I made it to March

It’s March. Halleluia.

I’ve been through some dark days in December when we found out Mom had cancer throughout her abdomen. Then we found out it was advanced, incurable pancreatic cancer that had metastacized. Then her oncologist told us she had maybe 4 to 12 months to live if we provided nothing but comfort care. In retrospect, that amount of time would have been a joyous gift.

The second day after we found Mom’s cancer was a very dark day when Dad started having breathing problems and we called the ambulance to take him to the hospital. As I watched his monitored blood pressure drop and listened to doctors talk about a massive infection and sepsis, I prayed Dad could hold on a little longer. Mom needed him now.

When I pushed my dad in his wheelchair into the dining hall at his new home in the nursing care facility a week later and he started to cry when he looked around and saw the company he was in, it was a very dark day indeed.

But there were darker, pitch-black days to come. I am still not able to write about it and the vivid memories that continue to plague me at unannounced times during the days.

In fact, I have difficulty writing about anything at all right now and getting my brain and my fingers on the keyboard to cooperate.  Yesterday’s “After Mardi Gras” post took me much longer than it should have to write. But I feel more comfortable talking about non-emotional things right now, and that’s where I think I should focus my efforts.

Someday maybe I’ll share the days I’ve spent at Mom and Dad’s house, emptying drawers of memorabilia, sorting, judging, saving or throwing away their life’s small scraps of treasures. But not today.

Today it is March, even though it is still dark outside at this early hour, and even though there are snow flurries in the foreast and a high temperature prediction of only 37 degrees. I know there will be days of spring this month.

Last year my post on this date, Welcome March, oh month who brings sweet spring, received the honor of being freshly pressed. This year I am barely slogging through. This month I have a birthday to get through without the annual arrival of flowers from my mother. So many things to get through that lie ahead.

But today is March. And March gives me hope.

18 thoughts on “I made it to March”

  1. Hi Christine .. life will ease – and I hope you’ll get flowers from the family instead … Spring cheers the soul, however dark it feels, life will improve, those adjustments made, and the realisation you did so much for your parents – with many thoughts – Hilary

    1. Thanks for your continued support Hilary. It means a lot to me, especially knowing you speak from recent experience. It’s cold and lightly snowing here right now.

  2. March comes in and life continues on for you without your parents. Heartbreaking but the promise of their new life is evident in the spring flowers you will soon be seeing. Hang on tight and hold on to their memories, Christine. And keep writing—-I have to believe it helps. Hugs.

    1. Thanks, Beth Ann. I have my weak moments, but mostly I am doing okay. I’m functional for the most part, although my dining room has been commandeered for stuff that I want to sort, scan, keep, contend with. I don’t know how long it will take to dig myself out from under all of that. You know how that is too, I imagine.

    1. I know. Thanks, William. I need to get back to you about your mother and find out how things are going. As bad as the news is, I’m so glad she has the option of treatment and fighting. Wishing you both strength.


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