Hands Off My Hope!

Apples and Honey

Things feel a bit off to me and I think I know why. It is the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, and I am missing my mom. I haven't slept well for the past few nights, and as such, I'm feeling pretty tired. I am also feeling rather reflective, thinking about things as I lay awake in bed during the wee hours, or as I drive and a certain song comes on the radio, or as I listen to any number of talk radio shows jabbering on about the election and our current state of the economy and wonder "what would my mom think about all of this?" She always shared her opinion about the "topic of the day" and I always enjoyed hearing what that opinion was.

I also am reflecting on what was going on in our family one year ago. Ethan was still getting used to Sasha, Sasha FINALLY stopped crying day and night, and concern started to infiltrate my thoughts about my mom's health...I wasn't yet at the point where I thought the end was coming, but I wasn't comfortable with how she looked and how she said she was feeling. My cousin Warren was getting married in Winnipeg in mid-October of last year, and I remember my mom saying to me "I'm going to take care of myself...I really want to make it to that wedding." I told her she would; about two days after that conversation she was in the hospital with a broken hip, and needless to say, she didn't make it to the wedding.

As you know, that was the beginning of the end. Hospital rooms, rehab centers, the couch at home...those were the places my mom spent the rest of her time, and as the days and weeks wore on, she became more and more withdrawn. I think back to that time now and wonder if she knew she was dying. I really don't know if I thought she was...and if I did know, I certainly wouldn't admit it to myself. Did she know - deep down - that the end was coming? I've asked a few of her close friends if she ever had that conversation with them, and they each said "no," at least not that conversation in the concrete sense.

Last October as I read through the manuscript of "Hands Off My Hope" I was touched - and alarmed - by a section in which my mom recommends things to do to get ready to die. She offered the reader advice of making a video for the children and/or grandchildren so they could always see and hear you. Or, create a list of items you want certain people in your family to have. Or write letters and cards for your loved ones so they have that after your death. I was touched that my mom thought of doing these things...or at least thought of advising others to do these things. Yet I was alarmed with the thought that maybe my mom was getting ready for her own death. That was scary to me. As I've said before, in the abstract, I knew she would one day die but because we never really talked about it, I couldn't think about it in the concrete.

But I wondered what, if any, of her suggestions she would do for us. I know a few years ago she kept bugging Stacey and me to come up with a list of things of hers we wanted. I told her the only thing of hers that I wanted was the South Beach condo...and that Stacey and I differ so much in taste there would be no way that we'd want the same thing. I never made the list and I'm sure Stacey didn't, either. And although we really haven't come close to cleaning out her things, I know there will be no fighting, arguing or positioning between us when we do get to that point.

So, imagine my surprise when one day this past June my dad handed me what looked like a journal. We had brought the kids over to his place since they hadn't been there since the last day of Shiva in January. They played with long-lost toys before we walked to the Green Mill for dinner. As they played, my dad gave me the journal and told me he had just found it in my mom's night-stand. He didn't know what it was; he opened to the first page and saw my name written across the top. There was another one for Stacey which he gave to her that same night. I have to say, I was pretty excited - but nervous and apprehensive too - to read the journal's contents. I thought that perhaps this would provide some insight into what I wanted to know: what was going through my mom's head during her final months.

It took me a couple for days to garner up the courage to actually sit down with the journal and read its contents.  It wasn't from 2007 or even 2006...it was earlier than that and something she had started at a previous setback. It was so nice to read her words and hear her voice tell me what was going on in her mind at that time. It provided some insight...not quite what I was looking for...but something she wanted to share with me at a later point, and I'm glad she was able to do that.

So I guess I just need to be satisfied with the notion that whatever was going on in my mom's mind was something she kept to herself. Was she reflective? Did she know this was her last fight? Why didn't we talk about it until one week before she died when she had set up hospice care? I don't know. What I do know is that everyone has a way of doing everything, and this must have been my mom's way of protecting Stacey and me until the end. As I said, I need to be satisfied with that, but really, am I? Not sure.

By the way, L'Shanah Tovah.

A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

Fall is upon us, and quite honestly, I've been a bit nervous for this time of year to arrive. It was last year at this time that my mom came over to play with the kids for the last time. I remember how on the Tuesdays and Thursdays throughout the month of September, 2007 Ethan, Sasha and I saw less and less of her. September 2007 was not a good month: first my grandma Rueth passed away, and then my mom learned that the back and leg pain she had been experiencing for several weeks were due to a broken hip. Because she wasn't feeling well, she opted to stay home instead of come here to be with the kids and me, and at that time I had no idea that I would never again hear Ethan yell out "NANA!" when she walked into our house. She walked into our house only one more time, on Halloween, to see the kids in their costume.

And that's kind of the point of this entry. I remember last August very well. My other grandmother was in town from Florida, and she and my mom came over often to see the kids. I remember how my mom would lay down on our sofa during their visits to "take a little nap." I also remember Andy saying to me "Your mom looks a bit thin," or "Your mom looks a bit green." Yeah, I agreed with him, but I wasn't really concerned because she said she was feeling OK, and I always took her at her word. Also, it was my mom and she had been beating cancer for so many years...

Well, yesterday afternoon, I had Ethan and Sasha on my lap as we looked at pictures on my laptop. Ethan loves to take strolls down memory lane, and Sasha likes to blurt out the names of the people she sees (usually "Dada," "Mama," "Ethie," etc.). As for me, it's always fun to look at pictures of my children in their various different stages of life and remark to myself how much they are growing. Since the day before yesterday we went through most of the 2008 photos - three times - I decided that we would look at pictures from when Sasha was a baby.

We started out looking at pictures from summer of 2007. Most were of Sasha laying on the floor (since she was not yet 6 months old at that point) and Ethan trying to wrestle her. But then we came to one picture that really made me stop and think. This was a picture of my mom, Ethan and Sasha sitting on the sofa in our living room. Sasha is on mom's lap and Ethan is sitting next to her with a big grin on his face.

The picture was taken at the beginning of September...right before all the shit hit the fan with my mom's health. I remember the day...my mom had brought over some mardi gras beads and masks that were party favors from a wedding she and my dad attended. Ethan was having a blast with it all, and my mom loved watching him play. I took some pictures and uploaded them to my computer. I remember thinking that my mom looked a bit pale, but I also remember not really being concerned. Perhaps I was in denial...I don't know.

But as I looked at the picture yesterday with my kids, I actually blurted out "WOW." Ethan asked what was wow, and I told him that Nana didn't look so good in the photo. That was an understatement - she looked sick. Don't get me wrong...she looked as happy as ever being with the kids, but she really looked sick. And I know last year I didn't think she looked as sick as she did to me yesterday. It wasn't until late October of last year when I realized that my mom might not be able to hold out for another win against her cancer.

Looking at this one photo got me thinking: there are so many people out there - millions and millions - whose lives are touched by cancer in one way or another. And if that's not bad enough, there are so many people out there who are looking at their loved ones and not seeing the "real picture." Whether it's denial or stubbornness or hope, they refuse - just like I did - to look at the situation at face value and deal with what the real possible outcomes could be. Sure, I knew that one day my mom would die, and it probably would be from cancer. But I was so unprepared for the event when it did happen.

And that's why I am so devoted - and fired up, actually - to get back to promoting my mom's book and her message. Not only does it help the cancer patient, but it also sheds light to family and friends. We had a copy of the manuscript on our coffee table for months, but it wasn't until last October that I was able to read it cover to cover. It helped me understand some things that my mom didn't talk to me about. It helped me put some things in perspective. And it helped me understand some of the decisions she and my dad made along the way.

Still, I wasn't able to admit to myself that perhaps this was the end...I was too close, too attached and frankly, too scared for that thought. But now 8 1/2 months after my mom died I can look at that one photo and really see what was going on. My mom was sick, and even though I refused at the time to see it, she looked it.

Where have you been?

OK, I realize it has been months since I last posted, and it certainly was not my intention to start this blog and then suddenly stop. But as time went on and I posted more and more it dawned on me that the "purpose" of this blog was getting muffled. In my mind, it went from "let me share with you what we're doing with my mom's book" to a "let me tell you about my grief." Not that there's anything wrong with that (to quote Seinfeld), but in some respects I didn't want to burden you with my thoughts, which I thought might be happening.

So I stopped writing and posting altogether. And we sort of put the brakes on marketing my mom's book. We needed to catch our breaths, let some time pass and really think about what it is we want to do with the book. We needed focus and direction. And we needed to continue to grieve.

During this time, many of you asked me why I stopped posting, or what was going on with the book, and I really appreciate that...it's nice to know that you still care! But it was at dinner one night last month with my oldest friend (you know who you are) when I realized that I needed to get back to this blog. She helped curb my insecurities with it, helped me understand that what I was expressing was not only OK but important, and helped me realize that I can put a couple of sentences together in a meaningful way. She also helped me realize how lucky I am to have her as a friend...we go back to fifth grade and although we only see each other once or twice a year, when we do get together we start up right where we last left off. She is a life-long friend and I thank her for all the support she has provided to me during this time.

So, here I am writing again and I'm pretty happy to be doing so. I'm also happy to report that my dad, Stacey and I now have some energy to devote to marketing my mom's book and spreading her message. I will be posting what our plans are soon, and we're excited about where this next phase in the journey takes us. First on the list is a website, which will be built soon to accompany this blog.

You know, two days before she died my mom said to me "I want you to help market my book when I'm gone," a request she would not have made if it wasn't so, so important to her. I don't feel it's an obligation to carry out that request, but more of something that I want and need to do. But then I look at the dedication of "Hands Off My Hope!" and read these words:

This book is dedicated to my grandchildren, Ethan and Sasha. You live in the moment, walk in sunshine, and share that with me every day...We have a very special bond! I love you...Nanna 

It's when I read those words that I feel obliged to carry on my mom's legacy. Ethan and Sasha will never know my mom the way they should, and they will never experience again the utmost love she had for them. They lost their Nanna. But through her message of Hope, and through her gritty determination to live a great life with a devastating disease, and through her desire to help others walk down the road she walked...they can see the type of woman she was and learn so much about her eve though she's not here to help them learn it. And that's important.