Hello Sunshine!

I can’t sleep.  I woke up around 4:30am because of thoughts trying to write themselves a story in my head.  So I wrote them down on a pad I keep close by, for times such as these, then when sleep continued to evade me, I gave up and decided to blog.  Blogging is therapeutic for me, like having a psychologist on staff 24/7.  The only difference is I don’t have to keep reaching into my pocket book to pay the bill.  On Tuesday, after exploding in my post, I finished up, took a long breath and immediately felt better.  Oh I still sulked for about two more days and hid in my bed under a bunch of blankets, but hey…such is life. No excuses, it is what it is.  But someone in my Google circle sent me a warm faraway hug– and me not being a huggy-type person – welcomed what was so sincerely offered and needed on my part.  She reminded me to put all my frustrations into the fight against cancer.  Good advice on any day. Thanks Creative Mama. http://www.creativemamaonadime.com/

Lately, my mother has been heavy on my mind.  It saddens me to think of what she must have felt during her illness, the isolation and fear, even with having family around. I had a hard time getting that at the time.  A fully grown woman and I was so scared of living in a space that did not include my mother, I couldn’t think straight.  Two days before she passed, I was on the phone with hospice at 2:00 – 3:00 a.m. in the morning.  Because we were not properly prepared by the hospice nurse we’d been assigned, we couldn’t understand why they were delivering morphine to my mom and dad’s home, and we needed answers.  In my ignorance, I explained to the person on the phone that we didn’t want her to become an addict.  The acidic reply was, “Your mom is not going to become an addict.  The morphine will make her more comfortable. She has a week, maybe two, to live at the most.”  What?  We didn’t know that.  Sorrow can blind you to what's ahead, especially if what's coming will cause extreme pain.  

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep after that because I couldn’t stop crying, so like a zombie, I got in my car and headed to Seattle to work.  I’ll never forget that day.  The office was completely empty at that time of the morning.  My body went through the motions of a normal day, pulling files, opening them up, trying to see through the waterfall from my eyes.  I was on auto-pilot, moving along with the ebb and flow of life, weeping so hard and heavy I could barely stand straight, trying to come to terms with the fact my mom was dying and not knowing how to navigate through.  I wish I could have known more, been more for mom at a time when she needed understanding the most.  But once a story is lived it can’t be changed no matter how badly I want it to and continuing to mourn that reality will destroy; more subtle than cancer, but destructive all the same. The only thing I can change is how I respond to situations going forward.  So here I am, doing just that.

Damn, I have so much more clarity now than I ever have before.  Here's what I know. Hindsight is a butt kicker.  And cancer is the loneliest place to be.  It’s like being in a box.  I can see everyone else on the outside looking in, with love in their eyes and pain and heartbreak etched in worry on their weary faces, but they can’t get in and I wouldn’t want them to. But looking outside this box, it’s comforting to know family and friends are close by, doing what they can, when they can.

For all of you out there going through it, whatever it may be, hold tight, and accept from me this faraway hug from a friend.


I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.

Audrey Hepburn