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That February

That February

Two Februarys stand out in my mind as being “cancer Februarys”, and I cannot forget either one. This particular post is a collection of random memories from one of them — my mother’s last February. They are personal memories I hesitated to share, but as my friend Jackie from Dispatch From Second Base once told me, “Never hesitate to write what’s in your heart, Nancy.” Thanks, Jackie.

It was February 2008 — four years had passed since my mother’s initial breast cancer diagnosis in 2004 — and we had just brought her home from Saint Marys Hospital in Rochester, Minnesota. She had been taken there via ambulance after experiencing complications during a chemo infusion which I had accompanied her on.

We sent her to Rochester, home of the world-renowned Mayo Clinic, hoping for our miracle. People check into Mayo every day looking and hoping for miracles. Some people get their miracles. Others do not. Ours was not to be.

We were sent home a few days later — without our miracle.

That February in 2008 was when my mother’s youngest sister and niece flew in from Denver to visit her one more time. Everyone knew it was a goodbye visit, though those words were not said out loud.

My mother spent the last days she would ever spend in her home that February. I watched her say goodbye to her cairn terrier, Mandi, right before my brother pushed her wheel chair out the front door for the last time. She and Mandi both seemed to know she would not be coming back. 

That February was the last birthday I heard my mother say the words, happy birthday, Nancy.

That February was when I foolishly left my house one snowy night around midnight (against my better judgment) and drove for over three hours in treacherous winter driving conditions in order to get to get to the hospital (a different hospital) in time because my sister had called and said, “Mother’s talking about dying tonight.”

That February was when my three siblings and I huddled together in hospital waiting rooms whispering amongst ourselves about what to do next while nurses walked by offering sympathetic looks and what seemed to us like little else.

That February was when we reluctantly settled on the nursing home option and started visiting several as if we actually had options. It was also the first and only time I ever saw my dad cry when he realized he would not be bringing his wife home again.

That February was when we ultimately checked my mother into a nursing home, and I stayed overnight with her so she would not be alone. When I said I would gladly stay with her, she couldn’t stop crying, so neither could I. I spent the entire night wondering how many nights we had left; and as it turned out, there weren’t that many.

That February was when my family and I decorated that nursing home room, creating a strange hodge-podge of winter and Easter decor. Even the seasons were confused and jumbled together. Easter was early that year. Maybe we figured if we decorated for Easter, too, perhaps she would live until Easter. She didn’t.

In addition to the holiday décor, we carried in lamps, a card table and chairs, pillows, rugs, plants, books, CDs and CD player, a bulletin board, family photos and other miscellaneous things we hoped my mother might enjoy. She didn’t really. She was too sick.

Whenever we could, we paraded our various family pets in, never more than one at a time, of course, in feeble attempts to make things seem more normal. All our attempts at normalcy were merely that, feeble attempts.

By that February, the only thing my mother could stand to “eat” were orange popsicles and sometimes we buzzed for them in the middle of the night, and I would hold one for her because she was too weak to hold it herself.

That February was when my sister and I witnessed a transformation of our mother on one of those over-night stays; a transformation I am not yet ready to speak of or write about. That night in February was a night of desperation and hopelessness.

My mother survived that February. We all did somehow. But time was slipping away.

To most people, that February was just another February now tucked away on “time’s shelf,” but to me, that February will always be so much more.

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Do you have a “loaded” month or two (or more)?

 

Do you have a "loaded" month? For me, February is one of them. #grief #loss #breastcancer #MBC #metastaticbreastcancer

Jennifer@threedogsinagarden

Saturday 25th of February 2012

Nancy, Your wonderful writing is always so touching. I was thinking about you today and knew you would understand what I am going through with both my parents and my in-laws. My Mother-in-law has Alzheimer's and it is so hard to see her slow decline. Her partner of over 60 years is struggling to cope with her care, the household cooking and cleaning. So far, he has refused all outside help. My Dad is watching with a cane now. Soon any staircase will be an impossible climb. I don't have to tell you that watching beloved parents try to cope with the challenges of getting older is heartbreakingly difficult!!

Nancy

Monday 27th of February 2012

Jennifer, Oh my, you are dealing with a lot right now. I'm sorry about that. Watching the health of loved ones decline is just plain gut wrenching at times. It's just really really hard. I feel for you and I do understand. Thank you for saying such nice things about my writing. Your kind words mean a lot to me. Good luck with things.

Kay Ashworth

Saturday 25th of February 2012

I know this was not easy to write. I lost my husband to metastatic colon cancer 10 years ago after a 7 year battle. He was in Hospice for one week during the last two months of his life. It was incredibly difficult to leave him each evening but the respite it gave me allowed me to continue taking care of him at home until he died. Febuary 20th was our wedding anniversary so this time of the year he is especially in my thoughts.

Nancy

Monday 27th of February 2012

Kay, February is certainly a rough month for you isn't it? I'm really sorry for all you went through and for your loss. Thank you so much for sharing these personal memories about your husband. It's good to share about them. Thanks again.

Jan Baird Hasak

Tuesday 21st of February 2012

Oh Nancy, this post makes me cry. I remember when we had to place my mother in an assisted living facility. She lasted four months there, and it broke our hearts. My Dad was devastated. She passed away in October, 2004 from lung cancer. My oncologist believes it was due to second-hand smoke, so my anger flares up whenever I see someone light up without permission.

I used to hesitate to write what's on my heart, but not anymore. I find that readers enjoy writing that is honest and transparent, and their admiration for and trust in the author increases. If someone always urges the positive and never shares the struggles, you know that person is not telling the truth.

My thoughts and prayers are with you this February.

XOXO

Nancy

Monday 27th of February 2012

Jan, Thank you so much for understanding. I'm sorry about your mom and I know putting her in that facility was tough. I don't blame you one bit for saying your temper flares up when you see someone lighting up. You know first hand about the danger of second-hand smoke. I think you're absolutely right about honest and transparent writing, even when it's hard to do. Otherwise, what's the point really? Thanks so much for caring and commenting, Jan.

Tory

Tuesday 21st of February 2012

Nancy, It took me awhile to be able to respond. The tears sure have been flowing easily the last few weeks.

"That" transformation is oh-so difficult. I am very sorry that February is that month for you. I am sending much love your way.

Tory

Nancy

Monday 27th of February 2012

Tory, Thank you so much. I know you understand.

Renn @ The Big C and Me

Monday 20th of February 2012

Nancy, I suspect we all have "holiday triggers" of one sort or another that will always remind us of our losses. I lost my dad 4 years ago this past December and every Christmas is now another without him. It's doubtful that will ever stop.

I'm sorry about your Mom, and that February is one of your triggers.

I look forward to hearing more about your mom.

{{{hugs}}}

Nancy

Monday 27th of February 2012

Renn, There are certainly triggers for all of us aren't there? Sometimes it's the ordinary things we miss most... I'm sorry about your dad, guess it's been about the same amount of time for us... Thanks so much for commenting.