My pain is messy. Most of the time I am emotionally holding it together. But sometimes I’m angry at everything. I start crying to random people that I do not want to know what i am holding… and then they do. Messy because I am holding it upfront, focusing on it in the foremost so that I have forgotten a couple of things and feel a little off balance (figuratively).
It’s better than it was. The tumors are out now. But it's not better. It’s not okay. It’s messy. It’s gray. Mom is different. Dad is different. I am different. My sisters are different. The dog is different. We are aware of mortality we hadn’t deemed near a possibility one month ago. But in two days, a month ago, Mom had trouble with balance twice in one day, and our worlds changed. Nothing is the same.
Healing is purple. Life. Vibrant. Vocal. Smiles. Hugs. Healing is remission. Now I know. Now I know what other people have gone through. And I am hoping for a happy ending. I have faith for thirty more years. God, please give us thirty more years.
On September 7th, doctors discovered two brain tumors via MRI in my Mom’s brain, in her right frontal cortex. Mom had a craniotomy (brain surgery) removing over 95% of the tumors on September 15th. She recovered well and left the hospital on the 17th. On September 20th, we found out it was cancer—glioblastoma multiforme, a grade 4 cancer of the brain. On the 26th of September, the neurosurgeon told us that Mom has one to two years to live, with treatment. Less than 10% make it past two years. We are praying for thirty more.
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| Mom in 2012 with Naisa, three months |
