My soon-to-be mother-in-law encouraged me to grieve tonight. This is going to be tough. There are so many thoughts and memories racing through my head; where do I begin? Linda was so central to my life. I wouldn’t say that I leaned on her per-say, though she was always good for advice and support. She was the anchor that kept the entirety of my family together. As her first niece, I feel like I played a different role in Linda’s life. As I was going through THOUSANDS of pictures there were so many of me with her. There are some memories of her that I will carry forever, some that I long to remember, but can't, and of course regrets. I have so many memories that just flutter in and out of my mind, and if they catch me off guard I just lose it.
My mom is really into finding keepsakes to remember my aunt. I have to be honest-though an impossible feat- at first I just wanted to forget. (Not my aunt, just the pain) So when my mother offered me a bundle of her hair tied in a ribbon I was scared. Besides the fact that hair is creepy, I just didn’t want a constant reminder. I felt the same about a Build-A-Bear with a recording of Linda’s voice, and a necklace made from the dried roses used in her funeral ceremony. (The hair still scares me) but if I’m being honest I really want a bear and necklace now. Here is what I have to ultimately face:
I’m not ready to say good-bye.
I’m sure that their are people reading this who are shaking their head saying at least you had time to spend with her before she died. “It wasn’t sudden.” For the record if you have ever said that to someone dealing with the death of someone that they treasured and loved, shame on you. Cancer is a horrible reality. Melanoma is haunting. My aunt had a seizure in February, it was a Tuesday. Wednesday the hospital staff finally got her into a Cat-scan. We were told that there was something spread throughout her entire body, and that it was very likely that it was cancer. The doctor’s exact words, “I don’t want to give you a false sense of hope, but there is a chance that this is just a fungus.”
There is a list of things that I will not forget. My aunt Therese chanting, “Just remember, a fungus is among us,” is one of them.
Of course it was not a fungus, and the doctor did give us a false sense of hope.
Other false since of hopes include:
- Her brain surgery going according to plan
- Her physical therapy that seemed to be working
- The fact that she could stand up from the bed and walk to the bathroom just weeks before she died
- The new treatment that became FDA approved the month that she was ready to consider treatment (You have to wait a after brain surgery)
- She was accepted into the study for the treatment
- Everything was improving
BAM.
We get a call. (Another fucking Tuesday) Linda is in the hospital; she had had many seizures in the proceeding four months. Therese had told my mom that Linda looked awful and that we should get up to the hospital.
I didn’t even shower or brush my teeth in fact I think I went to the hospital in what I had slept in. Everything looked bleak. We were hoping for something to hope for. She started to talk... I can’t even remember what we talked about. I thought things were better, but by Wednesday they still hadn’t released her. Unaware of what the next four days would bring I walked into St. Claire’s hospital. I took the elevator to the fourth floor, I walked past the concierges‘ desk and said hello to Jeanne my favorite person on staff. As I walked down the seemingly endless hallway, I passed Dr. Beckett (Linda's oncologist) she nodded and I noticed a tear on her cheek as she said hello and immediately looked at the floor. My heart sank like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Linda was not responding to the treatment. That’s what Dr. Becket would have told me had I been in the room. I can’t recall who had been in the room. To be honest I wish that there were less details I remembered about this day. The hospital had decided that there was nothing else that they could do for her. For the first time since February we were all out of things to hope for.
