"I know how to save two hours of your life." I said as I pulled plates from the cupboard. You sat at the kitchen table waiting for Dad's French Toast ala Costco baguettes and bacon breakfast -- and Katie.
"How?" You asked, with a hint of smile, trying to hide your preoccupation with the family room window and the shadows of passersby and car doors slamming. Your mask-o-chemo was fading. In fact you looked ready to start your first day at Wegmans. Almost.
"Do NOT. I repeat. Do not watch Mama Mia with Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan." I said with as much melodrama as I could muster for a lazy Sunday morning. "Morgan and I watched it last night while she was on the cross-trainer."
"I wasn't planning on watching it." You said as you watched Dad juggle bacon in the microwave and french toast on the griddle. "But thanks for letting me know."
"It was bad." Morgan said toting her old show choir chair from the garage so she'd have a place to sit when Katie came. "A.I. movie bad."
We laughed as we relived our family benchmark for bad movies. You were 16 and Morgan was 14 and it was the Summer of 2001. You two convinced Dad and me to go. The little boy from Sixth Sense played a robot boy who searched everywhere for the blue fairy. We thought the movie ended when he found the blue fairy. We even got up to leave. Only to sit back down, flabbergasted that it wasn't over. I'm not sure if we were idiots or optimists, but we stayed for another hour until it really ended.
"A.I. is on FIOS On Demand along with Mama Mia if you really want to show Katie a good time." I teased.
"Whatever." You said as you walked to door to let Katie in. You told her to sit down, while you got her some orange juice and made sure she had whatever she needed. We finally got Dad to sit down and did what we do best -- tease each other and eat all of Dad's good food.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
D Day Minus 212 (August 8, 2009)
You stayed in bed watching the History Channel and Food TV. You said you almost felt human again and expected to feel a lot better. The sparkle of your eyes was coming back especially when you talked about starting your new job at Wegmans. Katie was at her house sleeping -- exhausted from working all night. Dad promised to be your nurse and get whatever you needed while Morgan and I went to Tyson's Corner.
Morgan and I were celebrating her big loss -- a loss of fifty pounds -- thanks to Tony Horton and P90x. She wanted to mark the occasion with a new pair of jeans -- her first pair in five years. We walked all over the mall, through Macy's all the way to Old Navy. We even passed where the the Rainforest Cafe used to be and talked about birthday celebrations of the past. Once we made it to Old Navy, Morgan found some jeans she liked. Morgan, our family photographer, took a picture of herself wearing them in the dressing room with her phone looking very buff and lean. I'm pretty sure she sent it to you too. I was so happy Morgan was finding her way.
Morgan and I talked about the lessons she was learning after being on her own in Roanoke. We also talked about you and how you never learn lessons the easy way. But eventually you learned. We laughed about you getting your license taken away and you driving like a grandpa and how you used to diss us whenever you had a new girlfriend. Morgan and I agreed that this time around with Katie felt different - more grounded. The one upside of your cancer was the clarity to focus on what really matters.
Morgan's feet hurt so we stopped in front of Ambercombie and Fitch because there was an empty bench.
"Remember how Greg would only get his clothes from Ambercrombie or the Gap." Morgan said.
"Yeah, now he wears clothes from Target and Walmart." I said. "Things really do change when you have to pay for rent and living expenses."
Morgan took my hand and we got into the rhythm of people watching: high schoolers worried about fitting in, soccer parents fighting with kids, and the richy rich twenty and thirty something women flaunting their interpretation of mall fashion on the catwalk.
"Remember that Halloween, when you and Dad were gone for the weekend looking at houses in New York." Morgan said, staring at her reflection in the window that showcased posters of pubescent boys and girls with come hither looks. She told me how you and Katie decided to get drunk, while she was cutting her arms and legs in her room. I would have killed you, if I'd known you were going to be stupid especially since I trusted you with Morgan. I sighed, thankful neither you or Morgan were teens anymore.
"Katie howled at the moon." Morgan said. "And blood was starting to gush out of cuts, so I went in the bathroom to try and stop it. I didn't mean to cut so deep, but I felt so alone. I was really scared so I banged on Greg's bedroom door. Greg and Katie were laughing and laughing, while I was dying. He was so oblivious. And so was Katie."
Memories of Morgan's depression came back like a torrential storm. I knew then that her depression and cutting were my training wheels for dealing with your cancer. I didn't say anything as we sat there. I learned through a lot of trial and error that I only had to listen -- anything I could say would only diminish her feelings and experience. I did keep cleaning Hooponopono style and kept saying to myself: "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you."
"Greg sobered up fast when he saw all the blood." Morgan said. "He sat next to me leaning against the tub, wreaking of alcohol. He said he loved me and was sorry. And that he would always have my back."
We sat there, silent in our thoughts, holding hands so tight my fingers lost circulation. I finally broke the silence and asked. "And has he?"
"Yes." Morgan said quietly. "He's had my back since.
As we walked through the mall back to the car, I played what's worse in my mind - knowing or not knowing, deadly accidents or terminal diseases, cancer or depression, paper or plastic, life or death - and came came up with a draw. At the vending machine in the parking lot, I bought a Diet Coke (which I know you'd give me crap for) and let Morgan take the curse off. Then, I promised myself to do the one thing I could do -- love my two babies unconditionally through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Morgan and I were celebrating her big loss -- a loss of fifty pounds -- thanks to Tony Horton and P90x. She wanted to mark the occasion with a new pair of jeans -- her first pair in five years. We walked all over the mall, through Macy's all the way to Old Navy. We even passed where the the Rainforest Cafe used to be and talked about birthday celebrations of the past. Once we made it to Old Navy, Morgan found some jeans she liked. Morgan, our family photographer, took a picture of herself wearing them in the dressing room with her phone looking very buff and lean. I'm pretty sure she sent it to you too. I was so happy Morgan was finding her way.
Morgan and I talked about the lessons she was learning after being on her own in Roanoke. We also talked about you and how you never learn lessons the easy way. But eventually you learned. We laughed about you getting your license taken away and you driving like a grandpa and how you used to diss us whenever you had a new girlfriend. Morgan and I agreed that this time around with Katie felt different - more grounded. The one upside of your cancer was the clarity to focus on what really matters.
Morgan's feet hurt so we stopped in front of Ambercombie and Fitch because there was an empty bench.
"Remember how Greg would only get his clothes from Ambercrombie or the Gap." Morgan said.
"Yeah, now he wears clothes from Target and Walmart." I said. "Things really do change when you have to pay for rent and living expenses."
Morgan took my hand and we got into the rhythm of people watching: high schoolers worried about fitting in, soccer parents fighting with kids, and the richy rich twenty and thirty something women flaunting their interpretation of mall fashion on the catwalk.
"Remember that Halloween, when you and Dad were gone for the weekend looking at houses in New York." Morgan said, staring at her reflection in the window that showcased posters of pubescent boys and girls with come hither looks. She told me how you and Katie decided to get drunk, while she was cutting her arms and legs in her room. I would have killed you, if I'd known you were going to be stupid especially since I trusted you with Morgan. I sighed, thankful neither you or Morgan were teens anymore.
"Katie howled at the moon." Morgan said. "And blood was starting to gush out of cuts, so I went in the bathroom to try and stop it. I didn't mean to cut so deep, but I felt so alone. I was really scared so I banged on Greg's bedroom door. Greg and Katie were laughing and laughing, while I was dying. He was so oblivious. And so was Katie."
Memories of Morgan's depression came back like a torrential storm. I knew then that her depression and cutting were my training wheels for dealing with your cancer. I didn't say anything as we sat there. I learned through a lot of trial and error that I only had to listen -- anything I could say would only diminish her feelings and experience. I did keep cleaning Hooponopono style and kept saying to myself: "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you."
"Greg sobered up fast when he saw all the blood." Morgan said. "He sat next to me leaning against the tub, wreaking of alcohol. He said he loved me and was sorry. And that he would always have my back."
We sat there, silent in our thoughts, holding hands so tight my fingers lost circulation. I finally broke the silence and asked. "And has he?"
"Yes." Morgan said quietly. "He's had my back since.
As we walked through the mall back to the car, I played what's worse in my mind - knowing or not knowing, deadly accidents or terminal diseases, cancer or depression, paper or plastic, life or death - and came came up with a draw. At the vending machine in the parking lot, I bought a Diet Coke (which I know you'd give me crap for) and let Morgan take the curse off. Then, I promised myself to do the one thing I could do -- love my two babies unconditionally through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
D Day Minus 213 (August 7, 2009)
I picked up your favorite breakfast from McDonalds - an Egg McMuffin, two hash browns, and an OJ. You threw it up after three bites of your Egg McMuffin.
"Jeez, Greg you could have just said you were full." I teased when you sat back down at the kitchen table. You smiled a little, mostly for my benefit. You saw the chink in my armor shroud with humor. I saw the familiar chemo mask that tinged your face with a dull green and gray cast.
Morgan lurked near the sink cleaning a Granny Smith apple for breakfast. Dad sat at his usual place at the kitchen table catching up on his never ending backlog of work email. He glanced up and said, "You OK, Turkey Man?" You nodded, then put your head back down on the table.
I asked, "Would magnesium help?" You lifted your head long enough to shoot me the look of death and said, "No, it makes is worse. A lot worse." I silently did Hooponopono while I finished getting ready for work, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you."
I almost tripped over your zebra bag that was next to mine by the banister because I was Hoopononoing so much. You told me not to take your bag, which was kind of a stupid thing to say. Yours was packed with healthy snacks like almonds and Nutragrain bars and Pride and Prejudice, mine was brimming with four twenty-four ounce Diet Mountain Dews, a couple of packs Dentyne, and a notebook.
I worried about you losing weight from chemo, but knew better than to mention lunch plans or any food for that matter to you. So,I pulled Morgan aside in the foyer and slipped her a twenty to buy whatever you wanted for lunch. She had the last chemo duty watch for this round. I really really wanted to go, but didn't want to be too greedy. Morgan hugged me and said, "I'll take good care of Greg."
"Promise." I whispered in Morgan's ear. Then I kept reminding myself to breathe in and out for the rest of the day.
"Jeez, Greg you could have just said you were full." I teased when you sat back down at the kitchen table. You smiled a little, mostly for my benefit. You saw the chink in my armor shroud with humor. I saw the familiar chemo mask that tinged your face with a dull green and gray cast.
Morgan lurked near the sink cleaning a Granny Smith apple for breakfast. Dad sat at his usual place at the kitchen table catching up on his never ending backlog of work email. He glanced up and said, "You OK, Turkey Man?" You nodded, then put your head back down on the table.
I asked, "Would magnesium help?" You lifted your head long enough to shoot me the look of death and said, "No, it makes is worse. A lot worse." I silently did Hooponopono while I finished getting ready for work, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you."
I almost tripped over your zebra bag that was next to mine by the banister because I was Hoopononoing so much. You told me not to take your bag, which was kind of a stupid thing to say. Yours was packed with healthy snacks like almonds and Nutragrain bars and Pride and Prejudice, mine was brimming with four twenty-four ounce Diet Mountain Dews, a couple of packs Dentyne, and a notebook.
I worried about you losing weight from chemo, but knew better than to mention lunch plans or any food for that matter to you. So,I pulled Morgan aside in the foyer and slipped her a twenty to buy whatever you wanted for lunch. She had the last chemo duty watch for this round. I really really wanted to go, but didn't want to be too greedy. Morgan hugged me and said, "I'll take good care of Greg."
"Promise." I whispered in Morgan's ear. Then I kept reminding myself to breathe in and out for the rest of the day.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
D Day Minus 214 (August 6, 2009)
Our next door neighbor, Mary Ann, took you to treatment until 1:30 or so. According to you, it was a non-event, just the typical chemo blahs. We laughed about how loud some people snore during chemo and not even know it.
It was Grandpa Wright's ninety-first birthday. I had called earlier on my way home from work to wish him a Happy Birthday. I teased you that if things went according to plan we'd be celebrating our ninety-first birthday in 2076. You were supposed to catch up with me, which was very likely, since I'd stopped having birthdays when I was twenty-nine. We planned to take up sky diving when we were eighty-five to help keep our neurons connected.
Around 5:00, Katie stopped by in-between naps because she had to work all night. Katie disappeared around 5:30 when Morgan showed up. I had just finished my Kelly Howell, Faith meditation, and you and Morgan plopped on my bed just the way you did when you were kids.
"Where's Katie?" Morgan asked. You said, "Being stupid. She didn't want to get in the way of our family time." Morgan insisted that that you call her so you did. I knew there was some history and issues but never dug any further. Ten minutes later, you, Morgan, and Katie were all sitting on my bed.
While you, Katie, and Morgan reminisced on my bed, I had a flashback to one of my worst nightmares -- not being able to save my babies from a flood caused by torrential rains. The nightmares started when I was four or five-- only my babies were my misfit dolls with bad haircuts, pen marks in places where there they shouldn’t be, and clothes made from rags. It probably stemmed from my mom reading me a child’s version of the bible story – Noah’s Ark. The full size bed I shared with my sisters was my raft – my sanctuary – to save my beloved babies. I remember waking up breathlessly trying to keep my babies safe on my raft almost every night when I little. Now my raft was king size and my babies were Greg, Morgan and Katie.
It was Grandpa Wright's ninety-first birthday. I had called earlier on my way home from work to wish him a Happy Birthday. I teased you that if things went according to plan we'd be celebrating our ninety-first birthday in 2076. You were supposed to catch up with me, which was very likely, since I'd stopped having birthdays when I was twenty-nine. We planned to take up sky diving when we were eighty-five to help keep our neurons connected.
Around 5:00, Katie stopped by in-between naps because she had to work all night. Katie disappeared around 5:30 when Morgan showed up. I had just finished my Kelly Howell, Faith meditation, and you and Morgan plopped on my bed just the way you did when you were kids.
"Where's Katie?" Morgan asked. You said, "Being stupid. She didn't want to get in the way of our family time." Morgan insisted that that you call her so you did. I knew there was some history and issues but never dug any further. Ten minutes later, you, Morgan, and Katie were all sitting on my bed.
While you, Katie, and Morgan reminisced on my bed, I had a flashback to one of my worst nightmares -- not being able to save my babies from a flood caused by torrential rains. The nightmares started when I was four or five-- only my babies were my misfit dolls with bad haircuts, pen marks in places where there they shouldn’t be, and clothes made from rags. It probably stemmed from my mom reading me a child’s version of the bible story – Noah’s Ark. The full size bed I shared with my sisters was my raft – my sanctuary – to save my beloved babies. I remember waking up breathlessly trying to keep my babies safe on my raft almost every night when I little. Now my raft was king size and my babies were Greg, Morgan and Katie.
Monday, June 7, 2010
D Day Minus 215 (August 5, 2009)
"I have something for you." You said as you handed me the zebra scarf -- the one our favorite nurse showed us yesterday. "She wants you to have it."
I welled up with happy tears and you gave me a bear hug.
"I really do believe in zebras." I said in your ear.
"So do I." You echoed in my ear.
"How was treatment with Dad?" I asked breaking away from your arms with one last sniff.
"Treatment only lasted five hours." You said. "Dad sat with me through it, but had to go back to work. It was ok." You looked down and sighed. "I'll be glad when its over."
"How's the nausea?" I asked trying stop my impulse to snarl my face. "Do you want anything special for dinner?"
"Maybe some Amy's Organic Mac and Cheese, when I think of anything else it makes me want to puke." You said.
I searched the pantry, while you sat in the kitchen chair with both knees up to get warm and comfortable.
"At least, you're almost through with this round. And I don't think you are losing your hair." You rubbed your head just to make sure, then your eyes lit up when realized your your hair was still in tact.
The house phone announced "Morgan's calling." I asked if you remembered it was Morgan's birthday, just before I picked up.
"I remembered." You said while you made a beeline for the couch to get even more comfortable. "We'll celebrate it right next year. I'm not going anywhere."
I welled up with happy tears and you gave me a bear hug.
"I really do believe in zebras." I said in your ear.
"So do I." You echoed in my ear.
"How was treatment with Dad?" I asked breaking away from your arms with one last sniff.
"Treatment only lasted five hours." You said. "Dad sat with me through it, but had to go back to work. It was ok." You looked down and sighed. "I'll be glad when its over."
"How's the nausea?" I asked trying stop my impulse to snarl my face. "Do you want anything special for dinner?"
"Maybe some Amy's Organic Mac and Cheese, when I think of anything else it makes me want to puke." You said.
I searched the pantry, while you sat in the kitchen chair with both knees up to get warm and comfortable.
"At least, you're almost through with this round. And I don't think you are losing your hair." You rubbed your head just to make sure, then your eyes lit up when realized your your hair was still in tact.
The house phone announced "Morgan's calling." I asked if you remembered it was Morgan's birthday, just before I picked up.
"I remembered." You said while you made a beeline for the couch to get even more comfortable. "We'll celebrate it right next year. I'm not going anywhere."
Saturday, June 5, 2010
D Day Minus 216 (August 4, 2009)
Within ten minutes of taking Atavan, you were conked out on the industrial blue recliner being fed chemo through your port. I was on my netbook messaging Aunt Janiene and sending email to Aunt Sue and Morgan about the morning events: an hour of hydration, followed by three bags of chemo, a full house of patients in various states of chemo treatment, and you reading the book, Pride and Prejudice, Katie gave you.
One of our favorite nurses smiled at me as she checked to see why the sweet little old lady's monitor was beeping -- the one with ovarian cancer who sat directly across the room from us. On her way back, the nurse said. "You must like zebras." I wore my favorite zebra tank top along with a couple of zebra bands. My iPod, Kindle, and netbook were also clad in zebra skins. I had my zebra shopping bag to carry my zebra loot and a bevy of your snacks - organic chips, gummy worms, almonds, and granola bars.
I nodded and said. "I guess I do."
"Me too." The nurse said and proceeded to show me a zebra scarf used as doo-rag for cancer patients who had lost their hair.
"Nice." You said with half opened eyes. The three of us laughed and made small talk about your zebra story until another patient's monitor called the nurse away. You tried to sleep, but couldn't because one of the patients was snoring really loud. You cocked your head in the direction of the snoring culprit and made your eyes go real big. We laughed, then made lunch plans to get you soup at Paneras.
When I got to the Expedition to start our chow run, I just sat in the driver's seat. I took a deep breath in, let it out, took another deep breath in, and let it out until serenity swept through me. With each breath I posted a snapshot in my memory and a knowing of unconditional love.
One of our favorite nurses smiled at me as she checked to see why the sweet little old lady's monitor was beeping -- the one with ovarian cancer who sat directly across the room from us. On her way back, the nurse said. "You must like zebras." I wore my favorite zebra tank top along with a couple of zebra bands. My iPod, Kindle, and netbook were also clad in zebra skins. I had my zebra shopping bag to carry my zebra loot and a bevy of your snacks - organic chips, gummy worms, almonds, and granola bars.
I nodded and said. "I guess I do."
"Me too." The nurse said and proceeded to show me a zebra scarf used as doo-rag for cancer patients who had lost their hair.
"Nice." You said with half opened eyes. The three of us laughed and made small talk about your zebra story until another patient's monitor called the nurse away. You tried to sleep, but couldn't because one of the patients was snoring really loud. You cocked your head in the direction of the snoring culprit and made your eyes go real big. We laughed, then made lunch plans to get you soup at Paneras.
When I got to the Expedition to start our chow run, I just sat in the driver's seat. I took a deep breath in, let it out, took another deep breath in, and let it out until serenity swept through me. With each breath I posted a snapshot in my memory and a knowing of unconditional love.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
D Day Minus 217 (August 3, 2009)
About two minutes into my chi run experiment, I almost had an anxiety attack trying out my spanking new metronome I just got from Amazon. It was supposed to set a soothing cadence and help me find inner peace and tranquility. Something I desperately sought after trying to be nonchalant about not going with you and Katie to your first day of treatment. Well it didn't! So I just turned off the damn metronome and got all gansta in my monkey shoes listening to the playlist we put together after we saw The Proposal in June. My chi flowed to Lean Back, Roses ,Move B*****, Snap Yo Fingers , and Get Low while I ran the loop around the pond chasing away my fears. By time I got home, my feet smelled like Fritos. But I did feel like a bad mothah after running without stopping and was seriously considering buying some zebra bling from Amazon.
I poked my head in your room on my way to get a bath - you and Katie were settling in on the Futon to watch something on the Food Network -- I think.
"I'm feeling pretty good." You said. "Katie and I walked the loop." You held Katie's hand, while she tried not to look afraid. "This treatment is a piece of cake -- especially compared to Interferon."
I smiled and gave you the thumbs up instead of a hug because I started to smell like old grass in addition to really really really stinky Fritos. I left you alone with Katie and finally took a bath, mostly so I wouldn't RAINMAN you trying to figure out how you really felt.
By the time I got out of the tub and dressed, Katie had left and you were in bed fighting chills from the chemo. You asked me for another blanket. While I covered you up, you looked up from your cocoon and said, "I am so glad you are my Mom."
I poked my head in your room on my way to get a bath - you and Katie were settling in on the Futon to watch something on the Food Network -- I think.
"I'm feeling pretty good." You said. "Katie and I walked the loop." You held Katie's hand, while she tried not to look afraid. "This treatment is a piece of cake -- especially compared to Interferon."
I smiled and gave you the thumbs up instead of a hug because I started to smell like old grass in addition to really really really stinky Fritos. I left you alone with Katie and finally took a bath, mostly so I wouldn't RAINMAN you trying to figure out how you really felt.
By the time I got out of the tub and dressed, Katie had left and you were in bed fighting chills from the chemo. You asked me for another blanket. While I covered you up, you looked up from your cocoon and said, "I am so glad you are my Mom."
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