D Day Plus 218: (October 12, 2010): Chilling, Meandering, and Justifying

By 6:30, I’d come down with a bad case of Lazy A** Syndrome. I had LAS real bad.  So bad, I couldn’t show my face in public, not even to my Zumba video friends hiding in the basement: Beto and Tanya. No way, no how. Only Jason Bourne’s cure-all would work.  Rest!  In fact Jason said rest was a weapon.  And I believed him.

Dad and I were schooled that rest was a weapon listening to The Bourne Identity going back and forth between Sterling and Bassett last year. I know I told you that.  But, I don’t know whether you got it. You only saw the movie, you didn’t read the book.

I took a nice hot bath that made my feet lobster red. I put on my comfy pink jammies with all the cool shoes on it (the ones I always took on our trips to MD Anderson). I heard Dad coming up the stairs with my dinner, so I jumped into bed so he couldn’t see my red feet.  That would only wind him up and then he’d harp about me taking such a hot bath.  I’m pretty sure harping and chilling weren’t compatible. So that’s why I did what I did. 

Dad handed me a big-a**ed bowl of air-popped popcorn with Diet Mountain Dew on the side. It’s what I ordered from Dad’s Diner.  I wanted to be bad and not eat a real dinner. It was great. Dad even delivered. I tipped him with some change on my nightstand.  I thought I was pretty funny. But I only got a lukewarm laugh – that was kind of fake – before he rushed downstairs.  

Dad had to watch his stupid hunting and survival shows. Personally, I think Dad’s gone off the reservation. Not in the Jack Bauer way -- from 24. But in the Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs kind of way.  He’s been asking, “ya gonna to carry my guns when I go deer huntin?”  When he talks like that, Meatloaf’s song, Anything for Love, always pops into my head. I would do anything for love, but I won’t kill Bambi. 

I’ve been checking the mail a lot lately to keep tabs on Dad.  He’s been getting new toys from Amazon like a new-fangled GPS and some hunting books.  He’s also been buying all kinds of those hunting and hiking magazines whenever he picks up Pho by Regal Cinemas. I’m on to him. He's thinks I'm not, but I am.  He acts all sweet and helpful about picking up dinner. But I know, it’s a charade – a ploy to go buy stuff at Borders. 

I swear if there is ever a Soldier of Fortune in the mail box, I’m gonna slug him in the middle of the back. You know I can do it. You’ve been on the receiving end a lot yourself. Like when you’d leave me to take the blame for your gas cloud.  And then you'd have a laugh attack. You always did that! Especially on the Skybridge or elevators at MD Anderson. I’m not sorry for slugging your back and telling Dad, Katie, and Morgan that you were naughty. You smelled like the east end of a westbound skunk.  And you left me holding the bag or my breath. 

Dad had the television a little too loud so I yelled, “Turn it Down.” I was nestled in my Nancedom calling out to my lone subject. I was justified. Some bubba was screaming to some other bubba about “gettin the gun.”  And it was loud and annoying. Once Dad silenced the bubbas, I finally settled in for my Dancing with the Stars (DWTS) homework.  It was a simple assignment: watch Monday’s competition so I was ready for the results show at 9.  

You probably thought I was Pig Pen from Peanuts with all the trash that surrounded me: popcorn crumbs in bed married with more trash flashing on the TV in high def on the wall. It was a trash marriage made in heaven. 

I know you don’t care, but Mama Brady got the boot.  She did a pretty good job, but my eyes burned when Mrs. Brady dirty danced.  Think the Exorcist and Regan chanting “It Burns.”  Or maybe not!  I’m such a bad influence.  A really bad mother trucker.

After Mama Brady got the boot, I started feeling a little guilty about resting and chilling.  It was true. Otherwise I wouldn’t have even brought it up. I kept justifying that I deserved to take a break.  Meanwhile, I thumbed the remote to check FIOS On Demand for the latest episodes of my current Showtime favorites: Weeds and The Big C. I finally gave myself a break when Nancy Botwin on Weeds did something so Nancy Botwinish like string Andy, her dead husband's brother, along so she wouldn't be alone.  That Nancy is such a mess. At least I'm not as messed up as her. I can't be all that bad.  Besides, you and I know, I’m not a total slacker. So I’ll do what we do -- continue to justify long after anyone gives a rat’s behind.  

I worked nine hours and did an excellent job keeping myself distracted. Excellence on par with Rainman. For some reason, Dad’s voice just popped into my head.  He’s yammering about how I’m always so distracting because I never shut up. You know (and I know) that sometimes he can be a total butt munch. See, he even gets in trouble without actually saying or doing things. That’s neither here nor there but it doesn’t matter because I’m chilling, meandering, a justifying.  I’ll get to the point eventually. 

Like now. Drum roll please. The point is, the distraction worked like a charm today. At least twenty events for the final phase of D Day Minus popped into my head.  That  along with some key points with story lines without me  trying the least little bit.  They were safely scribbled on a paper in my purse – in random order.  Of course!

D Day Plus 217: (October 11, 2010): Distractions, Distractions, Distractions

Ever since Dad said, “Then, don’t” on Lake Philpott, I relaxed. I felt you again. I felt so much better. Now there were glimmers of light streaming down slicing the darkness into manageable slices. I guess I was holding on too tight and got way ahead of myself. And that is what stopped the flow.

It’s funny how well your mind works if you just let it be. Can you believe last night I had a dream about keeping busy and distracted – not to run away – but as a way to relax and let good things in? Needless to say, I woke up with distraction on the brain. It was my number one priority. And it worked. The more I distracted myself with Zumba dancing, training on Lynda.com, or sewing projects, the inspiration just came. I even decided to memorize Excel power shortcuts and the attributes of different fabrics for draping and designing clothes: geeky and freaky -- maybe? But it was so me.

I had a major epiphany when I was talking to Morgan during her lunch break. She had to work on Columbus Day. Dad and I had the day off because it was Federal Holiday. I told her not to worry – that things always work out – and she’d get more time off in the future. Anyway, Morgan called me during lunch and got me caught up on her weekend in Sterling with her future in-laws -- the Nelsons. Remember David, that really shy guy who was head over heels about your sister, the one who wore cowboy boots in the summer? Anyway they’re getting married, the same day that Grandma and Grandpa Jones did.

David is Morgan’s Katie. Both Katie and David were the ones who stole my heart when they first landed on the Jones scene when you and Morgan were awful teenagers. You and Morgan both put me through the ringer when things went south with David and Katie– but I stood by you guys. Old news, I know. But I always like to point out when I’m right. I was right. They were the ones!

By the way, did you have anything to do with David and Morgan? I only ask because, the night before your body finally caught up with your soul, she was really sad. I mean really said. But then again, weren’t we all? She was on the verge of breaking up with her long time boyfriend, but was holding on because she wanted someone who knew you. I told her that she needed someone to soften her rough edges and to bring out her best. She wanted someone who knew how awesome you were, someone who would open the car door for her, and make her feel like a princess. I knew something was up with the door thing because that is one of the things you loved about Katie: she always opened driver’s side whenever she got in the car. You loved loved loved that! Well anyway, the night before we went to Hawaii, Morgan and David met to catch up on life. To make a long story short – sparks flew and David was just as much a part of our trip to Hawaii as Dad, Katie, and Morgan. You probably already know all this stuff, but you know my penchant for putting things into context.

I guess I’d better get back to the phone call and get on point. I know I'm yadda yaddaing things a bit. Morgan had an equally sad day yesterday because she missed you. She was with all of her future in-laws including brother and sister-in-laws and their kids. They were celebrating the blessing of their latest addition, David's niece. It was sort of Norman Rockwellish. And she had a mini meltdown. She wasn’t going to have any of that with you.

After Morgan and I fully established that yesterday was indeed sort of a crappy day – even though there were some good parts—we moved on to her latest wedding shenanigans. That is when the epiphany hit me. I could change things up a bit on D Day Minus to tell your story. I could pick out thirty or less of the most memorable and pivotal events. I didn’t have to have all the answers.  I didn't need to know how to handle the helplessness that consumed me when the cancer came back. You’d let me know what to do. You would. I just knew it.

D Day Plus 216: (October 10, 2010): Into the Abyss

I hadn’t felt you since yesterday.  Not since I wrote the posting for D Day Minus 156.  It was the one where you changed your relationship status on Facebook for Katie.  As I played with the words and composition, chills would run through my body guiding me. They always did – almost like you were telling me which direction to take or that I’d captured your story perfectly.  The chills started with my first D Day Minus posting.  I craved them – even more that Diet Mountain Dew or Dentyne.  I always knew I could find you when I was working on the blog.

But, that was then and this is now. Things change. Now I didn’t feel anything. Somewhere between yesterday and today, you disappeared. Or maybe it was me.  It didn’t matter. You were gone. Along with the all the beautiful butterflies – the ones I’d danced with only a couple of weeks ago.  Yes, it was normal and expected with the change in the seasons.  It’s just that I thought somehow it would be different – at least this year.  Especially since you always found a way to comfort me with: 

• your crazy eighty songs that always managed to pop into my head at the right time; 
• the monarch butterfly the deckhand pointed out when we docked the boat after we scattered your ashes in Hawaii along with all the butterfly sightings every since;
• your visceral hugs from within; and
• random happy thoughts for me to milk. 

Dad and I were kayaking on Philpott Lake. A powerboat passed us.  Dad warned me to get in position for the wakes to follow.  Emptiness and sadness hit me like the wakes on the lake.  I really tried to find a better thought and absorb all the beauty that surrounded me on the lake. That only made me want to cry.

You would have loved to kayak on the lake. You never got around to it because the sun was always too strong or you were healing from the latest surgery or treatment.  It wasn't right.  It wasn't fair. 

I tried to shake the darkness, but the more I tried the worse it got. I followed the horizon, enveloped by the forested shoreline, thinking that focusing on the scenery would help.  It didn't. Instead I rowed in cadence to cacophony of memories, fear, and loss. 

I rowed harder and harder – faster and faster – trying to escape my thoughts.  My shoulders burned from the lactic acid.  But that was nothing compared to the tears that stung my eyes and distorted the reflection that bounced off the water.  I didn’t know if, or how, I could continue to tell your story. I didn’t know how to handle the dark times with joy and hope.  How could I share a message of hope and eternity?  I only knew your story from my perspective.  I didn’t know how you really felt except for what you told me.

“Why are you crying?” Dad asked rowing to meet me to make sure I was okay.  When our kayaks met, he pulled my kayak next to his. “What’s the matter Nance?” 

“I miss him.” I said with a hard sniff to stop my nose from running. 

“I miss him too.”  Dad said holding me awkwardly from his kayak.  “He wouldn’t want you to be sad Nance.  He’d want you to be happy.” 

I nodded.  Dad was right.  I held on to him as if he held the answers that I couldn't find. I didn't want to let go.  I didn’t want to kayak back to the dock.  I didn’t want to try and figure things out anymore.

“I don’t know if I can write anymore.” I said in the wake of another wake from a passing powerboat.  “I don’t know if I can do it.  I’m so afraid to face the last few months of Greg's pain. It makes me too sad.  I don’t know how to do it.  I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know HOW to do it.  I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO IT ANYMORE.”  

  

Dad hugged me really hard again and said, “Then don’t.” 

D Day Plus 230: (October 24, 2010): Metamorphous

I’m reclining in the tan brown easy chair I bought last February.  It was the day after we got back from Houston when we were raped of hope at MD Anderson. I was so afraid you wouldn’t make the flight home, but you did. Hannah, my guardian angel, had something to do with it. I'm sure! She helped numb your pain. And whispered calming words into my ear while I stroked your hair and covered and uncovered you as the waves of fever and chills raced through your body.  

I had the guys from Costco take the chair out of the box so I could get it home as fast as I could.   I thought they could hear my heart beat so I probably talked louder than I should of.  I wondered if they knew you how much I wanted them to hurry. The only thing I knew for sure is that it was snowing and I would do anythng to give you some relief -- some relief from the cancer choking your bowels. 

Dad put the chair together as soon as I got home.  You sat on the couch and watched anticipating how much better you’d feel in it.  As soon as you sat in it, you said, “Ah, that’s better.” And I smiled. Then, I put my coat away as a guise to hide and cry. 

 

The chair was in your old bedroom and I rearranged it into an inspiration room.  You’d like it a lot and love that it’s a fusion of our tastes.  Anyway, it’s where I go to meditate or do my infamous yoga nidra.   I hadn’t given the chair much thought until a week and half ago.  It became close ally as I experienced almost the same symptoms from a bowel obstruction that you had from the cancer. Since then, I’ve slept in it, meditated in it, cried in it, prayed in it, and called out to you in it.  

Dad moved it to our bedroom the night I thought I was going to die.  I'll tell you more about that later -- but I think you already know.  Now, I’m just recuperating in it in my bedroom – nursing the incisions and waiting for the swelling to go down.  Oh and I've been watching a lot of trash TV.  All I can say it's a good distraction.  So there!

I’m sharing this part of my story because it blends with our story. And it came as answers to questions that weighed heavily on me a little more than two week weeks ago.  How can I keep joy and hope in your story? How do I edit the helplessness, I felt near the end, of being a bystander to your pain, and be true to you?  Am I adding salt to my wounds, Morgan’s wounds, Katie’s wounds and Dad’s wounds?  What is the right balance of sharing the miracles along with my personal pain and anguish?  What was it like seeing your body finally catch up with your soul? How could I do you justice? I didn’t want to drum up your pain and diminish your magnificence and inspiration by dwelling on the physical pain.    

You heard my questions and the answers flowed during, what I deemed as, my metamorphous crises.

I know how much you like order, but I’m breaking ranks and protocol of D Day Minus  and sharing the aftermath of my metamorphous crises. Besides, I know you love me and accept my whimsy and would want me to share what I learned. So, I will.

On sick leave...

Greetings avid blog followers,

My mom was having health issues and had to get some emergency surgery on Sunday. She is resting in a big armchair catching up on shows with scary poops that have faces. No worries because she'll be back and ready to continue Greg's story soon.

Thanks for your patience and for always believing in zebras.

Love always,
Morgan

D Day Minus 156: (October 3, 2009): Facebook and the Final Word

You sat at your desk in Morgan’s old bedroom.  You were focused on the Grand Opening at the Leesburg Wegmans only five weeks away. That made me smile, because you accused Dad and me of being workaholics.  Now you knew the thrill of trying to make something happen and how easy it was to lose track of time.  It wasn't about the work is was about having something that was yours. 

Your Production Workbooks were splayed out on the desk and spreadsheets were tiled on the computer. You had two goals in mind: keep up with your commitments at Wegmans; and have procedures and processes in place so your team could function – with or without you. I forced myself not to go all gushy and embarrass you.  You know, like when I’d scream your name in the gym at Seneca Ridge Middle School when you played basketball.  If looks could have killed, I'd be dead.  This time, I'd practice quiet pride. 

“I really hate the prison cell pushups.” I said from the doorway, wiping sweat off my neck. I’d just finished the Core Synergistics from P90X and my legs were shaky. “But I did my best.” I said. 

“And forgot the rest.” You finished.  It was a Tony Hortonism that I liked and you picked up on.  We’d  say it whenever one of us would hint that we weren’t doing enough.  It was our little stress elixir.   

We hadn't talked much since our flight back from Houston Hobby except for basics. We were too busy playing catch up: you with work and Katie; me with work, Dad, and travel arrangements. It had only been a few days, but I missed the depth of conversations made possible by the isolation of Houston. Remember, we talked about the dual realities and alternate universes we lived in as we straddled life in Virginia and life in Houston.  We also laughed about how we already knew what Dr. F confirmed – you were perfect for the trial. Oh and we talked about a lot about where you were going to take Katie to eat and the best places to eat in Houston.  I also threatened to leave you in Houston if you didn't get your prolific digestive system under control.  You hadn't been on treatment for nearly a month and that excuse was old.  When I called you out on that fact -- you only laughed which made me laugh to the point neither of us could breathe. 

“Katie is upset.” You said closing your spreadsheets with a bewildered look. 

“Why?” I asked, bracing myself against the door jam. “I thought everything went okay with the big coming out meeting last night with the parents.”

“That’s not it.” You said. "Things are fine with her parents. I didn’t change my relationship status of Facebook. I didn't even think about it. I thought it was more important to have a face-to-face with her parents and let close friends and family know rather than announce our status on Facebook.  Now she thinks I'm trying to hide our relationship from the world.” 

"So are you?"  I asked trying not to laugh. I knew you were crazy about Katie and how you really didn't like to get online or do Facebook very much.  It drove me crazy that I could never chat with you online while you had your own place without calling or texting you first. Absolutely crazy!  So I can't say I was surprised by your lack of Facebook finesse. 

"Mom, be serious." You said almost smiling.  "I want to know when announcements on Facebook became so important."

"Don't know. Social networking has changed so fast.  Is there a Miss Manners for Facebook?  I think we're making it up as we go.  It's a Brave New World. There is good and bad with Facebook. But you can focus on the good.  Not the dramas like whether to friend the friend of a friend or whether you poked someone back and the deeper meaning behind it." I said rubbing my neck that I jammed during my workout from a Dreya roll.  "So, are you going to change your status?  You know if it's not on Facebook, it's not real." 

You rolled your eyes and we both laughed.  It was so NOT cancer and so silly that it was fun.  

I said, "If Katie knew what she meant to you.  She wouldn't even ask." Then laughed some more.

You nodded, checked your cell in your side cargo pocket, that just notified you of a text.  It was Katie.  I said something about her ears burning.  Then you started texting. I figured you needed to smooth things over, so I let you be.  Besides, I needed a bath because my stink from working out was pretty rank.

After my bath, I checked your Facebook Page because you know I am quite the snoop.  You did it! You decreed it on Facebook for the entire Facebook Universe to see. You were in a relationship with Katie Armstrong. And I clicked "Like." 

D Day Minus 160: (September 29, 2009): Drama for Mama

"Did you get lost?" I teased when you finally reemerged through the automatic double doors that sucked you in almost four hours before.  It was almost 8:00 at night. We'd been at MD Anderson since 7:30 in the morning.  I was tired, hungry, and relieved to see you.  So relieved, I didn't even call you a naughty name or try to shock you into a smile with a cuss word as usual. But just so you know -- I thought about it.

"Nah. Just had to find a PET Scan that worked."  You said with bright and rested eyes.  Mine had dark circles from lack of sleep and smudged eyeliner pencil.  I'd made up a scary scenarios about what went wrong while you were 'Lost in the Land of PET Scans.'  I couldn't do much else. I was stuck in the waiting room because I wanted to be there when you finished.  If I would have known the deal, I would have at least walked the Skybridge and made phone calls.   But I didn't. 

You slept most of the time, while I was held hostage.  In fact, you bragged about how good you felt and that it was actually nice to have the PET Scan machine break down.  At least you finally got to lay down and didn't have to worry about where to go or what to do next.  All you had to do was take it easy, listen to some eighties classics on your iPOD, and get ferried through the bowels of MD Anderson in search of a working PET Scan.  And catch some zzzzz's while you waited. 

I collected my zebra clad electronics spread out on the empty chair next to me.  I made sure to pick up the empty Dentyne wrappers that escaped from my Zebra bag. I threw away all the empty contraband bottles as soon as I finished them.  I didn't want you to know how much I drank. 

We hurried to the bus stop so we could get back to the hotel and figure out 'what's for dinner.'  We both agreed that delivery sounded good.  You returned texts to your friends at Wegmans while we walked.  That was until you got a good enough signal to call Katie.  Then we both made our calls. I called Dad and Aunt Janiene with the Reader's Digest Version.  I tried to call Morgan, but she didn't pick up. So I left a message. She was in bed or finishing up her Shaun T Insanity workout.  While you talked to Katie, I fished for the business card for the Residence Inn, from my purse.  I didn't see a shuttle anywhere so I called up the Hotel to let them know we were waiting.

You were still talking to Katie and pacing between bus stops on the median in front of the Main Building of MD Anderson.  Meanwhile, I wondered where the summer had gone – and what was going on with you and Katie. You were far enough away that I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said.  The only thing I could make out was, “something about next week.” “It was going to be okay” “I’m here,” (followed by three steps, a pause, and a neck rub).  Then another, "I’m here,” (followed by three steps, a pause, and a neck rub).  And another "I’m here,” (followed by three steps, a pause, and a neck rub).

“Do you think Katie can live with us?” You asked, flipping your cell phone shut.


“Hmm?” I said, biting my lip. “What’s going on?”

“Her parents are upset about the trip next week to Houston. And about how much time we’re spending together.” You sighed like that sigh would erase all of Katie's fear.

“She hasn’t told them you are a couple. Has she?” I said with a keen eye for a white shuttle bus from Marriott Residence Inn.

“No.” You stood up, only to sit right back down. You were fooled by white shuttle that wasn’t ours. “I told her I loved her and we’d work through this together.  And that I’m here.”

“I know. I know.” I laughed. “You only said, I’m here, like a thousand times.”

"You need to talk to her parents and let them know your intentions.  She's their daughter.  I know she's an adult, but she's their daughter.  They love her.  They deserve to know what is going on.  I'm not going to get on my high horse again about if it were Morgan. But, you know what I mean.  I love Katie and I love you. We can talk about options after you talk to her parents.  But, I think things will be okay."

 "I know." You said pointing to our ride.  "We're going to talk with them --- together -- on Friday."

"Good." Is all I said as I stepped into the shuttle.