When my Mom went into the hospital for back surgery on Monday my life stopped. Literally. I didn't seem to be able to function. I sat and stared. I turned on the TV and stared.
She got there at 10:30am and went off to pre-op shortly after, leaving my Aunt Katy and Dad in the waiting room. Surgery was scheduled for 12:30pm. They didn't start her surgery until 2:30. We expected 2-3 hours and it was 4.5 hours.
She came through with flying colors. Let's just pause there for a moment and celebrate :-)
There is some sort of suspended time...to wait for a loved one with stage 4 cancer to come through a massive spinal lumbar fusion (it was so much more but that's the simple version)—a desperately needed surgery in the midst of cancer because the pain was so extreme...time just sort of stops.
So we all waited in various places around the city—because, covid—waiting to hear news. Praying for the best, fearing the worst—what if she didn't make it out? With chemo treatments every week, would she be happy she didn't? She told each of us how much she loved us and made sure we knew. We understood what she was saying under those words. My mom has had many surgeries throughout her life but I've never heard or felt words like that. Sure, every surgery has a risk, but not a stage 4 cancer risk.
When we heard she was through the surgery it felt like...a reprieve.
Like death had passed us over...for now.
Of course I realize that no one knows when.
But there is some sort of childlike belief inside of me that says Peter Pan is real, that miracles can happen, and my loved ones will never die. An unwillingness to see reality—even though it's staring me in the face. I think this dichotomy is what had me freezing in place, staring into space.
Grieving while my mom is still alive sucks. It feels like I "shouldn't" (that word never feels good) be grieving, I "should" be grateful she's still with us. I am. I SO AM.
And.
Grief. Because my Peter Pan world will come crashing down someday, it's just part of life.
It's to be expected
and
it shatters me.
It's too much to watch her die in tiny moments
and
I'm grateful for every single moment with her.
Hug them all today.
Love to all from the Mother Ranch,
Julia
PS Thank you for all your emails, thoughts, prayers, good energy, white light, and good juju that you sent—the whole family appreciates it :-)
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