An explanation to the long absence...

As you have noticed if you frequented among these parts, things have been amiss for the past few months. While I have posted every week through Six Word Fridays, even that has been difficult and has, often times, alluded to all that has transpired since late last spring.

Life happens. And usually not in the way or shape we would like it to.

And because all that has transpired in these past months has been difficult and painful, it would have made sense to write about it here; to make light of it, to poke fun at the situation I found myself in. To be witty.

But I couldn't. For the first time in a very long time, it was just too painful to write. I had no way of expressing all the sadness, frustration, and fear I was experiencing.

And if I put it in writing, it would be real. I desperately wanted it not to be.

As many of you know, my beloved mother in law spent nearly a year battling breast cancer. Our family weathered the storm of the complications, the chemo, seeing her frail and warrior-like. Little did we know that we were in for more. We had another scare in the summer, but by now, we were also seasoned warriors.

My uncle, who has no children and is a liver transplant recipient, had a MAJOR health crisis. In early May, he was whisked away by ambulance in the middle of the night, and began an extended stay in the hospital and later rehab (and later the hospital again) before he took up residence at the assisted living center where my mother lives in mid-August.

The process of dismantling a life is an arduous one. So much to become acquainted with, so much paperwork and legality, to make repairs on a home, pack it up, put it for sale. So much to be made responsible for, when you are already responsible for so much.

My boys and I, along with my sister and my aunt (my mother's older sister) spent our summer cataloging my uncle's items, making piles for the dump or charity, and packing his things to be moved into his new apartment. I cannot tell you what a comfort it was to see my boys helping us in any way they could. Whether it was trudging down the stairs laden with books, to packing and sealing boxes, to making lists of things to be done, my two older sons were workhorses last summer.

And it quite literally broke my heart to see them so hard at work, peering curiously at me as I often stood, bewildered with worry and anxiety in the middle of my uncle's rundown house, wondering how the hell I was doing this again.

That flurry of activity was during the day. At night, my sister and I would go see him at the hospital, often wondering what his prognosis was going to be, wondering how in the world we were going to handle all of this new responsibility when school started back. Somehow, we would manage.

We emptied his house, made it sellable, sold it, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he moved into his new place, somewhat healthy and begrudgingly happy.

In the midst of all this, my mother's physical therapist was concerned at the pain she was experiencing during therapy. She ordered a routine MRI and uncovered a huge mass on her stomach.

Welcome to Round 2.

We had no sooner finished dealing with the immediate needs of my uncle when my mother was diagnosed with a somewhat rare cancerous tumor on her stomach. Her surgery was successful in that it removed a 13 centimeter tumor. However, she spent the better part of a week in ICU , unconscious, when she experienced difficulty breathing on her own a day after the surgery.

More tests.

More worry.

Another tumor was discovered on her larynx.

One that was seen and commented on by three different doctors.

One that miraculously wasn't there when they went to biopsy on Halloween Day.

The hell that went through was nothing compared to the generosity of spirit of our family, friends and coworkers. I have never felt so much love and support in all my life.

I am happy to say that things have somewhat returned to normal. We had a peaceful Thanksgiving.

We had so much to be grateful for. So many lives saved during a course of 365 days.

I had my "normal" Christmas. The one I so longed for last year when my world was collapsing around me. I had all my folks. My mother in law. My mother. My uncle and my aunt. They were all alive. My handsome new nephew, my brother and sister in law. My sister and her family. Every single person who weathered the storms of 2011 with us. They were all smiling; happy and healthy; under one roof. My roof. Even writing this now, the words blur through the tears.

So you can imagine why I couldn't write. Too much. Too fast. It was exhausting to live it, overwhelming to even think about putting it out there.

The prognosis are pretty good all around now. My mother in law is doing better than fine. She is back to doing her thing, on her own terms, and the mischievous gleam in her eyes has returned.

My uncle in is dialysis three times a week, but now he has to deal with my sister and I. I think he is slightly pleased that things fell into place as they did. He seems happy and has adjusted well, considering.

My mother's latest PET scan came back clean. She is on a chemotherapy that was originally given to leukemia patients. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was funded by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, whom I have fundraised and run for since 2010.

I hope that I am back to this, my writing in my space, more regularly now.

I hope you understand my lingering absence.

I know that soon, I will be laughing again. And taking you along for the ride...

Sounds of healing...

The blood pressure monitor whirs,

the life-giving oxygen machine hums.

Outside, nurses rush to and fro

caring for so many, including Mom.

Over so many years, different hospitals,

different patients, different diagnosis, same fear.

Seeing your parent become frail, sick,

never gets easier, just less unexpected.

The silence of healing: miraculous, incredible,

is a welcomed sound, however temporary.

What sounds warm your heart?  Visit Melissa's Six Word Fridays to find out about the buzz!

Gratitude

I have had a heavy heart and silent blog for the past few weeks. My family received some news about four weeks ago that has reshaped our lives and how we choose to live it, but by anyone's standards, is not the most exciting positive news ever.

As many of you have surmised over the content of my blog, my relationship with my mother in law is pretty spectacular. For many years, she has been an infinite source of comfort and support and for all practical purposes, I see her as a mother figure in my life.

About six weeks ago, she awoke with a pain in her breast and decided to get it checked out. She had a mammogram, that came back abnormal and required a biopsy. Four weeks ago, her biopsy confirmed she has breast cancer.

In spite of incredible circumstances, my mother in law has had EXCEPTIONAL luck. In the doctors that are guiding her treatment and care. In the speed in which accompanying tests have been scheduled and executed. In the way the world has responded to this circumstance our family now faces.

My mother in law has cancer. The cancer does not have her.

Frankly, when news like this hits you, it usually feels like a gut punch. Your knees get weak. You cannot keep a cognitive thought in your head if your life depended on it. But, the stronger part of you starts drumming up a list of things that need to be done.

Upon consultation with my MIL, I decided not to write about this for a while. And it has been hard to keep this within me, when it has colored so many parts of my life. But it is not defining us.

Because, in spite of the ugliness of the word cancer, the gratitude within my heart cannot be explained in any rational way. I am grateful that this cancer has a worthy opponent. My MIL is no shrinking violet. She fights like a girl: proud, courageous, with a fierceness that can overcome anything. Her heart and mind are determined to beat this, and, if the last 20 years prove anything, my money is on her, 2:1.

I am grateful to those whose prayers and good wishes have so often lifted me throughout these last few weeks. Your kindness, compassion and willingness to do for our family is worth so much more to us than just the mere words that have left your mouths. They have sustained us, given us strength, given us comfort.

I am grateful for those people who have been involved so far in her care. She is so positive because the people around her are filled with hope. She has doctors that have involved her in every decision and are positive that she will be around for a long time.

I am grateful to this cancer for giving my family the opportunity to fuel ourselves with the wonder of each day, the wonder of our family.

Women: The Cockroaches of Emotional Nuclear Holocaust?

I know, catchy title. But when you think of it, aren't we, as women, just about the hardest creatures on Earth to crack? Are we not the human equivalent of cockroaches when it comes to getting back up when there should be no possible way that we could or should?

From the get go, there is drama. I see the difference between my boys and my nieces. With girls, everything is about the drama. I think it is a warm up exercise to what we go through as adults. And while this might sound cynical, I am truly not mocking. I think that women, particularly mothers, put themselves aside for the well being of others. And often, it is more than any heart should have to bear.

Broken hearts. Everyone has a couple of these lurking around. Whether it is puppy love or a bitter divorce, women converge to help the afflicted along. Armed with Ben and Jerry, Grey Goose or both, your girlfriends, sisters, etc. will be there to hold you up, tell you are justified, to you to just F*** Him. Just what we need, in the right dosage.

Friendships betrayed. This drama usually finds its peak in middle school and high school. Intrigue and soap opera antics never fail to deliver the bemoaning and the fledging alliances. But sometimes, these new friendships will pass the test of time, and more often than not, they will be the ones that support you through some of the hardest stuff you will encounter in life.

Infertility. One of the hardest things I ever dealt with. And I consider myself extremely lucky. My problems were resolved with minimally invasive procedures. I ended up Fertile Myrtle by my mid-thirties. I often think that if I survived that, I could survive anything.

Messed up families. How do you reconcile relatives that often make you wonder how on God's green Earth you could possibly be related to them? You love them, but can't expose yourself or your kids to their ways, bringing sadness, denial, unwillingness to accept. But the ability to look at a situation truthfully, and be able to walk away without regrets takes some serious gumption.

Work related drama. Both yours and your spouse's. If it is heart-wrenching to experience it first hand, it is even harder to hear about it happening to your spouse. The conniving evil that some people spout off is just unbelievable. I often wonder why some people choose to make so much trouble, cause so much harm. What's wrong with them?

Becoming the parent to your parent. It is so hard to be able to gauge how your parents are doing. After all, parents can be the master of disguise. They will appear to be fine, yet small things set off alarms in your head. Making decisions about their care, particularly if there is a degenerative disease, is never an easy one. It is usually wracked with guilt and uncertainty. And yet, as time passes, and they adjust, you see that even though it was incredibly difficult, it was the right choice.

Parents getting really sick. Having gone through my father's battle with prostate cancer is nothing I would wish on anyone. There is something debilitating in watching someone battle so hard and courageously for so long. My father's outlook, however, was not a positive one. It was hard to play cheerleader to someone who was willing to fold, and yet, I cannot judge. I cannot pretend to know what helplessness he felt at diagnosis, over the countless chemotherapy drugs and radiation he endured. He battled, we cheered. When an illness like cancer comes into play, we get pissed off and we get marching orders. We rally, we cry, we go on. Because we know others depend on us, particularly those who are afflicted. And when all else fails, we walk for the cure...

Motherhood. Nothing piles up the emotional arsenal like motherhood. The hormones, the sleep deprivation, the worry. Am I doing it right? Are they okay? Will I mess them up too much? Motherhood breaks your heart like nothing else. After all, these children are a piece of you. Your body grew them and sheltered them for nine months. The first two years of these children's lives are spent assuring their survival, marveling at their growth and newfound skills. Their elementary years are filled with making sure they know right from wrong; their adolescent years spent making sure that they practice it. Then, they leave. As they must. And with them, they take a piece of you. If you've done your job right, you get to enjoy them in a different capacity.

I think that the common thread here is that women have hope. They have hope when the odds are stacked against them. They have hope when everyone else in the world is ready to call the game and head home.

That hope is born from love. Love of our families, love of our friends and love for making sure that wrongs are righted, that justice prevails, that the happy ending happens. In spite of the odds, is spite of the difficulties.

Rest assured, when an emotional holocaust is omnipresent, there will be a group of women who lead the way, to help support those who need some wind in their sails, to hold the hand and comfort those who need it, to tell a raunchy joke and alleviate the tension. In spite of a broken heart. Finding the strength where there might be none. Because it is in our nature to be indestructible like no other creature.

We are there.

The cockroaches, and us.

The man in my life...

Although I am surrounded and drowning in the amount of testosterone that permeates my home, there is one guy in particular that still floats my boat. And today is his birthday.

On the year he was born, he was a belated Father's Day present to my dear father in law. It should have been a sign that he is rarely on time, but always where he is supposed to be.

My love had a particularly stressful day today. As is typical in South Florida, it is pouring rain. He made a mad dash for take-out, we will settle in for the evening, just he and I, and the gloriously rambunctious boys we have brought into this world.

With the help of a couple of cocktails and delicious food, the cares of the world will hopefully melt away. We will concentrate on the magnificent twenty birthdays we have shared together, alone and with our crowd.

Later on this weekend, we will share in celebrating the marvelous man who provides so much love to our boys. Who is an exemplary father, a splendid granddaddy, and just about the nicest man I know, aside from the son I married and his equally wonderful sibling. We will miss those who cannot be with us, due to distance or passages.

I wish everyone a wonderful Father's Day with the men who made us mothers and bring us so much joy and laughter on a daily basis.

Get on your boots...

Today was Career Day at school. Parents and other community workers paraded through the school, speaking to students from Kindergarten through eighth grade, discussing the in's and out's of their careers.

Among the things they discussed, they talked about the amount of education that they required in order to be prepared to do the job, and how much they enjoyed what they do for a living.

And in the meantime, our State Senate passed a preliminary bill that will devastate the public school system in our state.

And while our presenters drove up to our school to do their civic duty, a handful of teachers, emblazoned in red shirts and armed with signs and flyers with pertinent information, stood outside our school, educating the community.

Many of our students waved as they were dropped off, parents honked for their support.

For the remainder of the day, I pondered the irony. Here were community leaders; parents, neighbors, relatives, friends, role models discussing the future of my students.

They stressed the importance of a good education. I wondered how many would call their representative and demand better for the students they had so enthralled this morning.

I wondered how many parents stopped during their busy day, and called the numbers we distributed. How many told someone else of the atrocities that are being planned as I write this?

And me?

I wrote, I called, I organized. And I will continue to do so, until this wrong is righted.

And I taught my sons the importance of fighting for something that you believe in. I taught them that education: their education, my students' education, is important enough for me to stand so early in the morning, across the street from my school, waving a sign, demanding action.

I taught them to pick a career that will invoke that passion: instinctive, protective, proactive reaction when threatened.

Today, people came in to speak to my students about their careers.

Today, I taught all my kids, birthed and otherwise, that I love my job.

Reversal of roles...

As hard as being a parent is, it is something that you sign up for. However delusional you are in thinking that it will be relatively easy (HA!), you have a say in the matter and you have 40 weeks to come to grips with the responsibility you are about to embark on. Hopefully, you have a network of friends who might be along the same stretch of the parenthood path to keep you company and trade stories with.

Not so much when you become the caregiver for an elderly parent.

My parents had my sister and I later in life. My sister and I like to joke that they were avant-garde in the "late thirties/early forties jump into first time parenthood" trend; about thirty something years too early. My father passed away after a very long battle with cancer almost eight years ago, and it was HARD to watch this man who had always been so strong just wither into a shell of what he once was. But his mind was clear, and for the most part, he followed his doctor's orders. That is not to say that he was easy, but he tried, as best he could, to not worry us too much.

My mother is a different story. She was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease almost five years ago. While at first, she followed doctors orders, the decline in her ability to care for herself became painfully apparent. At first, in small ways; then in ways that you could not ignore.

But harder than trying to convince an adult, mainly your parent, that they need help is nothing compared to your realization that they are not invincible. That they are becoming frail. That they are getting old. That inevitably, they will die. And that is scary, no matter how old you are.

And it goes back to how much we need our parents, even when we are adults. When we are children, we need them to take care of our most primal needs. When we become adults, we know that their wisdom is invaluable. That they have survived our own childhood. Our perspective changes. We don't think that they were always wrong. We might be persuaded to see their point of view, now that we ourselves are being challenged in the same ways by our own offspring.

So there is another force that tears us apart. We see ourselves in them. And that you too are getting older. That you too will become frail. That your body will give out.

We fear having to depend on our own children; to be a burden to them, to be another reason for them to worry.

We cannot prepare ourselves for this; becoming the caregivers to those who birthed us. It is too hard, too frustrating, yet, it must be done. Luckily, my sister and I, in spite of the five children we have between us, have found a rhythm for divvying up the tasks that help my mother try to maintain the mobility she has, that help unburden her of most of the things that would make her fret.

We have each other to lift the other up when she becomes overwhelmed with the reality that is upon us. The reality that mom needs us now. As much as our children need us, with the same fierceness to right any wrongs, with the same gentleness when the anxiety sets in, with the same tenacity that we face each day's challenges with them. And it is an emotionally draining tug-of-war between the responsibilities of parenthood and the responsibilities to your parents.

And I am grateful, even for this. That I can do something for the woman who worked so hard to provide for us, who did without so that we may have, who fought for us to have a better future. It is the ultimate thank you note...