Every May I Remember Mama

Traveling back in memory to the little house on Hardcastle, I am once more safe in my mother’s arms. For she was the center of my Universe, and the sight of her could banish any grief or woe. Despite the availability of jobs during the war years, Mama chose to stay home and tend to her children. Practicing economies learned in the Depression, she made ends meet. She gave piano lessons and was not too proud to take in ironing or pick berries for local farmers. With these tiny earnings and a small stipend from my father, she provided a stable and happy home.

Though we never had much, we always had enough. And the finer things of life were never relinquished or abandoned. Mama was an accomplished musician, so often the strains of a Chopin etude or an old folk song would float out into the dusk of our summer yard where my brother and I whispered secrets and planned adventures. The combination of music and lamplight would draw us in just before bedtime, cheeks aflame with fresh air and exertion. When summer turned to fall and winter, Mama often read aloud. The Little House in the Big Woods was best remembered and, over the years, we collected the whole series. Laura and Mary and Pa and Ma were discussed as though they were family.

I also remember how no illness could long endure under Mama’s gentle ministrations. Her hand on my forehead, her dark eyes looking into mine, seemed to ease every symptom, and I knew I would soon be well. Now, as I face a serious health issue, it is easy to find tears filling my eyes. If only Mama were here, she would sit by my bedside, nurse me with simple but nourishing dishes, and best of all, touch my cheek and say, “There, there. You’ll be better in the morning.”

No matter how old we are, no matter how many years have passed, our mothers are never far from us. I recall a visit to a nursing home when I was very young. A long, bony figure of a man with hollowed cheeks and a sunken mouth lay upon a white cot. Eyes closed, he called, over and over, “Mother! Mother!”

At last I know why. For who will remember us when we grow old and infirm? Who but mother?

Published in: on May 12, 2012 at 10:54 am  Comments (10)  
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Life Happens When You’re Planning Something Else

The current year has been full of surprises, not all of them happy. And while I don’t want this blog to be a downer, I feel I should set the record straight in some regard.

If you’ve read my previous blog this year, you are aware of the death of my dear son-in-law, Carleton, on January 6. A traumatic event leaving behind grief, a complete reorganization and dissolution of life style for my daughter. An altogether sorrowful time which only the memory of his dear and presence can lighten.

After spending two weeks in Vermont with the family, I returned home and tried to get myself back on track. First on the list was scheduling my annual mammogram. Check off that item. But four days later I received a call from Kaiser. They needed to check their findings with an ultra-sound. I remember the thumping of my heart as I heard the message. It was that night that my husband said he felt a hard lump in my right breast. But I was in denial. I’ve had fibrous “lumps” before and besides I’d had stage 1 breast cancer 13 years ago in my left breast and have been clean every since. I had other things to do than revisit that scene.

Unfortunately there was no denying the x-rays and ultra sound screen presented after that second visit. Invasive ductile carcinoma, at least stage 2.
Next stop was a visit to the surgeon. I elected for a lumpectomy as it seemed it would take out the bad stuff and still leave me with something to fill my bra.

Surgery revealed that 12 of 14 lymph notes had cancer cells. An appointment was set with the medical oncologist and later with the radiology oncologist. A cat scan showed a couple of suspicious flecks elsewhere in my body, so meeting my new main doctor didn’t bring the best news. Best case scenario stage 3. The worst, 4th stage, or terminal.

With my daughter and husband with me, I thought I reacted rather well. No tears, no Oh My God, am I going to die remarks. Shock does wonderful things. Next came the Pet Scan which would zero in on those nasty “flecks” and reveal if they were simply artifacts or actual cancer.

Fortunately, the results were good. Stage 3, which means the cancer cells have migrated out of the original tumor and into the lymph nodes but no farther. That day I was euphoric. I had a chance. Within a day or so, relief spiraled into something more somber. My biggest fear was that I would suffer the horrendous nausea experienced after my first bout of chemo in 2000. My doctor assured me they would provide me with an arsenal of anti-nausea medications to prevent a recurrence. All I could do was pray they would work. Other than toothache, I can think of few things I dread more than vomiting.

But I now realize that a great blessing has come to me with an outpouring of love, encouragement, and prayers from family, friends, and colleagues. My daughter so newly widowed and in straightened circumstance, flew from Vermont, via Virginia, to spend 8 days with my husband and me. With Bill and Paige at my side, I was encouraged and supported. Ongoing concern, Reiki treatments, and offers of food from friends smoothed away many of my darker thoughts. It’s a beautiful thing to know that people genuinely care, that they are willing to write and send their healing energy to a friend in need, putting aside their own concerns to do so.

With renewed hope and strength, I’m actually getting back to writing on my current WIP, Emaline, and today I am breaking the blog barrier. Life does go on. Thank you all for being my companions and guides along this new trail.

Published in: on May 3, 2012 at 11:24 am  Comments (21)  
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