I started to think, that maybe all my thoughts had already found their way outside of my head, for a while- I’ve been unable to really convey the things which I wanted. Of everything that’s happened- quite honestly, I don’t believe it. The moments of the slowing down- scare me. I know those are the moments in which we gear up for the next battle. I keep telling myself, and trying to make myself realize- maybe there isn’t a battle ahead- maybe it’s just shadows- but then we get news.
My mother and I went to look at a reception site today, and it was perfection. We laughed together and talked together, (in one of the first times I’ve noticed in the past couple years-) almost an entire evening without so much as a harsh comment. It was almost like for a moment, we were how we were supposed to be. We laughed in the car on the way home and joked about everything from signing the contract to life, and she turns to me and says, “I have ‘x’ precancerous cells.”
“We’re pros at this!” I remember remarking and she smiled. And for the first time, I asked my mom questions, and she asked me for the answers. She seemed confused about how serious it was, (Since they are starting therapy, it is indeed, serious.) I asked her what the doctor said and she seemed so blase about everything, (upon realizing the doctor she had is the doctor that NEVER noticed my precancerous cells.) She needs a second opinion, because she doesn’t want a hysterectomy, (remember that fight about a month ago?) I asked her what she was thinking, and she replied, “What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll die. And that’s alright with me.” She’s not depressed, nor is she someone who seems abnormally doom and gloom- it’s almost like a statement of blind trust- like, “here God, I’ve had it.”
This is the woman who’s been through four joint replacements in the last 2 years, and has beat cancer more fingers than I own. She’s almost a legend in her doctor’s office, and I haven’t known her when her life didn’t involve some type of physical therapy. She gave me my drive to rise above feeling sorry for myself when I heard my prognosis, (though I silently wished her to hell when she told me ‘just to deal with it.’) My mom has no sympathy for those she knows can handle life, and maybe that’s why we never got along. We’re alike in that way.
When I found out I had pre-cancer my mother refused to talk to me about it. “Get a second opinion” she said. When I cried because I wanted so badly to stop having to get 3 month tests with every month finding out that my body is doing a shitty job at preventing itself from being taken over… well- I was angry- rightfully, so. I was disheartened and I, (in my short 26 years,) thought that the entire idea that I now have to worry every three months, was bullshit. I wanted a different body. And there were no hugs waiting for me. Just like for the other four surgeries, I drove myself. I saw no need for my mom to be there, and I like the idea that I was ‘powerful,’ (albeit, a false-sense-of-power,) enough to take myself and this on. I went to work, I put on a happy face, and at the end, I pretended like, “strong people just do what they have to do!” I wore down any emotion I had to what it was, (afterall I had a house and an impending marriage.) I almost forgot that my body was destroying itself in the process.
I remember thinking, “I hope you never have to deal with this,” as she stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed. That’d show her- right? And now- even though I know very well that we don’t have the power to harm other people with our thoughts- well.. it doesn’t matter. And suddenly she’s acting like it’s no big deal, (probably out of not knowing what else to do.)
And it hits me- like each brick to my face is every instance my mother stood coldly and shook her head- she taught me to cope- by example. A harsh example- sure- but I naviagated and somehow found the silver lining, (not wholly because of her,) but me- because I didn’t want to be the bitter 60 year old, who had no idea how to relate to her own feelings. It’s forgivable, sure- in it’s own way- it’s probably a success. Others crumble, and we? Get off on the pain, and move forward. Maybe for all the hell we put each other through- Ava was our bridge, because if it wasn’t for the kid, I probably would have stopped talking and playing the game in my far earlier 20′s. I wouldn’t give my life’s path up for the world, (it’s lead me to Ava and Josh,) but I’d give up the pain with my mom and dad. The unneeded parts- the screaming and the verbal fights- I’d give it up in a second.
I don’t know where life will go. We move in a few weeks, and maybe ironically, it will be my reprieve to influence my own body through less stress and better habits to take better care of itself. Maybe it’ll strengthen my relationship with mom- I don’t know. Maybe my grandma, (who is suffering terribly with dymentia,) and my godmother, (who had a stroke and is severely disabled,) and my mom- the three women I pictured in the front row at my wedding- maybe the plans have all changed beyond recognition just as it has so far.
It’s beautiful that the one thing that I always said de-simplified my life with diapers and broken plans- made bridges to people that I never would have gotten to walk on otherwise. Maybe that was the plan all along- love and figure it all out later.
