My mom’s birthday is Sunday. She has lung cancer. They stopped treatment a week and a half ago. There is no way to beat it.
She was diagnosed in April, the first rounds of radiation and chemo seemed to go so well; she was doing so well this summer, even got her down to the beach this summer where she watched, eagle-eyed, from shore as my siblings and I swam in the ocean, a habit she took up thirty-some years ago.
Then in September came the headaches. Bad headaches. An MRI followed, showing a tumor just behind her eye. The cancer in her lungs was shrinking, but sending out it’s minions. The tumor was removed successfully, she bounced back amazingly well from surgery, only to find another tumor in her neck, in a lymph node. Full brain radiation seemed to shrink that tumor, and a clean MRI followed, but for whatever reason, she went down hill. Fast. Out of control. There’s nothing we can do.
They say she has “a few weeks, a few months” to live. She’s only 64. Well, she will be 64 on Sunday.
And if that weren’t fucking heart-breaking enough for you, my father has Parkinson’s disease. Diagnosed with it about 30 years ago, when my mom was pregnant with me. He’s 66. We had to put him in a home in April, when it was clear Mom could no longer care for him, that his dementia was too much for any of us to deal with. I never thought he would out-live Mom.
So, anyway, earlier today, after my husband left (he works out of state during the week; two academics should never get married), I decided I needed to get out of the apartment, and I walked over to Target. I like Target because it’s so big and impersonal. I can walk around aimlessly, looking lost, and no one will ask if I need help. It’s a great place to be alone in public. And among the random things I thought I’d pick up was a gift for Mom.
But what the fuck do you get for someone who may not even live to receive the gift? What do you get that shows them how much you love them and how much you wish things were different? What do you get that hides all the regrets and fears, that is hopeful but not delusional? And do you have any idea how many birthday cards talk about the future, about all the birthdays yet to come? And do you know how embarrassing it is to start crying at card display in a Target?
I thought about a warm hat (because all her hair is gone) or slippers (for when she gets into her wheel chair) or a nice blanket (for when she can’t get out of bed), but all those things just screamed cancer patient. She’s too tired and weak to read or watch movies or knit. I wandered and thought; nothing came to me but tears.
So I got her some chocolate and pretty but impersonal card.