When the Body Fails,

the spirit prevails.


It's just those of us who are left behind that are in a world of hurt. (Literally. Both meanings.)


We're nearing the three-year anniversary since my mother's death on Thanksgiving Day, November 23, 2006, and I feel as though I've just begun coming out of the paralysis of grief and despair.


The day my mother's body and spirit separated and went two separate directions was three years ago. My mother was 48 years old. The day that she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, at the age of 42, was six years prior. At the time of her diagnosis in November 2000 I was a sophomore in college living 2 1/2 hours away from home. My mother maintained that I needed to stay where I was, doing what I was doing, so I did. But the frequent trips home to be with her began and one of the first was for her mastectomy surgery. They removed one of her breasts and many lymph nodes that had also been affected. Because of the extent to which they found cancer in the area, she endured an aggressive round of chemotherapy followed by an equally ambitious cycle of radiation. She lost all of her hair and suffered all of the pain and sickness that cancer patients suffer.

Thankfully, when all of the treatment had been given and the allotted time had passed, her scans and tests all indicated that the cancer had gone into remission. Everyone was relieved, thankful, and optimistic about the future.

As time passed, Mom seemed to relax and gradually trust in her healthiness again. She continued regular checkups that continued to indicate all was well. During this time I continued my studies, got engaged, graduated from college, and got married the following week. My mom was there, she was happy, and she even had a pretty, short-ish hairstyle.

More wonderful time passed. My husband and I were still living 2 1/2 hours away, but we made frequent weekend trips home and we'd occasionally have mom (and my family) visit us as well. I conceived our first child and suffered a miscarriage. This upset my mom terribly, but she was ecstatic when we conceived again a few months later. Being that this was my mom's first grandchild to be born and because we had always been especially close, I had a great time sharing the pregnancy with her. She drove the whole way to join me in the hospital while I labored with my son; what a comfort it was to have her there.

It was early morning when my son was born into the world, so she was still at our apartment getting ready to come back. She was disappointed to have missed his birth, but she was the first visitor we had and the first to get to meet him! She stayed another day and then had to go home until a few days later when she came to stay with my husband, the baby, and me for a couple of days. It was wonderful to have her there to help me through those first days home with my new baby (and I know she loved it, too.).

At this time and in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, my mom started having a nagging, persistent, dry cough. It was noticed, treated suspiciously and with mild caution. We all encouraged her to just go in to get it checked, which she did. One week after our baby was born we learned that Mom's cancer had relapsed and that it was now in her lungs. November 2004.

God just so had it that the month before my husband was hired for a job in our home area. So the next month, December 2004, we moved home to be near family and be with my mom. (That was a grace and a blessing.)

In my mind, this is where the roller coaster begins. From then on out, for the next two years, it somewhat blurs into one big up-down, hope-destroying, faith-breaking disaster.

She opted for treatment. Chemo and radiation again (for the second time). All the sickness, baldness, tiredness, you name it. Again, months of this pass, and at the end of it things looked clear again and that it seemed to have responded to the treatment.

This time it lasted for only a few months. Cancer was again discovered the fall of 2005. This time it was in her lungs, bones, and brain. Her oncologist told her that if she opted for treatment that it might be able to buy her only a couple of months. Dissatisfied with this prognosis, she and my step-father sought out treatment at another facility. They planned a rigorous treatment schedule of yet another, different chemo drug (you can't use the same one twice) and radiation.

Again, initially, the treatments seemed to have worked to shrink the cancer and the end result showed only very minimal traces that would be watched closely since cancer treatments can continue to shrink growths after treatment has ended. We were all very hopeful and cautiously optimistic for about the next month or so.

Then, after a final check on the progress the treatment had, we received devastating news. The morning of Good Friday (2006) (How appropriate, and after being in agony all the night before, Holy Thursday, waiting to hear the news.), sitting outside on my cement driveway, I wailed in pain when the news was delivered that the cancer had grown back again in all the same places (lung, bones, and brain) and that treatment options had all but run out. They'd already used up all the different chemo drugs available and there's only so much radiation you can get on your brain, on which she'd met her limit. They had one, experimental pill that they could give her as an attempt at buying a little extra time. She chose to take it. This was only a couple of weeks after learning that I was pregnant.

Miraculously, the test showed that the experimental drug seemed to be suppressing the cancer's growth. I was optimistic again, but also very cynical at the same time. Having our hopes dashed each and every time was starting to get very old and very predictable. At this point I was very happy for the good news, but had this sick feeling that I knew it would only be a matter of time before we were all getting kicked in the guts again. I can't stand saying this, and I couldn't stand thinking it at the time, either, but I started thinking it would be a relief when this sick game would be over.

Then, not long after, Mom became allergic to the drug she was on that had been working to slow the cancer's growth rate. She was forced to stop taking it and was told to expect the cancer to win in two weeks to two month's time. This was early summer 2006.

At our 18 week ultrasound we asked the technician to secretly determine the sex of the baby and seal it in an envelope. I gave it to my mom and she put it away saying that she would only open it if she was on her deathbed and I hadn't had the baby yet.

We had the rest of the summer with her and the fall, too. She fought harder and lived longer than most had expected. We were all very grateful for the time that we were given to spend with her. But even while that is true, it was also the hardest, most excruciating time of my life watching my mother die. Literally. Literally watching her body break down and fail and stop working. Day after day. First she started falling, then she needed a cane, then a walker, then she needed a wheelchair. Then she needed a hoist to move her from the chair to her bed and for her toileting. Then came hospice and in-home therapists and her wondering and wishing if she'd ever walk again. Then came the oxygen, then she couldn't swallow, then came the drugs that the hospice worker told me were to "keep her quiet."

My mother knew the sex of my baby before I did because then came the funeral with my two-year old son and my nine-month pregnant belly. My second son was born less than three weeks later.

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There just aren't words for how I felt during that time in my life. After awhile I started wondering if I'd ever feel normal again, like myself again. Literally, it has taken me this long and another pregnancy and another son born to me to be able to begin to feel as though I'm an active participant in life again, not just going through motions to get by; that there's some feeling behind it when I smile and that it isn't just hollow, empty, half-hearted, meaningless, and difficult.

Thank God for healing and for progress. Admittedly, my relationship with Him got pretty banged up over the last several years and my feelings for him have wavered through it all. I am still trying to patch things up ;) and work my way back to life in Him. This blog is me going back to the drawing board--processing my life, vocation, faith life--and trying to get back on track. And, in the absence of my mother to share things with, as questions of, get advice and reassurance from, I've found that you lovely women/faithful mommies are a wonderful source of reprieve, sanity, and much-needed assistance in living out my vocation as wife and mother.