The knowing is the hardest part

It was a week and a half before Christmas and I arrived home from a work meeting just after 10 p.m. to find my husband loading the dishwasher and sobbing.

He had worked late too. My mother-in-law had been watching Graham when he arrived home a half hour before I did and relieved her. And what he saw made him cry.

"She didn't give Graham his bath, Kel," he told me. "And the place was a mess."

"Her stomach was bothering her again?"

He nodded.

"She probably just had an off night..."

"She raced out of here without even visiting with me. There were dishes everywhere. "

I remember murmuring that it had been a long day, that he was over-reacting. But my stomach sank because I knew without a shadow of a doubt then - just as I always knew despite my desperate attempt at bravado - why he was crying.

"Something's wrong Kel," he said. "I have a really bad feeling. Something is very, very wrong."

*******************************************************

Friday, the day after the funeral, Rob and I sat deflated after an endless whirl of activity.

"Remember that day when you came home and I was crying?"

I nodded.

"It was because I knew Kel. I just knew."

I burst into tears as his sobs started anew.

"I knew that night that nothing was ever going to be the same again."

*********************************************************

My mother-in-law died exactly three months to the day from that night and nothing is ever going to be the same again.

I received an e-mail today from a reporter for Grandparents magazine asking for a quote about what role grandparents play in the lives of parents and their children. She probably didn't expect a novel in reply, but timing is everything and that is exactly what she got.

Among other things I wrote:

"My mother-in-law died 9 days ago and I am still trying to imagine how I will parent without her. She truly was my son's second mother and I didn't resent it because it allowed me so much free time with my husband and so much comfort knowing I could meet work obligations and he would be in safe hands.

"You simply can't expect grandparents to be there for you when you need them without giving away a little bit of autonomy as far as parental influence goes: it's a trade off and for me it was an excellent one.

"The way she loved my son was a revelation to my husband and I. When he was about six months old I remember saying to him: 'She loves him as much as we do! I didn't think it was possible but she does, she loves him as much as we do!'"

She did love Graham as much as we do. And he loved her back. And he doesn't understand where she has gone.

And my heart breaks every day because I don't know how to make him understand that nothing will ever be the same again.

Broken hearted

Four months ago she was playing competitive tennis three times a week, routinely beating opponents 25 years her junior and tiring out Graham with hours-long romps through the parks near our home.

On Christmas Day we admitted her to the hospital because of severe stomach pain that wouldn't go away.

On New Years' Eve we learned cancer cells had been found in her stomach area.

On February 9th she had her first chemotherapy treatment.

Today our hearts are broken.

At 3:30 a.m. this morning Rob's mom, Graham's Oma and one of the people I love and admire more than anyone in the world lost her short battle with cancer and passed away in hospital.

Our hearts are broken.

Here comes the sun

I never did share any pictures of our vacation in Key West a few weeks back.

It didn't seem appropriate, somehow, to hold up and celebrate the wispy snippets of happiness that we managed to steal even as Rob's mom lay in a hospital suffering terribly from the ill effects of her first round of chemotherapy.

But she is better now - her improvement over the past week has been so dramatic that it feels something like a miracle and we are enjoying her relative good health even as we look towards next week when she faces her next scheduled round of treatments.

And these days, these days we are feeling hopeful. We are still heavy with stress and worry - just like we were the entire time we were away - but it no longer feels as if reveling in moments of joy will surely tempt fate to steal them away again.

We needed these days and we needed this joy. We need it still: I expect the memory of it will be our sustenance as we all continue down the long and difficult road ahead.

Calling all celiacs

I believe in the power of the blogosphere.

I believe it has the power to bring together people and ideas and advice.

And knowledge.

Here's the deal:

Rob's mom had her first chemotherapy treatment last week and it did not go well. She suffered mightily from every possible damn side effect, was re-admitted to the hospital twice and has resided there since Monday.

What is complicating her ability to tolerate the chemo treatments is apparently her body's inability to retain potassium. She can take it in, has been taking it in, under medical supervision even, but her body will not retain it. She and her doctors know this inability to retain potassium is related to her celiac disease, but no one is quite sure how to get around it.

She feels, we feel, that what is lacking is someone fully versed in the effects of celiac disease on the body and specifically how a celiac sufferer might counteract his or her body's inability to retain potassium.

Any bloggy angels out there with any thoughts on this? Please e-mail me directly at donmillsdiva@hotmail.com.

Thanks to each and every one of you for your kind comments and e-mails this past week. I expect to be back soon with a substantive post because this break has made it clear to me that, even in the midst of stress, this space, and all of you, sustain me.

Oh yes you do.

If only

If only you could go on vacation and return to find that life had miraculously sorted itself out in your absence.

If only a week of sunshine could keep darkness at bay for at least as long.

If only the purest and most beautiful things in life truly had the power to keep sickness and pain and ugliness from hurting the people we love the most.

I need to take a few days off to attend to my responsibilities and to love my family - hope to be back in better form soon.

Dear Cancer,

You are not going to win; not this time.

You stole my best friend from me at the tender age of 26 years, but you will NOT steal my mother-in-law.

You have weakened her, but you will not conquer her. You are no match for her vitality and her spirit. Come Monday, you will find that the fear your presence has brought into her heart has coalesced into something different, something stronger and infinitely more powerful than you are.

Resolve.

Come Monday the battle, and the countdown to your defeat, will begin. You will be vanquished, not just by a series of powerful chemical cocktails, but by intangible things that your black, workmanlike destruction is not capable of understanding or touching.

Because ultimately you and your filth and foul are no match for a woman of beauty and strength; a woman of courage and exuberance, who has survived the Nazis and routed opponents half her age on the tennis court.

Mark my words: you are no match for her.

You are no match for this family.

You are no match for love.

You are NOT going to win; not this time.