Gifting Joy

It’s been a tough year for everyone, and my family has been hit hard. The crash of the economy has all but dissolved our daughters college fund, and my Mother has cancer.  This might be our last Christmas with her.  After nearly 2 years of chemo-she is hardly the same person, physically or mentally.  Then there is Dad, who has done a great job of taking care of her. He needs something great too.  And my brother who lives in the same small city as my parents do-who does the grocery shopping, yard work, holiday decorating, etc.- deserves a vacation.  If I could afford to, I would send him someplace great, like fishing in New Zeland.

As it is though, I am not able to do that, and as my brother he understands that treating him this year is not my top priority.  Looking for a way to treat Mom is.

Of course, as a family, we have spent the last 20 months thinking of the things that we won’t have the chance to do together.   Mom and I always talked about opening a business together.  We always talked about going to Paris together. These are things that always held promise, things to hold on to when our present day lives were not living up to our expectations.

My Mother and I have always made the effort to travel together in the past, and she is the best possible companion. Our annual shopping trips to San Francisco, were wonderful and helped me stay sane when my kids were little.  Today, cancer has made her so weak that she is unable to travel.

Mom will be off of chemo for the next two months, and while a long flilght to Europe is off of the table, we are hoping that  she will get stronger, and that we will be able to take a short trip to New York to see the Met.  Though we have both been to New York, neither of us has had the time to thoroughly scour the museum.

A few weeks ago, I bought Mom a silver tree ornament shaped like the Empire State building. This was my intended Christmas gift to her, which I bought hoping to help her look forward into her future, past chemo and possibly even past cancer. A future trip filled with art, theater and shopping.

The ornament has been sitting on my desk since I bought it, and as I look at it now, I don’t feel the hope that the gift was intended to bring.  I feel sad and afraid.  Sad that there are so many things that we won’t do, and afraid that she might not be able to make this one last trip.  I hope that when Christmas day arrives, I will be able to present the ornament to her with joy, and give her something to look forward to. Just in case though, I’ll keep working on the scarf  I’m knitting for her.

Wait, what just happened?!

So far, I have only shared my feelings about dealing with cancer.  Cancer is a confusing and upsetting roller coaster ride.  Dealing with a teenager can be described with those words as well.  If you are dealing with these two things simultaneously I advise you to lock your self in the bathroom and cry quietly.

I remember the six hour drive home from my parent’s after discovering that Mom had cancer.  I cried of course, just enough to make the lonely drive hazardous-so I  drove carefully and took  my time.  I was not in any hurry to get home and share the news with my kids, who were 6,8 and 14 at the time.  I knew that they would have questions that I was not prepared to answer. What ever came up though, I wanted to be honest with them.

So, I sat them down at the dining room table and told them that Grandma had cancer, and made an effort to explain what exactly cancer is. I told the kids that the Dr.  would give Grandma medicine that would make her feel sick but would also hopefully make her live longer.  Then, I told them that she would probably not get better.  My mistake was in using the word “probably”.

The kids didn’t ask as many questions as I thought that they would, so I stood from the table feeling like I had done as good a job as possible preparing myself for the discussion, and had given my kids an adequate view of the situation: not too much, not too little information.   I was struck though when my 8 year old said: “When Grandma gets better can we….”. I don’t remember the end of the sentence here, but I remember thinking “Wait, I am sure I just told them that she would not get better!” Exhausted I let his question slide and told him we would see about it (whatever the question was).

As the weeks past, I realized that my youngest children, both boys-were dealing with their Grandmother’s illness in the way that children should. They were optimistic, had faith that medicine and doctors could solve the problem, and just could not imagine the finality of death.

However, having just stuck both feet firmly into the hormonal pool that is adolescence,  my teenage daughter was not as blessed with the blinders of optimism.  Though she was a  good student in the honors program, she immediately began to miss assignments, fail tests and display a generally crappy attitude about everything.

It’s been the  worst feeling to watch my daughter struggle to maintain a solid sense of self throughout this ordeal.  While she is back on track (for the moment), it has taken a lot of work on everyone’s part.  We have kept a close watch on her grades, encouraged her to maintain healthy relationships and yes-we have taken her to therapy.  She has hated every minute of it-and so have I most days.

I knew this was coming-that my little girl would eventually be taller, prettier and smarter than I am.  I  and have had years to think about how I would parent my daughter through being a teen- which were the most difficult years of my life.  Adding “death of a loved one” to her list of challenges is not something that I wanted for her (or any of my kids, or myself for that matter), but here we are.

Right now, my daughter prefers not to talk about Grandma’s illness.  In fact, right now, she doesn’t do much talking to me period.  Again-I was prepared for this, but it still hurts.