March 30, 1958

Shit. What is there to even say? I guess there is a lot, but it all seems like a very bad dream. The holiday season has been intense. Knowing that this has been my Mom's last thanksgiving, Christmas, and will be her last New Years, is tough. There is so much to acknowledge, and process, but it just seems so surreal. My mom has had cancer for a few years now. For almost a year, my Mom has been in a state of decline. It has been slow and merciful, until right around thanksgiving. Since then it has been merciless and aggressive. Her condition worsens daily, which is notable because I didn't know that the living suffered this way. Her liver is shutting down. She is constantly in pain. She weighs 90 lbs, and has almost zero body fat. She eats less than 400 calories a day. I try to make her comfortable. I try to back off from taking care of her when my sisters and aunt are here, so that they will feel the love of caring. I feel like a failure. I feel embarrassed to have problems when my mother is suffering so much. I feel selfish. I wonder if other people feel guilty in these types of situations, and I hope that nobody has ever been in this situation. This fucking sucks.
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My mom is going to die in my house. I want that for her. I want her to know that it's alright - that it won't ruin us. I want her to know that we're going to be alright. I want her to be sure that we're going to have children, and lovers and successes and failures. I want her to know that we're going to cherish our memories of her. I want her to know that our successes are her successes, even after she's gone. I want her to know that her life means so much to me; and that her death means. . . I guess I don't know what it means yet. But I know that we will be alright.
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I want my mom to know that my children will know who she was. They will know that she liked to ride bikes in the sunshine. She liked to work hard when it was worth it. She didn't stop pedaling on steep hills, but would strafe side to side until she reached the top. When we got to the top, she would marvel at the beauty of Mount Hood in the distance, and her children, so healthy and radiant and near. We would tease her for riding twice as far as us to get to the top of the hill, and she would smile, happy to have made it. Our children will know that their grandmother was a kind person. That she would have loved to show them what it meant to be a grandchild. She would have spoiled them terribly, and I would have been annoyed, but I would have complained very quietly, and I would not have pressed the issue. I and my children will celebrate her birthday, March 30th, 1958, for the rest of my life.
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Things are rough here. But we're going to be alright. I love my mother.