them next year. He had the tree up I gave to him and Vince, all decorated in the mountain man ornaments. I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet and saw your shirts hanging there. Your well-worn orange Mark Whiting Construction shirt was the first to catch my eye. I held it close and tried to capture your scent on it, but I couldn't. Christian gave me all your old Levis. I cut the legs off them and will turn them into quilt blocks and then into a quilt for your boys. Tucked between the Levis were your old camo shorts you wore so often. I couldn't cut them honey. They had to remain whole and old and worn.
Vince stayed in Utah for Christmas. He is still here honey. Mark is teaching him the ropes of Utah construction the way you would have if you were here. Vince says dirt is in his blood too. Rainee made certain he was taken care of for Christmas.
The three of us, Vince, Christian and I make it through each day but I look at them and I can see the loss in their eyes. They miss your dearly my boy...they love you dearly. But then you are easy to love.
Christian and I talked about how much you hate lemon pie; when you said it made you mad for anyone to like it. But you loved my lemon jello even though when you tried to make it you said it was like lemon rubber bands.
I'm glad I didn't know the future honey. I'm glad I didn't know you would be leaving me. You always said you would, but I wouldn't let myself believe you knew what lay ahead. I'm glad I didn't. It's hard enough to look back and see myself without you, than it would have been to look ahead and imagine myself without you.
Life goes on, and I can't imagine sometimes how. How can it go on when part of your heart is missing, when part of your world has collapsed. But second after second, minute after minute and soon a day is yesterday and I wonder how I have made it through another one without you and your dad.
It does comfort me to know you are together. Perhaps so very long ago before our family time began, it was pre-arranged for your dad to go and be there to meet you. I don't know for certain honey. I can only imagine, only what-if.
You have left no enemies honey. You are the light in my eye. You are the darling of my heart.
I'll love you forever. I'll love you for always. For ever and ever my baby you'll be.
Sweet Peace My Darling Boy.
Mom
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Christmas Nuts
~Christmas Nuts~
By
Susie Whiting
Copyright
~ December 2014
~Christmas Nuts~
The
snow was falling and the wind the weatherman had forecasted had made its way
down from the north. The sign above the
bank said twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit, but the shoppers bundled in coats,
boots and scarves said it was much colder.
She couldn’t feel it though. She
walked down the street in a sleeveless Armani dress, cropped to the knees. The only ice she felt was the diamonds that
hung around her neck and wrist.
Her coat was up
there on floor six; the ICU unit. The nurse had hung it in the closet not
taking care to sponge off the blood. Oh
well. A ten-thousand dollar full length
mink coat wasn’t a worry; nothing was anymore.
Nothing had been for a very long time.
Her Victorian Tudor house had been a place to sleep, sometimes eat, or
work in its office. If she were honest with
herself, she would say it wasn’t home. A
home in her eyes represented a place of love and peace and joy. She had never had any of those things. She had been tossed around in the
system. She had been told she was loved
but when the minute came for her foster parents to be relieved of her, their
love had never been enough to beg for her to stay. She didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone. She had what she needed; a good brain and a
lot of drive. The minute she was
seventeen, she hit the streets. The
library was her home. She studied
incessantly and on occasion would find a hollow between the books where she
could stay the night. She got a part
time job in a coffee shop earning enough to provide for her needs. She didn’t need much.
She had ambition,
smarts and wits and she used them all to get her GED and get into college with
a full scholarship which included housing.
Housing wasn’t much. She shared a
small room with a girl; one of those that you had to like because she was so
sweet and kept all of her stuff tidy; never infringing on your private
space.
A
large truck sped by splashing snow and mud onto the sidewalk; onto the
pedestrians. Others cursed and stomped
their feet and brushed at their clothes.
She felt nothing at all and just kept walking.
Christmas
lights adorned the stores. Rockefeller Center was bright with its large
decorated tree. The ice skaters twirled
and spun, and giggled and fell, to get up and do it again. The laughter she heard in the air almost hurt
her ears. Laughter was something she
wasn’t well aware of; nothing she had become accustomed to. She walked away.
Her
steps took her to a graveyard in Arthurs Kill.
She had never been there before.
After all, she would not want her $1,000 boots sinking into the marshy
path; but now her boots were also on the sixth floor of the hospital so what
did it matter. If she passed through a
centuries old roadside graveyard which consisted of horribly eroded grave
markers along a garbage strewn path, her feet would begin to sink into the mud
at the Arthur Kill Boat Graveyard. She
didn’t know what was drawing her toward the old wheelhouse she saw in the
distance…nor did she care. It had been
so long since she had cared about anything in this God forsaken thing called
life. She had learned at a young age, if
she didn’t want to get hurt, she just couldn’t set herself up for it.
He
had said he loved her. He was going off
to California and wanted her to go with him.
They would build a life together.
He would help her through school.
She could help him. It wouldn’t
be easy but they could make it. He loved
her he said. He would always love
her. But she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t put her heart in harm’s
way. Better to be alone than to be broken. Better not to love than to be crushed by
it. It would be better to dream of love,
than to have love turn into a nightmare.
So she watched Dan walk out of her life. Had she been honest with herself, she would
have run after him. She would have let
her heart rule and not her brain. She
had always let her brain rule. Emotions
had no part in her life. That is why,
behind her back at the hospital, she was known as “The Stone.” They didn’t know she knew what was said
behind her back, nor did she care.
If
she let the wall she had built around herself crumble, she would hurt for the
young girl in pediatrics with a disease not covered by her medical
insurance. She would feel for the mother
who sat beside the girl’s bedside and cried into the night; hopeless and
helpless.
She
couldn’t feel the waves as they splashed over her feet as she was drawn toward
a wheel house that was settled at a slant in the mud. She heard a voice coming from inside. It wasn’t laughter because it didn’t hurt her
ears. She stepped so very lightly up
onto the first step and then the second and then the third until she could see
over the side. No. It wasn’t laughter she had heard. It was a young boy lying beside a younger
girl. He pulled a plastic tarp over her
to try and break the breeze. She still
shivered.
“Can
you drink a little warm tea,” he asked as he raised a Dunkin Donuts cup to her
lips. Someone left it on her table. It is still warm though.” He raised the small
girl’s head up and pressed the cup to her lips.
Her lips were parched and cracked and her face was flushed with fever.
“You
can’t leave me, Mattie.” The boy cried softly.
“We’re all we’ve got.”
The
lady stepped over the side of the shack.
She knew they didn’t see her. She
leaned down to place her hand on the girl’s brow, but her hand could not make
contact; of course not. Her real hand
was connected to her body that laid on a gurney on the 6th floor of
ICU.
Her
Lexus had skid on black ice at the same time a big rig jack-knifed. All she remembered when she knew the crash
was coming was “Oh Well. This life has
been hell anyway.” Her death wasn’t as
quick as she thought it would be. Her
shell of a body was lying in a hospital with tubes and respirators keeping her
brain alive. Keeping her from passing on
to a place she hoped was far better than the one she had been living in.
Now,
she needed that body. She needed to be
able to feel. She needed to be able to
talk. She needed to be able to send help
to this little boy and girl. For as
miserable as she was as a person, she was still a fine doctor.
Suddenly,
it seemed as though she was caught on the wind; blowing. In an instant, she was at the window of the
sixth floor and in even less time she was through it. She looked down at the body on the bed;
laying silently, laying still. The hum
of equipment made her chest rise and fall.
The beeping of equipment signified her heart was still beating. She was in a coma the ER Physician had
said. Not certain she would ever regain
consciousness. But she had to regain
consciousness.
Her
body hurt as she tried to force her spirit back into it. Her spirit hurt too. She had been free of pain outside this shell
of a coat called a body. But she had to
hurt. She had to heal. She had to help the children in the
wheelhouse. She was a doctor. There was the oath she had taken.
Her
body moaned as she forced her spirit back into it. The heart started beating rapidly. The blood pressure raised and then lowered
erratically. The body moaned again
causing nurses and doctors to rush by her side.
The doctor opened her eyelid and the light about blinded her. She felt so confined in such a small space
but she moved around and settled in. She
had settled back into life.
She
willed where her energy would go. She
didn’t care if her legs worked for now.
She didn’t care that she couldn’t lift her arms. She didn’t care if her eyes couldn’t focus as
well as they should. She could work on
that later. Right now, her energy needed
to go to her mouth.
“Policemen,”
She whispered to the nurse. “Get
policemen.”
The
nurse recognized the urgency of her voice and did as she asked, but warned them
to not stay too long. Not to weaken her
further.
Every
word she spoke was hard. How she had
taken the ability to speak for granted.
But then she thought, she had taken everything for granted. Her own bitterness had prevented her from
appreciating the ability to walk along the beach and feeling the sand beneath
her toes. To listen to a symphony and
let the music she heard swell within her breast. To watch the sun fall into the west and leave
its brilliant colors in its wake. To
appreciate the scent drifting from Carmine’s promising the patrons rich
spaghetti and meatballs and hot garlic bread.
With her Lexus, and her apartment in Manhattan and a rich bank account,
she had still been very poor. God bless those who are so poor, all they
have is money. She didn’t know where
that thought had come from, but she knew it applied to her.
With
all the strength she had, she was able to tell the policeman about the two
children and they had promised they would go find them.
CHIRSTMAS
EVE~
She had paid for
the largest tree to be delivered and set up in the foyer. She had paid for the house to be decorated
with pines and poinsettias and candles.
She had a giant Santa’s sleigh delivered and set up in the family room
and in it were gifts; gifts for a young
boy and girl. She had wanted to do the
decorating and shopping herself.
‘Herself’ she laughed. Before,
‘herself’ had wanted nothing to do with Christmas. Her wheelchair was restrictive and she wasn’t
able to get out has she wanted, so she called upon her finances to make happen
what she wanted.
The investigator she had hired
found the children’s parents had both died from heroin overdoses. The boy and girl had run away when they found
their parents dead. There were extended
family members somewhere in Mexico, but the children had never known them. They had been born in the United States and
as being so were citizens. Carlos and
Maggie were their names and Carlos and Maggie were being released from the
hospital this afternoon.
She hooked her Ipod to its base
station and Christmas music filled the room; happy Christmas music.
She watched as the van from the
hospital pulled up in front. She could
have called for the maid to open the door, but she wanted to welcome them
herself. She wheeled herself over and
opened the door wide as two scared, apprehensive children walked toward the
door.
Hello Carlos. Hello Mattie.
My name is Kathryn. Please come
in and let’s have a talk together.
Bertie, the maid, brought in a
plate of sugar cookies and mugs of hot chocolate and sit them on the coffee
table. The children looked at them with
wide eyes but yet apprehensively.
“It’s okay,” she told them. “You can have some.”
She smiled as Carlos handed a
cookie and then hot chocolate to his sister.
He was still taking care of her.
She told them her name was Kathryn
and she explained to them how although she was rich, she had still been very
poor because she had lived with a broken heart.
“We know about broken hearts,”
Carlos said through a bite of cookie.
“Our hearts got broken too. Mamma
and Daddy broke our hearts.”
“I know,” Kathryn responded. “I had someone find out why you were living
in the shack. I hope you don’t
mind. It wasn’t because I was being
snoopy. It was because I cared about
you.”
“That’s okay,” Carlos replied
again. “It’s good to have someone care
about you. Momma and Daddy cared but
they cared about drugs more. But they
loved us anyway.”
“Of course they loved you. I’m certain they loved you very much. Their addiction to drugs was an illness they
couldn’t heal. It wasn’t because they
didn’t want to. It wasn’t because they
didn’t love you.”
“But anyway, Carlos and Mattie, I
have had an illness too. Like I said,
I’ve had a broken heart that I haven’t been able to fix. Because my heart was broken, I didn’t look at
life the way I should have. I need
someone to help me laugh again. I have
this very big house that is pretty empty.
It could use a boy and girl to help fill up the rooms. They would be safe and warm and able to go to
school. They would never be hungry
again. I would do everything I can to make
them happy. If you would like to be that
boy and girl, I would love to have you live here with me.
“Do you have a puppy?” Mattie
asked for the first time. “My daddy said
that if someone loved a puppy then we could trust them.”
I’ve never had a puppy before,”
Kathryn said. “I always felt I was too
busy to take care of one. But to be
honest with you, I always felt one would break my heart if anything happened to
it. But you know what? I am tired of being afraid of being
hurt. I am tired of a broken heart.”
Kathryn rang a
silver bell that was sitting nearby and Bertie came through the door. “Bertie, would you bring in Cleo and Hank
please.” A few minutes later Bertie
entered with two small dogs on a leash.
Hank was a Golden Retriever pup who quickly ran to Carlos and licked his
face forcing giggles from the little boy.
Cleo was a Pomeranian who laid beside Mattie and stared up at her with
big black eyes. Smiles radiated from the
children’s faces as they petted their new Christmas friends.
“So do you think
you want to give it a try and live here with me?” Kathryn asked.
“What if we’re
not able to make you happy?” Mattie asked sadly.
“I don’t expect
you to make me happy, Sweetheart,” Kathryn said. “It’s my job to make myself happy. And I
really think for me to do that, I need to stop being so selfish. I need to stop being wrapped up in
myself. By being all wrapped up in
myself, I’ve made a very small package.
I want to be wrapped up in you and Carlos and Hank and Cleo.”
“We will be kind
of a strange family, don’t you think?” Carlos said thoughtfully. “ A doctor,
two Mexican kids, a Golden Retriever and a Pomeranian.”
“Look at that
bowl of nuts on the table,” Ellen said.
“There are walnuts, and cashews, and almonds, and peanuts and
pistachios.” They are all different, but they are the same.
“So we will be a
family of nuts, huh?” Carlos replied forcing laughter from Kathryn.
“Yes,” she
laughed. “I hope we will always be a
family of nuts.”
Christmas
Day~
Miracles do happen. But it does take opening oneself up to be
able to accept the miracles that surround us.
I looked at the clutter in the
house. Wrapping paper was spread across
the family room carpet while two tired dogs lay on a rug before the
fireplace. Carlos was playing an Xbox
game and I was manicuring Mattie’s nails with the bright orange polish she had
received from Santa. Bertie had a turkey
in the oven for Christmas dinner. I had
never had a cooked Christmas dinner in my house before. I had always gone out to five star
restaurants and tried to convince myself that the less work the better.
It was strange how I felt
inside. I was lighter. By lighter I mean I didn’t feel as heavy
inside and by lighter I mean I didn’t feel the darkness that had hid inside me
all my life. It was as though my mind
had opened wide and all negativity had flown out and my heart had opened up
telling the universe to send on in the miracles. And then the doorbell rang.
He stood on the front porch with a
silly Santa hat on. His eyes were still
the brightest blue; his hair touched slightly with gray at the temples. His smile was not changed at all. It spread easily and honestly across his
face. I had heard through the grapevine he had never married, but I glanced at
his left hand anyway. He wore no
ring. Dan was back.
“I heard about your accident,” he
said. “I thought since you might be tied
up in the house for a while you might need a little something to keep you
company. He reached in a box and pulled
out a tabby cat. The dogs barked, the
children screamed and the cat hissed and jumped from Dan’s arms as it tried to
climb the curtains. And I laughed. Dan’s smile widened as he watched me laugh
until I lost my breath; until my sides ached.
At the time he didn’t understand that another nut had been added to our
family tree in the form of a tabby cat and as I stared back at the silly man in
the Santa hat, I hope this man I loved would be the next to fall into the nut
bowl.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Daren's Letter - November 12, 2014
Hello Honey:
We found that little cedar house that was available to lease in Salcha, Alaska. It had been a cute little house, but the people who had lived there before had thrashed it. It was so dirty. They had raised dogs in one of the bedrooms and the smell was awful. The price was right, and if we could get the owner to let us clean it for the first month's rent, it would work for us.
You and I painted and your dad cleaned forever on the bathrooms and the garage. The boys helped pull up carpets and we replaced them. Stoves were cleaned, cupboards scrubbed, windows were washed and before long, we had a home. I was prepared to make do with whatever we could find for furniture, but the people were so kind. Soon, we had enough. We had a cute little home that sit back in the pines with moose coming into the backyard.
On "Survivor Night" we would all load in your truck and head to Haley's for our Survivor Party. One night it was dark and cold. The roads were iced and snow blew across the road limiting sight. You knew riding in cars was a thing that had scared me all my life. I think it was handed down genetically to me through my dad who was in such a bad automobile accident, he never drove afterward. You were driving and your dad was riding shotgun. I was sitting in the back seat. After a few minutes, you turned and asked "Are you praying, Mom?" I was. You knew me so well.
Your unselfishness always amazed me honey. Even in that little house, when Jen moved up to stay a while with us, you instantly without a word, gave up your bedroom. Jen moved into town, and Shannon and the girls moved in with us, and you passed your room on to them. I never heard you complain about any sacrifices you made. I guess that is one of the things that made you so loved by so many people.
I didn't know then my darling son, what I know now. I didn't know the time would come when I would move heaven and earth if I could be back in that little cedar house with you, your boys and your dad. I didn't know how much I would miss your making a peanut butter sandwich or the way you would cross your legs, or the way you would clean your ears with a q-tip. I didn't know how much I wish I could see you drying your hair with a towel and then flipping your head to put it in place. I didn't know how much I would miss watching Grumpy Old Men with you. How many times did we watch that show? How many times did we laugh at the same spots.
I miss washing your clothes and cooking you meals and talking about all the things we used to talk about. I miss the smell of Marlboro Reds. I miss your hands; the way they looked like my dad's.
I miss laughing until my sides hurt at some of the things you use to say. I miss seeing you put your arm around your sons and telling them you love them. I miss your asking me if I had an extra cup of coffee.
I didn't know honey. I didn't know that someday I would be missing all the things that made you you and I would be missing them so much I'd think my heart could break in two. So my sweet boy, most of the time I need to put all the memories on a shelf in my mind. Looking at them is so painful. Not remembering is a means of saving myself.
But then the time comes when I can't help but remember. I can't help but miss you.
I'm glad you're my son sweetheart. I'm glad I got to be your mom.
Leave me a feather. Let me know you're around me.
For ever and ever my baby you'll be.
Mom
We found that little cedar house that was available to lease in Salcha, Alaska. It had been a cute little house, but the people who had lived there before had thrashed it. It was so dirty. They had raised dogs in one of the bedrooms and the smell was awful. The price was right, and if we could get the owner to let us clean it for the first month's rent, it would work for us.
You and I painted and your dad cleaned forever on the bathrooms and the garage. The boys helped pull up carpets and we replaced them. Stoves were cleaned, cupboards scrubbed, windows were washed and before long, we had a home. I was prepared to make do with whatever we could find for furniture, but the people were so kind. Soon, we had enough. We had a cute little home that sit back in the pines with moose coming into the backyard.
On "Survivor Night" we would all load in your truck and head to Haley's for our Survivor Party. One night it was dark and cold. The roads were iced and snow blew across the road limiting sight. You knew riding in cars was a thing that had scared me all my life. I think it was handed down genetically to me through my dad who was in such a bad automobile accident, he never drove afterward. You were driving and your dad was riding shotgun. I was sitting in the back seat. After a few minutes, you turned and asked "Are you praying, Mom?" I was. You knew me so well.
Your unselfishness always amazed me honey. Even in that little house, when Jen moved up to stay a while with us, you instantly without a word, gave up your bedroom. Jen moved into town, and Shannon and the girls moved in with us, and you passed your room on to them. I never heard you complain about any sacrifices you made. I guess that is one of the things that made you so loved by so many people.
I didn't know then my darling son, what I know now. I didn't know the time would come when I would move heaven and earth if I could be back in that little cedar house with you, your boys and your dad. I didn't know how much I would miss your making a peanut butter sandwich or the way you would cross your legs, or the way you would clean your ears with a q-tip. I didn't know how much I wish I could see you drying your hair with a towel and then flipping your head to put it in place. I didn't know how much I would miss watching Grumpy Old Men with you. How many times did we watch that show? How many times did we laugh at the same spots.
I miss washing your clothes and cooking you meals and talking about all the things we used to talk about. I miss the smell of Marlboro Reds. I miss your hands; the way they looked like my dad's.
I miss laughing until my sides hurt at some of the things you use to say. I miss seeing you put your arm around your sons and telling them you love them. I miss your asking me if I had an extra cup of coffee.
I didn't know honey. I didn't know that someday I would be missing all the things that made you you and I would be missing them so much I'd think my heart could break in two. So my sweet boy, most of the time I need to put all the memories on a shelf in my mind. Looking at them is so painful. Not remembering is a means of saving myself.
But then the time comes when I can't help but remember. I can't help but miss you.
I'm glad you're my son sweetheart. I'm glad I got to be your mom.
Leave me a feather. Let me know you're around me.
For ever and ever my baby you'll be.
Mom
Friday, October 3, 2014
Cancer ~ Count My Blessings
I stopped in at Kohls after my radiation treatment. My granddaughter is getting married on the 4th of October and I needed a blouse to wear. I walked up and down a few isles hoping something would jump out at me without my needing to put much effort into shopping; I really didn't feel well. Radiation treatments kills not only the cancerous cells, but also the good ones, requiring the body to work extra hard to rebuild what is dying. I felt the fatigue all that work caused. My feet and legs ached along with my hands. Chemo has caused neuropathy. At first they feel numb and then the numbness turns into pain. I left the store without a blouse, sat in my car and had a pity party.
"I can't handle this." I said silently to myself. "I've reached the point where I don't even have the energy to shop for myself. I can't have my daughter constantly be responsible for taking care of me, but I feel like crap." My mind continued down the path of feeling sorry for myself until I remembered once again something my father had said so many years ago.
My father died when I was nine years old. During those nine years of my life, Dad was in the hospital about six of them. When he died, Mom said he had thirteen major illnesses racking his body. He had a disease where his body built too much blood. It would get to a point where if he bumped his arm, blood would seep through the pores. Another was the partial lung he had to breath with. Dad had been in a coal mining accident that had crushed his chest leaving that piece of lung to supply his oxygen needs, and even it had black lung disease.
Mom related the story of once when the doctor walked into the hospital room to visit Dad.
"How are doing today, Mac?" the doctor asked.
"Just fine," Dad replied.
"You can't fool me," the doctor said. "Remember, I'm your doctor. I know what you suffer with and I know how that makes you feel. You're not feeling fine."
"No," Dad responded. "But you don't have to look far to find someone worse off than you."
I thought of his words while sitting there in the car and felt ashamed for the pity I was allowing myself.
I have a beautiful granddaughter getting married, and I have the opportunity of sharing in her happy day. I had enough money in reserve to buy myself clothes, when there are some that do not have enough money to buy themselves food. I live in a country where my illness was treated by knowledgeable and trained physicians, surgeons, oncologists and radiologists. After my treatment, I went home to a comfortable bed, surrounded by people who love me. I did not lay alone on a dirt floor in a hut in Africa or in the slums of some cities in America. Yes, I had cancer, but I was in remission while there are others who suffer the same disease for years; some of whom are children.
After an adequate self talking to, I wiped the tears from my face, touched up my lipstick and went back into the store and found the blouse I needed.
I won't guarantee myself that I won't have other days when the sun leaves my sky and clouds darken my days. But I do guarantee myself that when that happens, I will try to remember the words of my dad, take a look around me and be thankful for the problems I have instead of having those of others. You truly don't have to look far to be thankful.
"I can't handle this." I said silently to myself. "I've reached the point where I don't even have the energy to shop for myself. I can't have my daughter constantly be responsible for taking care of me, but I feel like crap." My mind continued down the path of feeling sorry for myself until I remembered once again something my father had said so many years ago.
My father died when I was nine years old. During those nine years of my life, Dad was in the hospital about six of them. When he died, Mom said he had thirteen major illnesses racking his body. He had a disease where his body built too much blood. It would get to a point where if he bumped his arm, blood would seep through the pores. Another was the partial lung he had to breath with. Dad had been in a coal mining accident that had crushed his chest leaving that piece of lung to supply his oxygen needs, and even it had black lung disease.
Mom related the story of once when the doctor walked into the hospital room to visit Dad.
"How are doing today, Mac?" the doctor asked.
"Just fine," Dad replied.
"You can't fool me," the doctor said. "Remember, I'm your doctor. I know what you suffer with and I know how that makes you feel. You're not feeling fine."
"No," Dad responded. "But you don't have to look far to find someone worse off than you."
I thought of his words while sitting there in the car and felt ashamed for the pity I was allowing myself.
I have a beautiful granddaughter getting married, and I have the opportunity of sharing in her happy day. I had enough money in reserve to buy myself clothes, when there are some that do not have enough money to buy themselves food. I live in a country where my illness was treated by knowledgeable and trained physicians, surgeons, oncologists and radiologists. After my treatment, I went home to a comfortable bed, surrounded by people who love me. I did not lay alone on a dirt floor in a hut in Africa or in the slums of some cities in America. Yes, I had cancer, but I was in remission while there are others who suffer the same disease for years; some of whom are children.
After an adequate self talking to, I wiped the tears from my face, touched up my lipstick and went back into the store and found the blouse I needed.
I won't guarantee myself that I won't have other days when the sun leaves my sky and clouds darken my days. But I do guarantee myself that when that happens, I will try to remember the words of my dad, take a look around me and be thankful for the problems I have instead of having those of others. You truly don't have to look far to be thankful.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Daren's Letter - September 9, 2014
It's September Honey. The weather is bringing a few cool days with rain washing away the heat of summer. The mountains are starting to color; red for now and soon the gold of the aspen will intermingle creating a kaleidoscope of color. As much as you loved your summer sun, this time of year still brought with it the excitement of fall; the pheasant hunts and elk hunts.
If I could turn back the hands of time or turn the hour glass so the sand could pour backwards, I would take it back to the fall of 2008, and I would take us: you, your boys, your dad and I, to Dry Fork Canyon. Our trailer house would be nestled back in the pine trees and your tent would be down the road a ways. The smell of my cooking fried potatoes and onions and pork steaks would pull you, Vince and Christian to the trailer. We would eat, and sit and the hunting stories would sail in the air. I remember quietly sitting there and listening as your dad would tell you stories of the past; stories you have heard since you were a little boy. I could almost feel your excitement and the boys' excitement for opening morning. You would take off through the mountains while your dad and I would road hunt since our hiking days had been lost in past years. You could always find your way in the mountains. You could even as a young boy.
I remember once when you went with the church on a hike with several other girls and boys and the teacher who was suppose to be the guide. Night came, and none of you arrived at the designated time. It ended up the teacher/guide got lost, and it was you who led the group of young people out of the mountains and safely home. The mountains were a part of your blood, handed down to you through your dad. The mountains were his church as they also became yours and Mark's.
In my mind, I picture you as you walk out of a strand of yellow aspen, your boys close behind. You all are wearing your hunter orange. I can feel the peace and happiness fill my heart, because I know at that time and place, you are filled with peace and happiness.
If I could only turn back that clock, I would capture the smile on your face, the scent of sagebrush on your clothes. I would see you holding your gun with your left hand as you took your long, graceful steps and walked towards us. You would steal a Pepsi out of our cooler and lean against the truck and tell us what you had seen.
I love you Daren. I love the times we spent together. I love your stupid sense of humor, your laugh, the way you crossed your legs when you set down. I love how you defended me with every breath you took and how you defended your sisters and brother. No one messed with Daren's family. I love the way you could talk to people. It didn't matter if they were rich or poor, they were your equal and you theirs. I love how you always stopped to help anyone in need and how you taught your boys to do the same. I even love the smell of Marlboro reds. I have a package on my nightstand in case you ever want to light one up.
Thank you Sweetheart for letting your Dad and I live with you while we were in Alaska. You always made me feel so welcome...so special. Thank you for helping your dad bait his fishing pole when he became too ill to do it himself and thank you for helping him pull his king salmon from the Salcha River and help him hold it while he had his picture taken. Thank you for giving up your bed so we could have one. Thank you for keeping your patience when your dad decided to repair the bedroom door when you were trying to sleep. Thank you for teaching your sons the value of family, and thank you for teaching me the value of unconditional love.
I miss you Honey. I miss the sound of your voice on the other end of the telephone. I miss feeling your arms around me in one of your bear hugs. I miss your advice. I just miss everything about you.
I know you are close by me. I know that your love for me didn't die anymore than my love for you. Love is what lives on and I know wherever you are at, you still carry all of your love with you. But sometimes knowing you are close by me is not enough. Sometimes I still want to feel your hugs, want to smell the scent of your aftershave, want to watch you run your fingers through your hair to straighten it. Sometimes I want to watch you dry your ears with q-tips and put on the bracelet you made from parts of your fishing pole. Sometimes I want to see you driving in your truck with your elbow resting on the window frame or see you bouncing along the highway in a backhoe or grader.
But, I have learned the hard way that I can't have everything I want. But I am fortunate to have had them for as long as I did...long enough to build up the memories that roll through my mind as I sit here tonight.
I love you baby. At some time long before this life, you honored me by choosing me to be your mom. You chose me to give birth to you, to watch you grow, to laugh with you, to cry with you, to share in your achievements and in your losses. You chose me to be the mom that would climb through the bushes and under limbs with you when you were a little boy. To sit on the ground beside you next to a babbling brook and eat the ditch bank stew you had cooked in a coffee can over a little fire, using vegetables you had "borrowed" from a neighbor. You chose me to accompany you on your trips to Dry Fork Canyon and build the memories that each fall replays in my mind. You chose me to be the one who would love you, lose you, and miss you.
I love you Sweetheart. If you can, sneak into my dreams. Let me hear your voice.
Forever and ever my baby you'll be.
Mom
If I could turn back the hands of time or turn the hour glass so the sand could pour backwards, I would take it back to the fall of 2008, and I would take us: you, your boys, your dad and I, to Dry Fork Canyon. Our trailer house would be nestled back in the pine trees and your tent would be down the road a ways. The smell of my cooking fried potatoes and onions and pork steaks would pull you, Vince and Christian to the trailer. We would eat, and sit and the hunting stories would sail in the air. I remember quietly sitting there and listening as your dad would tell you stories of the past; stories you have heard since you were a little boy. I could almost feel your excitement and the boys' excitement for opening morning. You would take off through the mountains while your dad and I would road hunt since our hiking days had been lost in past years. You could always find your way in the mountains. You could even as a young boy.
I remember once when you went with the church on a hike with several other girls and boys and the teacher who was suppose to be the guide. Night came, and none of you arrived at the designated time. It ended up the teacher/guide got lost, and it was you who led the group of young people out of the mountains and safely home. The mountains were a part of your blood, handed down to you through your dad. The mountains were his church as they also became yours and Mark's.
In my mind, I picture you as you walk out of a strand of yellow aspen, your boys close behind. You all are wearing your hunter orange. I can feel the peace and happiness fill my heart, because I know at that time and place, you are filled with peace and happiness.
If I could only turn back that clock, I would capture the smile on your face, the scent of sagebrush on your clothes. I would see you holding your gun with your left hand as you took your long, graceful steps and walked towards us. You would steal a Pepsi out of our cooler and lean against the truck and tell us what you had seen.
I love you Daren. I love the times we spent together. I love your stupid sense of humor, your laugh, the way you crossed your legs when you set down. I love how you defended me with every breath you took and how you defended your sisters and brother. No one messed with Daren's family. I love the way you could talk to people. It didn't matter if they were rich or poor, they were your equal and you theirs. I love how you always stopped to help anyone in need and how you taught your boys to do the same. I even love the smell of Marlboro reds. I have a package on my nightstand in case you ever want to light one up.
Thank you Sweetheart for letting your Dad and I live with you while we were in Alaska. You always made me feel so welcome...so special. Thank you for helping your dad bait his fishing pole when he became too ill to do it himself and thank you for helping him pull his king salmon from the Salcha River and help him hold it while he had his picture taken. Thank you for giving up your bed so we could have one. Thank you for keeping your patience when your dad decided to repair the bedroom door when you were trying to sleep. Thank you for teaching your sons the value of family, and thank you for teaching me the value of unconditional love.
I miss you Honey. I miss the sound of your voice on the other end of the telephone. I miss feeling your arms around me in one of your bear hugs. I miss your advice. I just miss everything about you.
I know you are close by me. I know that your love for me didn't die anymore than my love for you. Love is what lives on and I know wherever you are at, you still carry all of your love with you. But sometimes knowing you are close by me is not enough. Sometimes I still want to feel your hugs, want to smell the scent of your aftershave, want to watch you run your fingers through your hair to straighten it. Sometimes I want to watch you dry your ears with q-tips and put on the bracelet you made from parts of your fishing pole. Sometimes I want to see you driving in your truck with your elbow resting on the window frame or see you bouncing along the highway in a backhoe or grader.
But, I have learned the hard way that I can't have everything I want. But I am fortunate to have had them for as long as I did...long enough to build up the memories that roll through my mind as I sit here tonight.
I love you baby. At some time long before this life, you honored me by choosing me to be your mom. You chose me to give birth to you, to watch you grow, to laugh with you, to cry with you, to share in your achievements and in your losses. You chose me to be the mom that would climb through the bushes and under limbs with you when you were a little boy. To sit on the ground beside you next to a babbling brook and eat the ditch bank stew you had cooked in a coffee can over a little fire, using vegetables you had "borrowed" from a neighbor. You chose me to accompany you on your trips to Dry Fork Canyon and build the memories that each fall replays in my mind. You chose me to be the one who would love you, lose you, and miss you.
I love you Sweetheart. If you can, sneak into my dreams. Let me hear your voice.
Forever and ever my baby you'll be.
Mom
Cancer~ The Miserable Journey
"I have cancer." The minute you let yourself absorb those words, your life changes. What had been important yesterday, is either more important today or less. Family and friends are definitely the more important, rather you can get a dye on your hair or not really doesn't matter any more. You just hope you will at some time end up with hair again.
I have heard some say that chemotherapy didn't bother them. I wasn't one of that group. From the minute I took my four steroid pills the day before chemo and got severe migraine headaches, chemo played havoc with me. The headaches would come first. I was given pain medication for the headaches and they proceeded to make me sick at my stomach. I was given nausea medicine to counteract the pain meds and the nausea medication proceeded to give me more headaches. I had developed an infection in my left breast which required my taking antibiotics which created yeast infection. I do not need to explain the scourge of yeast infection as most women have suffered from it. Needless to say, it is nothing I would wish on my worst enemy.
I would lay on my bed, with my plastic garbage can close at hand to vomit in. My darling daughters, and daughter-in-law and sister were never far away bringing me ice packs for my aching head, carbonated sodas to dry and still my stomach, ice water to try and keep me hydrated, oatmeal and dry toast. This would last for about two weeks. Going into the third week after chemo, I would start feeling pretty good. Hope was renewed that I was in fact not going to die with my head in a garbage can. I felt a little more energy seep into me and was able to get out of bed and at least put dishes in the dish washer. Of course, that period would only last a week until I received my next dose of chemo an would start all over again.
I was told my hair would start falling out the third week after my first chemo treatment, and as if on a tight time schedule, that is exactly when it did. My daughters and son had taken me to San Diego for a few days during my one week of feeling good. I showered and washed my hair to find it falling out in my hands. It was strange. It's not like losing a few strands here and there that usually accumulate in the bottom of the tub or on the shower stall. It was handfuls of hair. It was like pulling weeds after a soaking rain storm. I used a comb and very, very carefully tried to assemble it without combing it all out. Rainee had bought me two wide-brim hats so they came in very handy in trying to hide what was going on beneath. The day we got back home, Shannon took me to Diane's Wigs and I had my head shaved. I did not want my hair laying all over the house and I knew if I didn't get it cut off, that would be what would happen. I bought a wig and several scarves to wear. A person has two choices in life. You can either find something funny or you can find something miserable. My "hair situation" has been the bunt of many a joke between my children. My son Mark awoke from a nap in his recliner and he had a hair style quite associated with Alfalfa on the Little Rascals. I told him I liked his hair-do and he responded with "Well at least I have hair." Rainee has told me not to use her shampoo and conditioner and Dawna my daughter-in-law asked if I carry hairspray in my purse. It's the Whiting way of handling life and this way has seen me through many tough times. I love my kids and their warped sense of humors.
On July 5, 2014, with the help of some old friends, I attended our 50th high school reunion. What fun it was sitting with a group of women that had been my friends throughout my life. I think when one suffers a life threatening disease, it puts everything into perspective. You appreciate more and find less to ridicule. Petty things suddenly find their place at the bottom of the pile.
On July 6, 2014 I awoke and was unable to get out of bed. I couldn't move to the left, nor to the right. I called Mark who came in and helped me get out of bed and then took me to the emergency room at American Fork hospital. It was determined through a CT scan I had some ruptured vertebrae. The scan detected a light spot on my spine and the ER doctor suggested I have a PET Scan done. With a PET scan, your blood sugar is tested when you go in, then you are given a drink of sugar based liquid. Evidently, cancer likes sugar. If there is cancer, it attacks the sugar showing up in the scan. The report was sent to my oncologist and she said it didn't show anything alarming. I took the maximum amount of ibuprofen to try and get the inflammation out of my back along with a muscle relaxant when I went to bed. My back seemed to get worse.
I went to an orthopedic surgeon to see what could be done. After an X-ray he asked me "How did you hurt your back so bad?" (Apparently, I had five ruptured discs.) I told him I haven't fallen, I haven't been in an accident and I don't know how I hurt my back as bad as it was hurt. I told him I had lifted an air conditioner and pushed a tire into the tire well in the back of my car, but he told me that wouldn't have caused the damage that I had. He suggested I have an MRI to see if I had cancer in my back. I was scheduled for another lumpectomy three days later, on September 3, 2014 so they scheduled the MRI for Friday, September 5, 2014.
The lumpectomy went off without a problem. Rainee took me to the University of Utah Clinic located in Day Break. Lola met us there. Dr. Poretta removed a lump the size of a golf ball, cleaned out scar tissue that had accumulated since the original lumpectomy and cleaned the border of the original incision that had indicated there might still be cancer. All in all, I felt like an egg beater had been put inside of me and turned on high.
Mark and Dawna brought me over a feather tic mattress to fit on my bed. It made sleeping much more comfortable.
Friday I went in for the MRI. I spent two hours in the tube having my upper and lower back checked out for bone cancer and then waited anxiously through the weekend waiting for the results. On Monday, I received wonderful news. My back was cancer free, and so was the second lump removed by Dr. Poretta. I am cancer free! I need to have radiation treatment that will last between 3-6 weeks, and I need to decide what to do about my back, but as of today September 9, 2014, I am on my way back to healthy.
The God I believe in doesn't pick and choose from the prayers sent His way. He doesn't make the choice to save some of his children from cancer while having others die from the same disease. With that thought, why then did I get breast cancer. Why do I get to live? There has been no history of breast cancer in my family. My mother and six sisters did not have breast cancer, so why me. I only know that my experience with this disease has made me more aware, more compassionate, more caring towards others that suffer cancer and chemo and the side effects. It made me cry for the woman I met sitting in a chemo chair who had stage 4 breast cancer. It made me cry for my daughter's friend who's little granddaughter has liver cancer. I have been blessed throughout my life with a minimum of health issues. I don't think I truly appreciated feeling good. As I write this, my feet and part of my legs, along with my fingers suffer neuropathy. It is a result of the chemo that causes numbness and pain. I don't know how long it will last, or if it's something I will just need to deal with for life. I recall my sweet husband in the last weeks of his life. His legs were so swollen and were constantly cold and painful. I would put towels in the oven and heat them to wrap around his legs to try and warm them. As I crawled into bed last night, my feet were so cold (but not on the outside, only inside) and I thought of Danny. I appreciated all he went through with his illness, thankful to have been able to help him when I could, and regret any impatience I showed him when I shouldn't. I admire the strength he showed. He didn't give up. He didn't give in. Until the day he died, he was still "doing".
Having cancer has made me rely on others. I have always been one who didn't want to ask of people. Having cancer released me from that pride. I couldn't have done and faced what I did without the help and support of my children and my sister.
Why did I get cancer? It was a lesson to be learned; a tool to teach me with. It wasn't suppose to kill me. It was to help me live more fully.
Now, if I just don't get Alzheimer's Disease and forget the lessons learned during this year.
I have heard some say that chemotherapy didn't bother them. I wasn't one of that group. From the minute I took my four steroid pills the day before chemo and got severe migraine headaches, chemo played havoc with me. The headaches would come first. I was given pain medication for the headaches and they proceeded to make me sick at my stomach. I was given nausea medicine to counteract the pain meds and the nausea medication proceeded to give me more headaches. I had developed an infection in my left breast which required my taking antibiotics which created yeast infection. I do not need to explain the scourge of yeast infection as most women have suffered from it. Needless to say, it is nothing I would wish on my worst enemy.
I would lay on my bed, with my plastic garbage can close at hand to vomit in. My darling daughters, and daughter-in-law and sister were never far away bringing me ice packs for my aching head, carbonated sodas to dry and still my stomach, ice water to try and keep me hydrated, oatmeal and dry toast. This would last for about two weeks. Going into the third week after chemo, I would start feeling pretty good. Hope was renewed that I was in fact not going to die with my head in a garbage can. I felt a little more energy seep into me and was able to get out of bed and at least put dishes in the dish washer. Of course, that period would only last a week until I received my next dose of chemo an would start all over again.
I was told my hair would start falling out the third week after my first chemo treatment, and as if on a tight time schedule, that is exactly when it did. My daughters and son had taken me to San Diego for a few days during my one week of feeling good. I showered and washed my hair to find it falling out in my hands. It was strange. It's not like losing a few strands here and there that usually accumulate in the bottom of the tub or on the shower stall. It was handfuls of hair. It was like pulling weeds after a soaking rain storm. I used a comb and very, very carefully tried to assemble it without combing it all out. Rainee had bought me two wide-brim hats so they came in very handy in trying to hide what was going on beneath. The day we got back home, Shannon took me to Diane's Wigs and I had my head shaved. I did not want my hair laying all over the house and I knew if I didn't get it cut off, that would be what would happen. I bought a wig and several scarves to wear. A person has two choices in life. You can either find something funny or you can find something miserable. My "hair situation" has been the bunt of many a joke between my children. My son Mark awoke from a nap in his recliner and he had a hair style quite associated with Alfalfa on the Little Rascals. I told him I liked his hair-do and he responded with "Well at least I have hair." Rainee has told me not to use her shampoo and conditioner and Dawna my daughter-in-law asked if I carry hairspray in my purse. It's the Whiting way of handling life and this way has seen me through many tough times. I love my kids and their warped sense of humors.
On July 5, 2014, with the help of some old friends, I attended our 50th high school reunion. What fun it was sitting with a group of women that had been my friends throughout my life. I think when one suffers a life threatening disease, it puts everything into perspective. You appreciate more and find less to ridicule. Petty things suddenly find their place at the bottom of the pile.
On July 6, 2014 I awoke and was unable to get out of bed. I couldn't move to the left, nor to the right. I called Mark who came in and helped me get out of bed and then took me to the emergency room at American Fork hospital. It was determined through a CT scan I had some ruptured vertebrae. The scan detected a light spot on my spine and the ER doctor suggested I have a PET Scan done. With a PET scan, your blood sugar is tested when you go in, then you are given a drink of sugar based liquid. Evidently, cancer likes sugar. If there is cancer, it attacks the sugar showing up in the scan. The report was sent to my oncologist and she said it didn't show anything alarming. I took the maximum amount of ibuprofen to try and get the inflammation out of my back along with a muscle relaxant when I went to bed. My back seemed to get worse.
I went to an orthopedic surgeon to see what could be done. After an X-ray he asked me "How did you hurt your back so bad?" (Apparently, I had five ruptured discs.) I told him I haven't fallen, I haven't been in an accident and I don't know how I hurt my back as bad as it was hurt. I told him I had lifted an air conditioner and pushed a tire into the tire well in the back of my car, but he told me that wouldn't have caused the damage that I had. He suggested I have an MRI to see if I had cancer in my back. I was scheduled for another lumpectomy three days later, on September 3, 2014 so they scheduled the MRI for Friday, September 5, 2014.
The lumpectomy went off without a problem. Rainee took me to the University of Utah Clinic located in Day Break. Lola met us there. Dr. Poretta removed a lump the size of a golf ball, cleaned out scar tissue that had accumulated since the original lumpectomy and cleaned the border of the original incision that had indicated there might still be cancer. All in all, I felt like an egg beater had been put inside of me and turned on high.
Mark and Dawna brought me over a feather tic mattress to fit on my bed. It made sleeping much more comfortable.
Friday I went in for the MRI. I spent two hours in the tube having my upper and lower back checked out for bone cancer and then waited anxiously through the weekend waiting for the results. On Monday, I received wonderful news. My back was cancer free, and so was the second lump removed by Dr. Poretta. I am cancer free! I need to have radiation treatment that will last between 3-6 weeks, and I need to decide what to do about my back, but as of today September 9, 2014, I am on my way back to healthy.
The God I believe in doesn't pick and choose from the prayers sent His way. He doesn't make the choice to save some of his children from cancer while having others die from the same disease. With that thought, why then did I get breast cancer. Why do I get to live? There has been no history of breast cancer in my family. My mother and six sisters did not have breast cancer, so why me. I only know that my experience with this disease has made me more aware, more compassionate, more caring towards others that suffer cancer and chemo and the side effects. It made me cry for the woman I met sitting in a chemo chair who had stage 4 breast cancer. It made me cry for my daughter's friend who's little granddaughter has liver cancer. I have been blessed throughout my life with a minimum of health issues. I don't think I truly appreciated feeling good. As I write this, my feet and part of my legs, along with my fingers suffer neuropathy. It is a result of the chemo that causes numbness and pain. I don't know how long it will last, or if it's something I will just need to deal with for life. I recall my sweet husband in the last weeks of his life. His legs were so swollen and were constantly cold and painful. I would put towels in the oven and heat them to wrap around his legs to try and warm them. As I crawled into bed last night, my feet were so cold (but not on the outside, only inside) and I thought of Danny. I appreciated all he went through with his illness, thankful to have been able to help him when I could, and regret any impatience I showed him when I shouldn't. I admire the strength he showed. He didn't give up. He didn't give in. Until the day he died, he was still "doing".
Having cancer has made me rely on others. I have always been one who didn't want to ask of people. Having cancer released me from that pride. I couldn't have done and faced what I did without the help and support of my children and my sister.
Why did I get cancer? It was a lesson to be learned; a tool to teach me with. It wasn't suppose to kill me. It was to help me live more fully.
Now, if I just don't get Alzheimer's Disease and forget the lessons learned during this year.
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