Six months ago shortly after 2 pm, nine of us stood around your bed as your heart stopped beating and you took your last breath.
I am one of only two people on this earth who got to hear that heartbeat from the inside, but I am one of many people who knew what that heart was beating for. At the end of the day, it all came down to one simple yet complex thing: love.
Love made your wheels turn. It kept you going when things got tough. It tore you to pieces and it put you back together before tearing you to pieces all over again. It fueled your fire, and it gave you purpose, and it made you feel lucky to wake up each day.
Your love for Neal and me made us strong enough to lose you and somehow keep pushing forward. As much as it hurts, and as crappy as it is, we have now survived 6 months without the only woman who knew how to make our heartbreaks hurt a little less...you loved us so much while you were here with us, that it is somehow enough to sustain the pain of being without you.
Through loving us, you also set an example for how to love others; unconditionally, even when people may not deserve it, and never ever doing things out of love with the expectation that you will get something in return.
Your love and appreciation for the world and the people in it was what made you see the need and importance of letting go of grudges and baggage that weigh you down. You were simplistic; most of the time, you wore that blue dress with the fish on it. You traveled light, you didn't harbor negative feelings toward people who may have hurt you more than you ever deserved, and you were apologetic when you hurt someone else. You weren't perfect, but I don't think you ever realized how close you came to it in my eyes.
When I meet people who knew you and loved you (because they were pretty much mutually exclusive), they always tell me how much I look like you. This makes my heart melt, but it also makes me realize that it's equally important for me to act like you. Not that I mind for a second being told that I have been blessed with even a portion of your good looks, but I will try my very best to work toward hearing "you have your mom's spirit" instead.
In addition to being the most important thing in your life, love is also what's gotten me to today. The love I've been shown by the people who have provided me with support each step of the way, and the love I feel for them in return is what makes me want to get out of bed in the morning. It's what reminds me that your spirit is still here, even 6 months after you are gone. And it will be here forever, because cancer may be a thief in so many horrible ways, but it couldn't touch your spirit. I will try so hard to show people what it was like to be loved by you by trying to love them in a similar way. I will try so hard to stay focused on love, and to forget all the rest. Because at the end of your days, the rest didn't matter. The people who loved you and were there for us all were and are what matters.
You left behind a world of people who miss you like crazy, but who have been so lucky to know what it's like to have been loved by you.
Thank you for loving me; no matter what, even when I didn't deserve it, and even when you didn't get anything in return besides a pretzel to the eye or a broken car windshield.
I love you and I miss you. Thank you for seeing me through the last 6 months.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Once Upon a Time...
I've spent some time recently questioning some people's places in my story. If I would have written them out a few chapters ago, how would the story be different? Would I be better off, or worse? I know you would have been able to relate to me on this, because of some of the characters in your own story; the story of Jazazzle, the Strongest and Most Amazing Mom on the Planet.
But then, I find myself thinking about all those people who had minimal appearances in our stories, but who we will remember forever because their place and timing was crucial to the plot.
Neal and I will never forget Jocelyn, the nurse from UPMC who took such good care of you. She was only a part of the story for your 5 day stay at Presby after your initial brain tumor diagnosis, but she marked the beginning of our appreciation for the nurses and doctors in charge of your care. She pulled Neal and me aside at one point and told us how good we were with you. We weren't treating you differently and while it was important to us that you were being taken care of, we didn't cut you any slack and still lightly made fun of you, as we always did together, as though nothing was wrong. At that point, you were still so aware with the exception of little memory lapses here and there. I will never forget her asking us in the hallway outside your room if we were scared, to which we both agreed we were, but that you had such a great attitude and we were trying to do the same.
I don't even know the name of the woman at the Hilman Cancer Center who sat behind the desk the day of your follow-up appointment, but she was so friendly and hilarious and put our minds at ease, if only for a few minutes, to joke around with us. That day, we'd find out the results of your biopsy, and life as we knew it (and hoped it would continue to be) was over. We walked into that room as the children of a relatively healthy, positive and energetic mom who just happened to have a brain tumor, and walked out of it as a family coping with terminal cancer.
We met Dr. Drappatz the same day, and his attitude aligned closely with yours. He wanted to treat it as a "chronic illness" and not something that was a life sentence. He was optimistic, and he wasn't giving up on you. I will always remember his smile and his demeanor during that first appointment, and I will always remember his face on your last appointment. Genuine disappointment and sadness. He talked to you and not about you, and he told you the chemo was no longer working and that the tumor had grown and crossed into the part of your brain that would start to affect your motor skills and speech. You told him, "I didn't realize we were already at this point." He told us our options, and he told us the outlook. He gave you 6 months, but you only stayed for 2.
Then there was Susan, the nurse who came to care for you at dad's house in State College. Susan was honest with us, and wonderful with you. She'd ask you to do things, and you'd tell her "you're the boss!" To which she'd always respond, "no, my friend, you are the boss." I will always remember the day Susan told me "suck it up, buttercup, and put on your big girl pants" when I was complaining about how cold it felt to me outside.
Then came Good Sumaritan Hospice in Pittsburgh, where Aunt Lirda and the Godfather were kind enough to let us all stay in their house so family and friends could come see you and ultimately, say their goodbyes. The nurses were once again wonderful with you, but we sure did love Gretchen and her leopard print clogs. She, too, was careful not to talk about you when you were in the room, and she'd always take us to the living room to talk about what we could expect. She told us "I never worry about Julie when I'm not here because you guys are taking such good care of her." Most of that credit should go to Aunt Lirda, Aunt Threse, and that incredible baby boy of yours that I get to call my brother. Although he assures me he will never be willing to do half the things for me that he did for you, nothing phased him. He fed you and changed you and rarely left your side for long periods of time, and illustrated so perfectly the bond between a boy and his mother. Gretchen was the person whose face confirmed that you were getting ready to leave us that Sunday when she took one look at you and your purple knees. She gathered us all in the living room and gently explained to us what to expect in the next 48 hours. She was the person who came to the house the very next day when you had passed and told us how sorry she was. We thanked her for everything and said goodbye, because her part in our story was over.
And finally, there's Beth. I haven't dealt with any other funeral directors and hope not to for a long time, but I like to think no matter what, Beth would still be our favorite. We met with her the day after you had passed, and she was so nice and probably had absolutely no idea what she was about to be getting herself into. Neal and Beth had a very close phone friendship for over a week regarding your obituary and some other shenanigans that Beth handled with so much humor, sensitivity and professionalism. I can't imagine many 20-something's who have just lost their mother finding such enjoyment from and appreciation for the funeral director handling such affairs.
All of these little anecdotes and so many others that aren't coming to mind right now are such sweet reminders of the importance of every single character in the story. Over the last year, some of my characters may have turned out differently than the story had painted them out to be in the beginning. The last year and a half has certainly dealt its fair share of pain and character twists to me and to my family, but it's also been full of a lot of really great people.
To all those that have made their mark in our stories and on our hearts, even those that may not have turned out to be the best of characters for my story in particular, thank you for the part you played. It wouldn't be the same without you.
But then, I find myself thinking about all those people who had minimal appearances in our stories, but who we will remember forever because their place and timing was crucial to the plot.
Neal and I will never forget Jocelyn, the nurse from UPMC who took such good care of you. She was only a part of the story for your 5 day stay at Presby after your initial brain tumor diagnosis, but she marked the beginning of our appreciation for the nurses and doctors in charge of your care. She pulled Neal and me aside at one point and told us how good we were with you. We weren't treating you differently and while it was important to us that you were being taken care of, we didn't cut you any slack and still lightly made fun of you, as we always did together, as though nothing was wrong. At that point, you were still so aware with the exception of little memory lapses here and there. I will never forget her asking us in the hallway outside your room if we were scared, to which we both agreed we were, but that you had such a great attitude and we were trying to do the same.
I don't even know the name of the woman at the Hilman Cancer Center who sat behind the desk the day of your follow-up appointment, but she was so friendly and hilarious and put our minds at ease, if only for a few minutes, to joke around with us. That day, we'd find out the results of your biopsy, and life as we knew it (and hoped it would continue to be) was over. We walked into that room as the children of a relatively healthy, positive and energetic mom who just happened to have a brain tumor, and walked out of it as a family coping with terminal cancer.
We met Dr. Drappatz the same day, and his attitude aligned closely with yours. He wanted to treat it as a "chronic illness" and not something that was a life sentence. He was optimistic, and he wasn't giving up on you. I will always remember his smile and his demeanor during that first appointment, and I will always remember his face on your last appointment. Genuine disappointment and sadness. He talked to you and not about you, and he told you the chemo was no longer working and that the tumor had grown and crossed into the part of your brain that would start to affect your motor skills and speech. You told him, "I didn't realize we were already at this point." He told us our options, and he told us the outlook. He gave you 6 months, but you only stayed for 2.
Then there was Susan, the nurse who came to care for you at dad's house in State College. Susan was honest with us, and wonderful with you. She'd ask you to do things, and you'd tell her "you're the boss!" To which she'd always respond, "no, my friend, you are the boss." I will always remember the day Susan told me "suck it up, buttercup, and put on your big girl pants" when I was complaining about how cold it felt to me outside.
Then came Good Sumaritan Hospice in Pittsburgh, where Aunt Lirda and the Godfather were kind enough to let us all stay in their house so family and friends could come see you and ultimately, say their goodbyes. The nurses were once again wonderful with you, but we sure did love Gretchen and her leopard print clogs. She, too, was careful not to talk about you when you were in the room, and she'd always take us to the living room to talk about what we could expect. She told us "I never worry about Julie when I'm not here because you guys are taking such good care of her." Most of that credit should go to Aunt Lirda, Aunt Threse, and that incredible baby boy of yours that I get to call my brother. Although he assures me he will never be willing to do half the things for me that he did for you, nothing phased him. He fed you and changed you and rarely left your side for long periods of time, and illustrated so perfectly the bond between a boy and his mother. Gretchen was the person whose face confirmed that you were getting ready to leave us that Sunday when she took one look at you and your purple knees. She gathered us all in the living room and gently explained to us what to expect in the next 48 hours. She was the person who came to the house the very next day when you had passed and told us how sorry she was. We thanked her for everything and said goodbye, because her part in our story was over.
And finally, there's Beth. I haven't dealt with any other funeral directors and hope not to for a long time, but I like to think no matter what, Beth would still be our favorite. We met with her the day after you had passed, and she was so nice and probably had absolutely no idea what she was about to be getting herself into. Neal and Beth had a very close phone friendship for over a week regarding your obituary and some other shenanigans that Beth handled with so much humor, sensitivity and professionalism. I can't imagine many 20-something's who have just lost their mother finding such enjoyment from and appreciation for the funeral director handling such affairs.
All of these little anecdotes and so many others that aren't coming to mind right now are such sweet reminders of the importance of every single character in the story. Over the last year, some of my characters may have turned out differently than the story had painted them out to be in the beginning. The last year and a half has certainly dealt its fair share of pain and character twists to me and to my family, but it's also been full of a lot of really great people.
To all those that have made their mark in our stories and on our hearts, even those that may not have turned out to be the best of characters for my story in particular, thank you for the part you played. It wouldn't be the same without you.
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