Listen, I know that so many people’s lives are affected by cancer every day. Until nine days ago, I was not part of that club. I knew nothing of catheters and chemo ports, radiation assisted biopsies, and prognoses. Until nine days ago, that was the burden of other people. I’ve always regretted not being fluent in another language and I lament my lack of international travel. I don’t try new foods and I’m completely ignorant on all things mythology. Yet over the past week, I’ve received such a detailed crash course — how’s that for a contradiction of terms? — I would do anything to remain forever unknowing of all things cancer.
I’m well aware that what I’m going through can only be a fraction of what my mother is grappling with, but since this is my site, I can only share the demons that lurk in the dark places within. I can only speak of what a cancer diagnosis does to the adult child of the afflicted. Who knows? Maybe that’s my book. Cancer is a bitch and cancer changes everything, forever. As we await biopsy results (Could Wednesday be the day?), I realize that things will never be the same. Even when my mom gets chemo and heads down the road to remission, expectations and illusions of security are redefined forever. I plan to do everything I can to get that motherfucking bitch to fade into the background.
Last Friday, I told Cory the news over breakfast. He asked what was really going on — and I don’t want my kids growing up in a house full of hushed conversations and phone calls taken outside — so I told him that Kukla was going to get some medicine that would make her sick in order to make her better. He looked at me and said “Like … cancer sick?” He sat with it for about five minutes. ”Well first of all, I’d like to thank you for ruining my appetite. Toast with peanut butter is my favorite and now you’ve ruined it. Secondly, I wasn’t expecting this. What an awkward moment.” If you know an Aspie, you’ll realize how amazing this is, but his eyes filled up with tears. It can’t be described as “crying” but he felt. He continues to feel. Tonight he asked me how I was. He notices how checked out I am. The kid offered reassurance that Kukla was going to be okay.
Make no mistake about it. I’m sucking in all areas of my life lately. Today, Grace (who, incidentally, keeps asking when Kukla is going to get “the chemo”) came down in her fairy regalia and tapped her wand on my head, informing me that she just changed me into a “real mother.” And it’s true. I make sandwiches and give showers and kinda, sorta listen to their stories, but I am failing big time at being a “real mother.” Right now, it’s just about survival and performing the least taxing tasks. I’m a little paralyzed until the answers come through and I’ve accepted that that, for now, it has to be enough. Thankfully, I’m married to someone who totally understands why I’ve been unable to stack our dishwasher for the past week and a half.
So many people — like, so. many. people. — have asked what they can do to help. I don’t know. Do I need anything? Yes, absolutely. I definitely feel needy and like I have some requirement that needs attention. However, I try and figure out some specific help to ask for and it all feels like overwhelming pressure that I can’t think of something and I end up throwing my hands up in despair. I don’t know what I need. I wish I did. Oddly enough, I thought I’d take up every offer for free babysitting, but right now my kids feel rather life-affirming even as they patiently tolerate my suckass mothering.
Finally, I wanted to mention my friend’s blog. She writes A Life Less Complicated, which is all about simplifying. Today, she took time out of her zen to write about our currently very complicated situation. Take a read, add her to your favorites, I guarantee you’ll feel inspired to clean a closet.
Wendie, I have been trying to think of something to say since you started going through this with your mom, but you don’t know me and I only know through your blog, so what in the hell could a stranger say that would make you feel even a tiny bit better? Nothing. The truth is, I’ve sat exactly where you sit now and I know there is not a damn thing anyone can say that changes anything. I know the checked out feeling and the feeling like a terrible mother. I was a zombie, just like I’m sure you are. I didn’t want to have sex with my husband or talk to my friends. Daily chores became impossible and laundry piled up, but it was OK, because how the hell else are you supposed to feel? Take this time to feel like shit and don’t feel guilty about it for even a second. No matter how old we get, we still need out mothers and thinking of the world without them is earth shattering. Life does get back to normal, but that’s impossible to imagine. Just take care of you and your mama and the rest will take care of itself.
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Much like Nicole, I don’t know you other than through your blog. But I have too been in your position and it is not easy at all. Being an adult child of a parent with cancer is simply horrific. No matter how old we get, we still need our moms. You learn things that you never wanted to know and you think about things that you never wanted to think about. And it really does change the entire tone of your life. When my mother was dealing with her cancer, I handled it so badly that I dropped out of college, got pregnant and moved 1500 miles away. Kids are life-affirming and as weird as it may sound, when you least expect it, they can be a great momentary distraction from everything else that is going on. A cancer diagnosis in the family shatters everything. You have to take care of yourself and really, everything else will be fine. Keep strong for your mother…that is the best thing you can do. Life will get back to a new sort of normal in the future, there is no doubt about that.
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Hang in there lovey……..
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I realize you don’t know me either, but here is what I suggest for accepting help: Have one of your closest friends be the reference & organization point. She can think clearer than you, and can see what you need clearer than you. People will want to bring over food, you will end up with 3 weeks worth of food on Tuesday, and then nothing for 2 weeks. Have everyone call her, and let her organize the food donations, babysitting if needed, etc. I have gone thru this with family twice and with a dear friend once.
It is hard to accept help, it is hard to turn down help. This isn’t what you need to be wasting your brain power on. Fight the fight, fingers crossed for you.
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awww, hon…
when my father died quite suddenly a few years ago. I… felt very much the same. the only thing I could possibly do was completely fall apart. I sucked at life (and being a mom) for awhile. and sometimes I still do. especially around my father’s birthday, the anniversary of his death, etc.
I felt like I should be able to handle it better.
the truth is. you can’t control ( nor should you try to control) the way that this is affecting you. in fact. if you weren’t totally out of sorts, THEN we should worry. does that make sense? your sprogs need to see you grieve the loss of normality that you are experiencing. they need to witness the impact that your mother and her illness has on a loving daughter and family. they are confused and need comfort as well, sure. but this is a lesson in compassion and walking through extreme difficulty that will subconsciously affect them when they do the same later in life.
I suspect my point is that you are doing the best you can. and you are doing it beautifully and perfectly. just the way you need to.
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Wow Wendie… you are amazing. I’m so sorry your family has to go through this, and my thoughts and prayers are with all of you. I wish there was more I could do.
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You’re not alone. You’re doing your best and everyone can and will understand that. Stay strong, Wendie.
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I’m in that list of strangers who only knows you through your blog, wishing there was something I could say to make all of this a little bit better. But there’s nothing to say that could really make you feel okay right now.
You do not suck as a mother. You are an amazing mother and I’m sure that someday your kids will look back in time and think you are the strongest woman they have ever known for going through this and still being the loving, incredible mother you have always been.
I know life can be overwhelming sometimes and at this time you’re probably going through a lot more than you ever thought you could handle.. But be strong Wendie. I know, we all know you can do it. We believe in you, pray and think of you everyday.
Don’t blame yourself for anything. Never feel like you suck at being a mom.. I swear I will be the happiest woman in the whole world if I ever get to be just half the great mother you are to your children.
We are thinking of you. You have a lot of strangers sending you positive thoughts.
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My mother died thirteen years ago (thirteen years ago to the day on the 21st) from pancreatic cancer. It was a rather horrendous period for us, for a year and a half. But because I was only 5 when she died, I barely remember it all. I guess you could say I’m thankful for being so young when she died, because while I don’t remember much about her, I was still a bit too young to fully understand what was going on. I can only remember her as very plump and cheerful, even in the hospital or stuck in bed. Even if she was a bit yellow.
Didn’t really mean to fully make it about me, there was a moral in this somewhere… But I do hope it helps, that you’re not alone. (even though I was only five.)
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You are by and far no suckass mother. They understand. You may not understand how THEY understand, but they get it. Kids are amazing like that. Don’t let this make you doubt yourself. It’s what the cancer wants. It doesn’t just attack the patient, it attacks everything. Attack it right back, Lady. Just being next to your mom helps her, like you don’t even know! You may ‘feel’ like a suckass mother, but you are one hell of a daughter. I wish there was more I could offer and do for you guys. And you know what? If you want to turn this into a cancer blog, you go right ahead. It’s your personal space. Don’t let the cancer dictate your lives.
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I am going through this struggle with my aunt, and we lost my cousin to cancer a few years ago. From the sounds of your writing, you seem to have a strong family and group of friends who, even though you feel totally checked out, will be there for you in your time of need. I don’t feel you need to apologize or promise you will write any certain things here. I, for one, come here because I have really grown to respect you through your writing and find you a genuinely interesting and smart woman, and I might add, quite a strong one at that. This is your blog and I hope you write about whatever you feel you need to. I have your family in my thoughts (positive thinking is an unbelievably powerful tool!) and wish you strength on this journey.
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You don’t suck. You are a real mom. Cancer sucks.
You are loved.
I have to be brief. Don’t misunderstand it for anger/impatience. My kid is hanging from the ceiling like a monkey due to unstructured time during spring break… Racing off…..before something gets broken…..
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Wendie, I wish you only the best with your mother. It is a hard time but I hope it truly all does work out, and she recovers and beats this cancer in the ass. I’ve had a cancer scare myself, and it wasn’t pleasant. Like you said, it’s hard to imagine being part of “another” population of that sort. Wishing good thoughts and prayers your way, stay strong.
- K
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Really sorry to hear the news Wendie. I cannot even start to imagine what you and your family are going through right now.
From the first time that I read your mother’s blog she struck me as a very unique and special person – a woman who creatively explores her inner self and uses her knowledge to heal other people, who is called Kukla by her grandparents, who has a category called ‘Einstein is my Boyfriend’ on her blog and who goes fairy-hunting with her beautiful and equally spirited granddaughter….and after reading your friend Melissa’s blog entry, I couldnt help but think that it’s so unfair that she should have cancer! Here’s hoping and praying for a miracle for your mom.
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