Five years ago yesterday I lost my mama. When I think of what she endured during the final years of her life I am ashamed of my weakness and admission of that weakness. I know with all my heart that she would not hold my pity parties against me. I know she would not judge me but at the same time, none of what chemo has done to me could come close to the pain she endured.
In 1987, just after Philip and I got married, mom fell outside a restaurant fracturing both legs; one in two places. She spent months is traction but this was only the start of her osteopathic nightmare. Rehabing, fracturing, rehabing, fracturing, was the cycle until her death in 2006. On top of this, she grew to become legally blind. My mama broke just about every bone in her body, some even twice. They say it is the hip that most elderly never recover from: I'm here to say that's true. But my mom never gave up! Never allowed herself a pity party. If I said, "my poor mama," she'd correct me that there were others worse off than she.
I have no right to complain about being nauseated, tired, unable to find something appetizing or bald. I know this can get so much worse. I felt pain in my shin today and thought a stress fracture would really suck right now. And given my gene pool, it's not that far out of the whelm of possibility.
I miss my mama so much. I know if she were alive, she'd be here taking care of me, encouraging me to eat. We'd take naps together but before falling off to sleep, she tell me stories of my youth and we'd laugh and laugh.
I know my mama is up in heaven rooting me on, encouraging me to take one day at a time. "it's all gonna work out!" was her favorite expression and I believe her.
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