September and October

Okay, I have taken a break for a few days. Writing everything down has really "ruffled my feathers" and has forced my to deal with everything put on paper.

As I reflect back, these months were the same. I felt as though I was dealing with everything but really I was not. In a lot of ways, it was a good time. I had a lot of friends, I always had someone with me, I had work, school, a house, a new car and much more. The only problem with this as I look back was that it was all fillers. I was making good money so I could buy what I  want, I had friends so I didn't have to talk about anything serious, which I am sure it happened here and there and maybe more than I thought, and I was "dealing with it". Around this time, I also started exercising ...good....and I decided it was time for a tattoo. I put it up on facebook and was recommended a guy to get it done at for cheap. GREAT! I thought. SO with my friends in tow I set up the appointment, chose what I wanted, and was ready to get it done. :) The night of my appointment, I was nervous, I took a percocet to calm my nerves and reduce the pain and traveled down to the tattoo shop. When I got there the artist, was all disheveled, not ready and there was a baby in the shop. A little skeptical, I thought screw it, Live for now. It took him two hours to prepare etc. His first words to me "I am the most professional artist  you will ever meet," followed up by " I think I can see your boob"
Now, normally this is when my rational mind would check in and I would check out. Hell effin no see ya later loser. But I didn't He started the tattoo around 10pm. I SAT  there hunched over a chair, with him breathing down my neck, and his jelly wife and baby in the back. GROSS. 11, 12, 1, 2, 3 am. By now, I was done. It took him 5 hours, to basically do an outline. Its not like this thing is ginormous, but it was big. It was my first tattoo so okay. By 4 am, the shock had set in and I started to cry and whimper. I just thought "think about all the pain your mom went through, this is nothing" by 4 am, I told the guy he had to stop. He wanted to go on but I was done. My friend had left her car with me so I could drive home. I told him that I would be back to finish, got in her car, and drove home. I never went back, and I also scheduled an appointment to now get tested for needle related diseases. My rational mind was back "what the HELL was that?!"

Two hours later I had to wake up and go to work. I had to wash my back, and go. I loved it but it wasn't that great. I scarred really bad, but I didn't care. I took me almost three years to finally go back and get the courage to get it fixed. Its still not done.

My rationale mind I think had started to jump on a crazy bus. A storm was brewing. I was on a self destructive rut and October was a turning point. When we would go out, it was fun fun fun, until boom a brick wall was crashed into and I was splat all over the wall. Who wouldn't call every single person in their phone book at 2 in the morning? I would. My temper tantrums started. The screaming, the crying etc etc. People were still around though, so my behavior obviously was understood by everyone right?...not so much. I would soon learn that people were quickly, getting over my shit and loosing patience

dramatic but I dont do drama

I am pretty sure I just wrote about this topic...but I am really starting to ponder this situation. I MAY be dramatic and by "may" I mean most definitely am I don't do drama.

I grew up with brothers so I never had the cattiness of girls. It was always this is my problem, lets say what it is and punch it out. If I am angry I will tell you and if not I wont. Sometimes, I think girls just need to get it together and say this is why I am pissed, or this is why you bother me or did you say this about me.


A pet peeve of mine, is when someone gets a story and then misconstrues this story, then spreads the gossip, then a whole huge issue causing me stress is here. If you want the answer just ask! Another issue the silent game accompanied with passive aggressiveness. My thing is, if it isn't true then it doesn't really bother me. Except when my character is being talked about. I am a good person, a good friend, and will do anything for most people. I focus on my job and making my people pleased and I take care of me. I differentiate between right and wrong and will stick up for what I believe is right.

short and sweet speak up, work it out, and move on with it....

August...maybe I shouldn't

August:  Maybe I shouldn’t…


The semester started again. I had started with 6 classes and ended with 3. My semester started strong and ended weak. Weak sauce. I had Spanish, Accounting, Communications and three other courses that don't ring a bell.

One of my core classes was a communications course. We had to give speeches and record them. I loved this class but we had to watch and critique ourselves with every taping. The one speech I chose to write was the last of the semester. I chose to write about cervical cancer. This was my mission, my word to the world...."DON'T GET CERVICAL CANCER!" I wrote all the facts and report, but I had problems saying what I wanted to say. My B.F.F., took the time write my cards for me. She wrote them and added in little words like smile, grin and other comments. I still have these cards packed away and I look at them this time. I am so grateful for this friend. She is one of them that I met later in life, but a consistent, loyal friend, who in the end always had the best at heart. She would sit with me and watch T.V., sit outside with me and talk about nothing for hours, be up for a Saturday night party, for countless hours spent walking around target, and really listening to me. A friend that was there and good and not just there for the fun- I was really touched she did this for me.
** Just a side note, I do not mention friends names for their privacy.

I went to class and read my speech. Everything we learned went out the window. I stared at my cards, read monotonously, scared, timid. I finally glanced up from my 10 minute speech which seemed like forever , I had tears streaming down my face and so did the rest of the class. For a moment these people felt my pain. Something that I would never wish on my friends or strangers even but something that I so desperately wished people could understand or get…..something that  I wish my core group of people could do more than just sympathize with. Its bullshit really. When one person has to deal with a lot of crap and others don’t. A bunch of “why me” starts starting to float around. I finished this speech and they all clapped and clapped and clapped. I looked at the floor as I walked back. I sat down next to my friend in the class, and he patted me on the back. Another guy just looked at me and said “wow”.

I watched my video...barely. I couldn't stomach it. In a way I was sick to my stomach, in another way, I was able to touch 29 people in my world, mostly a little younger than me but some of the same age. I gave these students something to think about. I could see the reaction on their faces, and I could tell they listened to me. This was good. 

This is one class I passed. This semester felt like high school again. I would go to class or not go, grades didn’t really matter and my attitude was the same as well.
The nights remained the same. Night time. When the freaks come out. There is something about a 23 year old female at night. She is young, fresh, face caked with makeup, and ready to drink. This I was ready to do. Never much of a binge drinker before, I was down for the cause. I still maintained that I could only drink Friday and Saturday nights and maybe a week night but this was a rare occurrence. Binge drinking is the normal for a 23 year old. How much beer can a 23 year old drink? Well I think from 9 -4 am, 10- 15 beers, a few shots and if lucky some hard liquor. How much can the “grieving” heavily medicated (doctor prescribed of course) for emotional pain, anxiety, physical pain and probably a few extras….drink, the same, but the consequences seem to be a little worse.
The nights always started off well. Fun, fun, fun, laugh, laugh, laugh, and scream….laugh, however, at times, this emotional pit of a mess would turn for a downfall.
I never fancied myself to be a social being or someone who relied on a friend to always be around. I really enjoyed my alone time. I often get sick of “people” I am too much of a control freak. Everything needs to be in its place and clean and in my control.  But shit, life proved to be uncertain and sucky so why not change it up. I became a person who always wanted someone around, someone to be consistent. I almost never slept alone. I had a privy of girlfriends who would be happy to join me on a sleep over.
Not too bad of a situation.

So the problem consisted of this: When the night ended and I was sufficiently drunk AND medicated, sometimes- rarely at first, my emotions would start to trigger. Ups and downs, anger and tears….misconstrued feelings turning into what looks like jealousy. But hey, once in a while, everyone is allowed to get a little crazy right? Who doesn’t call every person in their phone book and leave voicemails, one happy, one sad, one screaming, and one….

Another side note here. I look at these picture because they disgust me. I see them now and see such a sad girl, lost, scared, and forced into complete oblivion. I share them however, so you can see a part of my world at this time.

May - June - July

Perception. The act of perceiving something or someone. How someone else sees YOU through their eyes. What someone thinks about you. This is my laymen definition here, I am too lazy to get the real one. 

What you see in yourself and how others see you and even what you let others see are very different things. When you are at your thinnest, people still think your fat, when people think your angry, you could just be shy and when people think you are crazy with a capital C, you think get the hell out hell out of my face because I'm not crazy you are!  

May, June and July.

These months are filled with pretty much the same routine. Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep, eat, meds, sleep, eat, meds, sleep, text, call, sleep, sleep sleep, drink, sleep drink, drink, friends, cry, drink, sleep, eat. wake up, repeat. 

For awhile, this was okay with everyone. Lauren was happy. Or so everyone thought. A happy friend is a friend you don't need to worry about, mess with, talk to or TALK TALK to, a happy friend doesn't impede on your day, a happy friend isn't a burden in your life. This is what I needed to be a happy friend. I felt as though I had two lives at this point or maybe three or four. I was keeping it together damnit! Work me was quiet, kept the i pod on, got the work done and left alone pretty much, sometimes would fall asleep at her desk because she was always very tired and heavily medicated. Family me, had a very remove, distant, angry me, and friend me (when they saw me) for the most part was either sleeping, medicating, or ready for a party. Not happy but not horrible. 

I was cool in my head. An angry little beaver. My one triumph over the summer or around that time. My fight with the Medical Board. The number one Cervical Cancer doctor in AZ was assigned to my mother. I will not say his name. Mainly because I do not believe in giving bad horrible murderers positive attention for negative behavior. Not only did this dick, miss  blood poison results, he up and walked out of my moms treatment with out so much a word. HE moved to Florida. Gone, bye, yelled at the family all the time and her as well. WHO treats a person with cancer like this? The devil does. 

We were fighting and fighting for a mal practice suite against this monster in order to take away his medical license. We didnt care about the money, we didn't care about any of that. All we cared abo ut was the other women that would be under his care. I was frightened for them. The medical board is a scary thing. You have 20 or so doctors sitting staring, you need to get up in front of all of them, speak into a mic and convince these medical professionals that you, a regular human being without a doctors degree, that this doctor, friend, and comrade, killed your mother. I prepared a 9 page letter with all my emotions and great points. We each had 5 minutes to talk. My dad, my grandma I think, my aunt Janice and myself. They all spoke. My time to shine was here. I stood and read, my hands were shaking and my voice was trembling. As the tears rolled down my face and the spit flew from my mouth, I remembered the children my mother worked with. The children she loved, the children who signed her petition for her to be granted her degree. I thought of them. My voice grew stronger, louder, prouder, more convincing, more, more, more, "Shit, my 5 minutes were up" I looked at this board of people some with no facial expressions, some with tears and some who really couldn't give a shit probably, my voice spoke, quietly, timidly, "may i finish please?" All my rage went away and I turned into the little girl with a soft voice who was empowered by a woman- by her mother. Something allowed these people to let me finish. I finished the last two pages. looked them all in the eyes "Thank you"....They sat and contemplated. We didn't win this day. Although the doctors all pretty much agreed. My mothers doctor acted unprofessionally,inhumanely and had something to do with the discourse of my mothers death, he could not be fully punished. His punishment- A Scarlett letter.  A slap on the wrist. To this day, if I see this man....He is someone worth going ape shit crazy for...God gave me two fists, two feet and a voice and this woman is not afraid to use them.

Back to perception.  During this time I heard a lot....a lot of "blah blah blah blah" In one ear and out the other. So many "You are SO strong, you are amazing, You can get through it, You will get through it, you need to be happy, every day can't be a sad day" All of these words just pissed me off....I didn't want to hear it. I didn't need too. All people have good intentions done wrong. I perceived this "doctor" as a murder, his peers perceived him as having bad judgment.  I perceived myself as a brick wall. Smile, laugh, smile, laugh, happy. But really,what I didn't see was myself.

I was running on empty and slowing down fast, My car was over heating and the engine was going to explode. I didn't take the time to slow down because that would mean I would need to process everything. Processing everything would mean moving on to the next step. The next step in the stupid 5 stages of grief...acceptance....the funny thing is I don't even think I had hit on the first two in order to get to acceptance, I knew she was gone, I knew she wasn't coming back. To me that was acceptance. I could live my life on the wild side because now I didn't have anyone to answer too. I could hang out with who I wanted to because who cared. I could have 20 people in my little house like a Greek orgy because it was better to be around people rather than be alone. 

I was going down hill but didn't see it yet. I wonder if my cousins did...I'm sure they did. All in all these months were pretty boring in retrospect. My clock was ticking, my pot was boiling, and my gas take was pretty low....I still had a few kicks in me though.

April

Again, April is a blur. A mess of school, work, school, sleep, sleep sleep. I was sleeping a lot so my friends wanted me to go out and socialize. I don't remember April. But I do know my next project began. Something my mom had done, was go back to college. She was about 9 credits short of graduating when she passed away. When I originally contacted ASU, I asked if they would give her an honorary degree. They told me "NO".

Much to my dismay I was pretty angry. I decided this was not an appropriate answer. I wrote a letter to the Dean, Governor, and other big wigs in the ASU community. I took a long time writing this letter and making sure once again it was perfect. Looking back, the theme of my life stated to be perfect and angry. I sent this letter along with 700 signatures and probably some other stuff too. Then I sent it in to wait. My main point of this letter was to tell them who my mom was and that she had worked in the field of child development for 28 years, I reasoned with them that the experiences she had in the real world and the work place, is what led to her knowledge of children, not what she could sit and reiterate on a test from text books. She deserved this! 

During this time, my night activities also progressed. In my mind, this is what normal 23 year old people did. Partied until 4 am. I think some other 23 year olds didn't have a major emotional trauma going on. I kept it cool for now but the clinginess started. I created this world where I didn't ever want to be left alone. I didn't care who was at my house or sleeping over, As long as I didn't have to be alone. Being alone meant that I had to think about everything and my mind wasn't ready to rest. I knew that I wasn't processing everything. I would cry all night in my sleep. I gained a bunch of weight and on my off time, I would sleep. In retrospect, it wasn't abnormal. I had my day from 7-5 pretty jammed packed with work and school. I would fall asleep around 5:30 wake up at 8:30 and go back to sleep.

 

Jump ahead to summer- JUST for a second. I was sitting in my back yard and the phone rang. I answered it....It was ASU, the lady on the phone told me some good news. She said that ASU had decided to give my mom the degree. I burst into tears. "OK, OK, OK" Thank you!!! I called my grandma and could barely spit it out. She was very happy too!  One more task down, one less thing to keep my mind occupied. 

I was elated that my mom was given her degree. I also was proud that I challenged the Education system at ASU basically telling them that they way they educate people is not effective and needs to be changed, I feel with them agreeing to give her the degree, they agreed with the fact that there are issues and flaws within the educational system. Lauren 1 traditional education 0...

April and May came and went. I passed all my classes and now all I had to do was work. As my tasks and responsibilities left my head, my emotional state stated to get a little more ridiculous. My need to always be with someone grew. Again, I didn't care who it was as long as I didn't have to be alone. My anxieties rose, my tiredness grew. I would fall asleep at my desk for short periods of time. I would wake up and go back to work. I was disorientated most of the time, sick and in physical pain. My family started to wonder if I was depressed. I said "No, helloooo, havent you seen what has been going on?" I think one of my turning points is when I decided to go out in the middle of the work week. I NEVER did this. We stayed up all night .... still going strong. I wasn't as worried as everyone else around me.

February / March the beginning of a down ward spiral

Have you ever felt like you were being punished for something and have absolutely no clue the reason why? I have. Have you ever been punished and know exactly why? I have too. During my moms short illness I thought, "I really hope this isn't his punishment, his lesson." I think I believed the same for myself. 

The next 9 months were a blur. So we can start where we left off. 

February 23rd: We all sat at my grandmas house. We had a funeral to plan. Choose the prayers, the dates, the songs, the clothes, write an obituary. I sat there with my cousin and my aunts and my grandmas. Trina and I sang songs to pick fitting ones for a funeral. I would interject when I heard something that I didn't like in the obituary. I wanted to say something "I want, I want, then finally, I just want to go home." I went home that night. Took my meds, got in the shower and cried. I cried so hard that I rubbed my eyes raw. I crawled into bed and cried some more. I woke up and my eyes were swollen shut. I cried all night in my sleep. I stared sleeping with my door locked because I didn't want anyone to come in if I was screaming in my sleep. 

February 24th- February 28th or so: The planning:

We had planned everything out. The songs, the prayers, the days, the wake. My next job was to get the clothes she had picked out to be buried in. When I heard she had picked them out, I grew a little angry with her. She promised me she would fight. I went to my dad's house and started looking for the outfit. I think it was purple. She bought it to wear when she got skinny. I guess now, here was her opportunity. I started picking through her clothes. My tears grew louder and faster, before I knew it, I was ripping all her clothes out of the closet and on to the floor. Screaming in sorrow. I sat on the floor and smelled her smell. It hurt so badly. I regained my composure and placed all of her clothes back. I left her house and brought her dress where it needed to go. 

The wake had to be within these few days. The family got to get there early to see the body before everyone else did. I was looking at the pictures and heard some hurried feet. "MY BABY" My grandma was at her casket and crying. My heart broke for her at that moment. My grandpa wobbled down on one knee and touched her shoulder. Parents are not supposed to put their children in the ground, no matter how old they are. I looked at her. She had makeup painted on her face. I didnt like that - she hated makeup, it suffocated her. Floods and floods of people came in. All I saw were red faces, no names, no feelings. My moms friend Cheri stopped in her tracks and whispered in my ear "you will drive in your car and burst into tears, you will listen to a song and burst, you will see a picture, a movie, a card, a smell and break down, take those moments and give them to yourself, then you will go on" I keep those words in my heart and in my head. I went home alone and took my meds, got in the shower and cried, and cried and cried. This is something that was going to become a nightly routine. 

March 1st: Dooms Day. The funeral

My dads family was here as well as most of my mothers. I remember thinking of those ones, the ones who didn't come. "How dare you!. you disgust me. Unforgivable" bye bye out the door. I guess I couldn't really expect much from these few but you would think. 

I changed a few times that morning. I wanted to look perfect for her. A black pocka dot shirt. A velvet vest. I think I had torn all my extensions out but I had black hair and raw eyes. I couldn't do my makeup that well but I looked presentable or so I thought. We got to the the church. I remember running around like a crazy person. Sat my dads family on one side. I saw my friends. LOVE. They were all there to support me. All had deer caught in the head lights look on their face. What did they have in store for them, What was going to happen. I don't know what any of them really thought but that didn't matter so much. They were all there. TT sat behind me. He loves my mom. Mass happened. It was over. One more bump gone over. Then we traveled to the cemetery. There were so many cars. So many. At least 600 people showed up. That made me proud for her. One of my students gave me a card. I hugged her. A six year old had compassion for me. Even though I did not know the kennedy's I felt like the Kennedy family in that procession with all the cars following them burying a president. The driver took the long route because he wanted to give her one last ride in the city. We got to the cemetery. We got out of our cars. The tears in the crowd were hot and wet. There was dirt and flowers, holy water and more prayers. She is with her family here. People dispersed. I didn't want to leave her alone here. I wanted to jump in the casket, in the ground and lay there with her. Maybe for just a moment maybe forever. We finally left and went to my aunts house for the reception. People were laughing, eating. This is what she would have wanted. 

That night I went home. Got in bed and cried. A loud cry. My brother called me and told me to get up. I said no. He said, "You are not going to sit and cry by yourself. We will cry together, get up, my friends are coming to pick you up" We got to salty senoritas. All my cousins were there and even baby Kadence- at a bar at 1 month old. That has got to be a record. We sat, drank, laughed cried. I loved my cousins for this moment. They were there. Not the drinking or the partying, but they were there to support. To just be there. 

The next few weeks of March. We had to pick a headstone. This fell on my shoulders, but I am sure I took the job. I wanted something perfect. I chose and angel sitting on a heart. This way she always had an angel to protect her body. Now we had to wait. 

I continued school. I had a lot of catching up to do. I remember missing a science test. My teacher wouldn't let me retake it because I missed it. I reasoned with him, that I was at my mothers funeral. I believe his response was "do you know how many times I have heard that" It took everything in me not to well up my fist and hit that S.O.B. so my next best option was on his teacher review, I wished him the same treatment of me to be given to his daughters, when he gets cancer and dies. I believe my friend Amanda gave him a similar review. I loved her for that. It takes a bold person to say something balsy and reep the consequences. She stood up for what was right.  I would have had a perfect 4.0 if it weren't for that jerk off. 

Now it was time to start piecing everything back together. My aunt took us to Mexico. She had promised my mom she would take my older brother there. A promise my mom couldn't keep. I decided I was going to read lots of books and not fall into depression. I sat on our porch in Mexico and read. I was sneak drinking the whole time but I am sure that was noticeable. What else to do in despair. We spent week there.

When I came home, I think my friends thought it was time I got back on the horse. They felt my over amount of sleeping wasn't normal. I would go to work and school get home around 5 and sleep. I would sleep whenever I got the chance. They started to urge me to go out and have fun. I couldn't be sad forever. Ha. I started to go out and mask the sadness. Sometimes at first it was too much. I remember some guy wanting to come back and party "My response was my mom just died dick" He didn't know but I took such offense to it. Didn't the whole world know my pain?! My room mate at the time also wanted to make sure we were still having our Saint Pattys day party. I said "sure I guess- of course" So we had the party. This girl was sobbing. I didnt know her but she was sobbing for me. The girls must have told her. I comforted her. "It will be okay, I will be okay" I lie. I didn't know if I was lying to her or myself. At that time, it felt like the truth. I was with friends, and I was numb. Numb to all the pain when everyone was around. I could laugh. When they left I would cry. It was cool. 

Thats how the next few months went....

April: same ole same ole. Going out on the weekends became a regular occurrence... 

So here it is- my moms story through my eyes

All stories have a beginning, I guess my flaw with this blog was that I started in the middle and I've realized that you cant jump into the middle of the movie and get what is going on so you can't blog like that either.

I started this primarily for myself but I would like to also give others some sort of insight into why Im this angry little peacock of a woman. I think a lot of "things" need to make a woman an angry woman. I try not to be but if I face the facts, I am outspoken, wild, non apologetic - most of the time and resilient. If I look at the woman I would like to be like, it would be my grandma- her motto is never gossip- but really how is that possible and where is the line between gossip and venting or discussion...its a fine line and it takes an art to get it down because sometimes we can't keep our mouths shut! It's natural to be angry but it's not natural to bear the reasons behind it. This is painful and embarrassing or really just the fact that you are metaphorically naked for the world to see. Who likes that?

So here it is on the line....


About 5 years ago, my mom told me to find another job...WHAT?? breaks. stop the record. She saw that I was unhappy and needed some separation not from my job but probably from her AND she needed it from me too. So I was angry with her and we didnt talk for about 5 months on and off here and there but didnt talk. In a lot of ways I feel like I was her confidant, I knew all her secrets and cared for her. My mother was a woman that everyone loved. She bent over backwards for everyone and pleasantly came in last place in a lot of ways because she wanted her friends and family to win. She was a woman who kept our extremely large family together for reunions or Holidays and kept them all laughing. She was my grandmothers support and did everything for her. I always felt she did too much and that people took advantage of her and it made me angry because she NEVER said anything. She was a quiet one, but when she blew she blew. Its funny now but scary at the time :) One thing that I knew everyone loved her.


In 2006, the day after Thanksgiving, she had some pain. Well not some pain a lot of pain. She went from doctor to doctor telling her she was crazy. She was sick, down for the count. I didn't think much of it because she was resilient. On my 23rd birthday, I took her to yet another doctor probably the 10th or 11th and she wanted to sleep in the car because she couldn't sit down in the chair, it hurt to bad. The receptionist told her that if she sits in the car and misses her appointment, then she was out of luck. I walked my mom to her car, and she asked me not to leave her. She was scared. I told her I had to go sit inside and wait for the doctor. She said okay. I went into the waiting room and called my dad, told him what had transpired. The receptionist stopped my phone call and rudely stated " If she is SO sick then she should just go to the hospital" I stopped my phone call with my dad and stood up and told that snide angry woman, "this is where the hospital told us to come" probably yelling more than talking. "I continued to tell her to mind her business and worry about her job and not the sick woman crying in the car" Bitoch got my point sat down and played with her paperwork. We finally saw the doctor. My mom gave him the bowl of blood clots she had collected from her body. At that point he said he would not exam her and that she needed to get to the hospital immediately. I took my mom to the hospital, called my brother and had to leave her there to go back to work. Once my brother came I left. She got a diagnosis of Intrasticamitis. I simple infection which needs anti biotics. Ok good. Nothing to worry about. My aunt, a midwife and nurse practitioner decided to take matters into her own hands. She did an exam and found a tumor in her cervix. A tumor the size of of a grapefruit. Cancer. She had cervical cancer. My worry set in but we were assured by a well known best in the biz AZ cancer doctor that she was stage one 1b...good a 90% survival rate. People survive cancer all the time. No worries, a little chemo and back to work. Good.



Days went on and she was still in pain. My heart softened for her. I sat on her bed and brushed her hair. I was going braid it. She cried a little and I cried. When I was little she brushed my hair. I would scream and cry in pain, I would pull it out  and make her do it again and now, It was my turn, she cried but didnt ask me to do it again. I sniffled silently. I said to her "Your not going to die mom, dont worry" She cried and cried and through her sobs, she blurted out "I know I am not". I am not sure at that point if she was scared for herself or for her children who thought that their mother was going to die. She was only 45 years old.


Christmas came and she couldn't get out of bed. We all forced her to because I ran around for the previous two weeks to buy all the presents so this Christmas would be special. Instead of us going to everyone else's house, they came to ours. Something that has been a rare occurrence in my 23 years. I thought this was a little weird. Especially when uncle Gaylord came. Something was up. Was I blind or just oblivious...maybe a little of both. a few days later she went back to the hospital. She was very sick. It was New Years now. My mom told me to go out with my friends. I got dressed and was not ready to party but went out instead. We sat at some bar and watched the fireworks. As I watched them pop in the sky, I cried because she was watching them from a hospital bed. I didn't like the way the nurses treated her at this hospital. They would force her to get up and leave needles in her arms. She was scared. Two weeks she spent there. Then she got to come home. My daily routine stayed the same but when I got home, I would fall apart.



Time went on and went fast. I was tired and pushing it. My family insisted that I stay in school. I had 7 classes that semester. And so I did. I was sitting in a woman's awareness class and my brother called me...it had to be January or something and he said its stage 3b. I asked him what that meant and he said "50% survival rate" I told him I had to go. I sat in class and wet hot tears streamed down my face. But still I was confident that it would be okay. My schedule remained the same. School, work, school, hospital, homework. I would sit at work with my I pod on. My bosses were kind to me. My anxiety levels were heightened and I wasn't sleeping but pushed through. A few days after this, she went to stay at my grandma's house. My brother went to visit her and her blood pressure was so low. My family called the doctor and he said to take her to the hospital. Come to find out that 3 days earlier, she had tested positive for a blood infection. The doctor said it was a mistake but obviously it wasn't. She was back in the hospital. The ICU. I was so mad at that doctor, he is really really happy that he never had to meet me. I was sick, so at first I couldn't visit her. But when I was well enough, I dressed in the gear and went in to see her. We had to be completely covered and couldn't touch her. She was so swollen and sick. She would retain 60 pounds of water weight and then loose it. It was horrible. She was in this coma for two weeks or so. Finally she woke up and was able to move into a room.

January 31st 2007, My cousin gave birth to a little girl. Kadence. I went to see her. Immediately I loved this little girl. We took pictures, I printed them out and took them to my mom. She was in a coma like state and I knew this would wake her up. I went into the room and told her  "mom Kadence was born" She opened her eyes and said "Kadence" smiled and went back to sleep. My mind was at ease. "Good" I thought. Life, life is good. 



It was Valentine's Day. I wrote her a card. When I came in she asked for a hug. I hesitated at first because we are not huggers. I didn't want to because if she is asking for a hug, I knew it had to be serious. I was still at this point optimistic that she would be okay. We would sit then leave sit and leave. I once walked in and she was suspended in a sling from the ceiling to get her blood flowing. It disgusted me. HOW SAD for her. She couldn't move or control her body. I wanted her to fight but you could see it on her face, she was tired. A little worry started to come in when she couldn't remember her computer passwords. She was so mad at herself. I reassured her it would be okay. She was finally able to get a PET scan. That day when I came, I heard my brother crying I walked in and asked him what happened, he told me I had to go and talk to mom. He said he was scared. I told him I would take care of it. As I walked down the hall, I looked at the pictures and saw a sea of my family there. A lot of them. In my mind I thought "what the hell is going on?!" I walked in and my dad was crying and so was my older brother. My dad blurted it out. 5 years, that is what she had. 5 years. I was not satisfied with this. I looked at my brother and screamed. I made her promise to fight, I cried, I threw her food- her ensure. I cried and cried. My aunt walked in the room and my told me I had to talk to her. I told them I didnt want to talk but she made me. As I walked out of the room, I saw my families faces. All of them were red and hot, tears streaming down their face. I looked at all of them. Hurting for me, for themselves and for her. I don't remember what my aunt said to me but it was unacceptable.


She took me to a hospice that night. I didn't understand why we were there. This is where people go to die, every person in here was old. She brought me to her room. I didn't get it, why would we bring her here?! "This is her bed, so comfortable, this is her phone, this is her bathroom, do you see how big it is and nice?" I stood in the bathroom. looked around. "I don't want to bring her here. I don't get it, I don't get it" She held me and we cried.


They transported her there. She fell asleep. There was so  much going on in the world and it all stopped. We would sit in there. 20 of us. The next five days were a blur. I would sit by her bed and remind her to breath. Every 10 seconds "breath mom" And she would. This was sign to me, she could here me and she promised me she would fight. The 21st, I was tired. I wanted to go and sleep. My brothers asked me to stay because they all thought something would happen. I told them it would be fine. The next morning my dad called me and told me to get down there. I got there in 7 minutes and started running. I saw my brother standing outside. I screamed "did I miss it? is she gone? is she gone?" He looked at me and nodded his head, I fell to the ground and cried. He cried. The nurses came and helped me up or checked my blood pressure who knows. I went into the room and hugged her. Her body was there but her spirit was gone. I didn't want to leave. I went outside and texted a few friends. A sat there all of the sudden lost, confused, sad so sad and angry.

My family says that before she took her last breath, she opened her eyes and said "Rhea". Rhea is my great grandmother who died 4 years ago on that exact day. She was there to bring her home. 


So there is the story of the end of her life. The next part will have to wait. 4 years it has been and still it hurts....sometimes it feels like forever and sometimes it feels like just yesterday.... Now let the grieving process begin a sneak peak....



The next nine months are a blur, we planned the funeral, chose the headstone, and laid her to rest. As her life ended and her body rested, mine started to spiral out. In most aspects, I kept it together but at night it was a different story. I started to seem crazy. But it was easier for me at that time to allow people to think I was crazy for one reason rather than let them see what was really bothering me....