Just Breathe

I work at a doctors office so I know it’s impossible to avoid hearing or seeing the word cancer, but when I do it still gets me a little. Every time I’m charting and see the cancer box checked, I have to take a moment to collect myself… because that terrible disease is what turned my life upside. Usually I can take deep breaths and count to ten and be fine, but today was a different story.

Today, not only was the box checked off but written next to it was endocervical cancer… and I completely lost it. I set aside the same chart maybe five different times before I was even able to type those words…


One of the hardest parts of grieving the loss of my mom is watching my dad grieve too. I’ve actually never ever seen my dad cry so hard or so much in my life, because he’s always been the happy one. My mom was the silly one and my dad was the happy one because he had her by his side. They were married for 45 years and never spent more than a few days apart from each other. It’s heart breaking watching him be so lost and lonely without her. I can’t even begin to comprehend what he must be going though, I’m having a hard enough time grieving her loss as her daughter… imagine losing the love of your life. They say no marriage is perfect, but man was my parent’s marriage pretty damn close. I’ve never seen two people more in love with each other. Seeing him without her is painful, he rarely smiles or laughs anymore… he barely even wants to talk or be around any of us, but I can’t blame him because I know he’s trying his best.

Right after she passed I remember him saying to us he wasn’t going to be able to do this, he wouldn’t be able to live without her. She was his everything and now he was alone, he couldn’t imagine waking up every single day and having to relive the sad reality that she was really gone.

Yesterday he turned on the television for the first time since she passed and was watching a show they use to watch together, I could see how much it hurt him to have to continue doing things without her. He sat curled up on the couch, trying so hard to focus on anything other than her memory. For once he even stayed up passed 8 o’clock and I even caught him fighting off a smile here and there.

Four weeks today

I still can’t really sleep, I toss and turn in my bed trying to get cozy enough to catch some z’s but sleep never lasts for long. I think I spend most of my nights staring into the darkness asking God to make sense of what happened. It’s been 672 hours; 672 hours since I was last able to hear your voice or feel the warm of your skin. If it weren’t for everyone around me I don’t think I’d be able to do anything, let alone remember what day it was. Just like that it’s already been four weeks without you mom. I can’t keep track of how many times I’ve gone through every single photo of you I have saved on my phone. I think my worst fear at this point is forgetting you… time flies by so quickly stopping for no one, I can’t imagine living my life in a world where you’re just a memory. That seems so far fetched to me that my memories of you are all I really have left. How is that ever enough for anyone who is grieving the loss of someone so dear to them? But then again I guess we don’t really have a choice, do we?

I wish you were still here, not that I would want you to be in pain again because I really don’t want that; but because I miss you. I guess that’s even a little selfish to say, isn’t it? To wish you were still here knowing that you were in so much pain…

Mom, I wish more than anything in the world that there was a cure for your cancer; that there were something we could have done to save you. You deserved more.