My sweet mama

My mom died today.

Eight years ago today.

In some ways it seems like just yesterday. It some ways, it seems like I never even knew her. At all.  I can’t really remember the sound of her voice. When I try to recollect her voice, I hear the sound of her when she was sick, and it was not her, not the real her. I miss the sound of her laugh. She had a great laugh. It was genuine and from the heart. From the belly.

I miss her so much.

And yet, I feel like I don’t remember her at all. It’s as if she was never here at all.

She was awesome. So awesome. And she would want to spank me with the wooden spoon for being so unhappy and ungrateful for what I do have and for cussing so much.

Some times, I really hate those whose moms are still alive. I hate those whose moms are still healthy. If you have a mom, and she’s alive, I hate you. If you have a mom, and she’s healthy, I hate you.

Maybe that makes me small & petty & hateful. I can allow for that and I don’t care . It’s not rational, and I know that. It’s not logical, yet I don’t give 2 shits. You did nothing wrong, yet I feel the way I feel. I hate you. Could not care less. I hate you nonetheless. Even if you & your mama don’t have all that great a relationship and even if she drives you crazy or she’s distant or she’s not what you want or expect or need…I don’t care. I still hate you. Because she’s here. And mine is not. And that makes me hate you. All of you.

Happy YaYaThat’s what cancer does.

I hate cancer.

I fucking hate cancer.

13 Comments on “My sweet mama”

  1. Editor says:

    Raging for you … I cannot imagine the empty space.
    By Heaney:
    I thought of walking round and round a space
    Utterly empty, utterly a source
    Where the decked chestnut tree had lost its place
    In our front hedge above the wallflowers.
    The white chips jumped and jumped and skited high.
    I heard the hatchet’s differentiated
    Accurate cut, the crack, the sigh
    And collapse of what luxuriated
    Through the shocked tips and wreckage of it all.
    Deep-planted and long gone, my coeval
    Chestnut from a jam jar in a hole,
    Its heft and hush became a bright nowhere,
    A soul ramifying and forever
    Silent, beyond silence listened for.

  2. Cristlc says:

    I totally understand. I am 42. 5 years out from breast cancer and living with the results. I lost my mom to breast cancer when she was 38 and I was 12. I am 42 now. My next mother figure was my dads sister who also died from breast cancer. I was dx in 2009 and my dad, father, best friend, mother figure was dx with stage 4 kidney cancer and unrelated esaphageal cancer. I hate cancer. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. After telling my husband, who married me during breast cancer treatment, he had no idea how I felt – my sweet father in law now has miserable esaphageal cancer and again worse to see people I care about go through this. I hate it. It isn’t fair. Your words Speak volumes

  3. Susan says:

    My mom is still here, but not really. She was too sick to remember my birthday this year, but I still called her and could hear her voice. I understand the jealousy much more than ever though. I just saw a picture on Facebook today of a friend and her mom happily out to lunch. And I was jealous. Because in a few hours, I’m heading to the nursing home to see my mom. Not out to lunch, or shopping, or getting our nails done. And, while I’ll be talking to her, and can touch her, she won’t remember I was there by the next day. It is so insanely hard to lose your mom. To watch your mom go. I’m so sorry, Nancy. And I’m scared, because I know the pain will still be fresh years from now, and that’s hard to face, too. Sending you hugs!

  4. Barb Fernald says:

    It’s rough, that’s for sure. xoxo

  5. i am so sorry for your pain, nancy. I hate myself, because my mom is still alive, just lost in the miasma of early dementia, and I sometimes do not call her because it hurts that she doesn’t remember and we really have no meaningful conversation that she will be able to participate in. she lives far away. i have to try harder to think less of my feelings and be a presence for her, even if it’s only for the time we talk, and i remind her that i am her daughter, and share happy memories so she can smile, even if it’s only for awhile, over the telephone. you can hate me – i deserve it. XOXOX, karen

  6. Catherine says:

    Sending you a big virtual hug, Nancy.

  7. mmr says:

    Thanks for being honest. Another MX friend told me some days she hates everyone who still has their boobs. Cancer causes so much pain– taking people away from us, taking away body parts and happiness, emphasizing the not so perfect parts of being human. The mom who gave birth to me has hurt me even more by not showing concern throughout my BC ordeal– she didn’t even call me before or after the 21 hour surgery. Her mother had MX and has dementia and it upsets her greatly to see me since she somehow remembers what happened to me, so I don’t visit her anymore. My “real” mom, my paternal grandmother who raised me, died about a year before I was diagnosed. I wish I’d had her there for me when I was scared, but then again I was very grateful that she wasn’t there to be worried and helpless as I know she would have felt. My uncle, my dad’s only sibling, died of cancer a year or so before she died and I think his cancer broke her spirit. I’m so grateful that she didn’t have to endure my pain too. And I’m sorry my son has had to endure the past couple of traumatic years. Still, I’m here to watch him start college and so very grateful for that. One of my friends, with a daughter the same age, was not able to see that day thanks to BC. Cancer sucks.

  8. I’m sorry.

    I love this post though.

    And I’m sorry.

  9. Alexis says:

    Praying that the Lord will restore you with joy and love. You deserve to be happy!

  10. Robbi says:

    I agree with you 100%! I am so envious of people that still have their moms. The 2 year anniversary of my moms passing was a couple of weeks ago and I can’t even function on that day. I actually had someone say that 2 years is long enough to grieve and that I should be moving on. I lost my mom when I was only 32, we lived together and she was my best friend. I don’t think anybody that still has their mom regardless of their relationship has a right to EVER tell me how I should feel. I want to kick people that gripe about their moms. I want to say “At least she is here, because she could be gone like mine.” I got jipped out of years with my Mama because of stupid cervical cancer. I just wanted you to know you are not alone with wanting to hurt and hate people that still have their moms!

  11. I’m sorry. I hear you. Sometimes I have those same irrational thoughts. I remember one nurse telling me at the end when my mom was slowly dying, “Other than the breast cancer, your mom is really healthy – and she has such a strong heart, that’s why it’s taking so long…” lots to be angry about sometimes isn’t there? I hate cancer too.

    Thanks for being so honest about your feelings. The photo is precious.

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