The doctors told us that mom has two/three months left.
Her scan came back with five additional tumors in her brain. Dr. Is guessing that her body is full of them by now, but scanning is pointless.
She has a week or so of being able to say the handful of words she can now, and then… well I don’t know what happens after.
No more Immunotherapy, no more radiation, no more surgeries, no more medication, no more CNOS appointments, and no more trips to the June E. Nylen Cancer Center.
I’ve been trying to process and find peace in this, knowing that it’s going to happen. But premature death is never peaceful. My little brother hasn’t even graduated 5th grade.
I’m twenty-one, and I haven’t had mom for years now. She been fighting cancer for so long I don’t remember what normal was like anymore. It doesn’t get easier, I haven’t gotten used to it, and I’m still just as broken as I was at seventeen when mom was diagnosed.
I miss mom, and I don’t think that will ever go away.
I always held onto the hope of getting her back.
I didn’t know it would be in heaven.
It feels like I’ll never recover, I’ll never be ok, and that everything happy will be half sad because I won’t have her.
I’m trying to be okay with the fact that mom isn’t going to be here for long. Holding her little hands knowing that she won’t get to see my wedding, or be called grammy by my kids, that she won’t be here for my next birthday. That this birthday is the last one I get with her.
I feel ruined.
It’s all hitting me from every direction.
I know the world isn’t ending, but it sure feels like it.
Elaine Kate 