It's been a year now since we last posted anything and it's kind of hard to get started again...what do we catch up on, what do we skip? As we thought about this a little, we realized that one thing dominated this last year and we think it's important to start with that. Danielle's mom, Maggie, passed away on June 9, 2013 after a hard-fought battle with breast cancer.
Grandma (2nd from left) with her siblings and mom.
This single life experience occupied much of the love, energy, sorrow, hope, and eventual sadness that our family was able to endure. While we had some really wonderful times over the last year, which we'll post about a little later, we wanted to pay tribute to the enormity of this event. We do this blog so that our children might look back and see a little historical timeline of our lives together. We hope that they will see this post as one to help them remember Grandma and understand how losing her, and knowing the first hand effect that cancer has on a family, can be both a positive and negative experience. But either way, it is life, raw and unfiltered, and we are ready to talk about it a bit.
(Grandma during Christmas 2012, at the cancer center - still smiling)
Grandma moved to Denver in August of 2011 from Salem, OR. She was diagnosed with breast cancer earlier that year and had gone through a single masesctomy, along with radiation and chemo through the early part of 2011. When she got to Denver, she finally made it to see an oncologist and get her first PET scan after surgery in November of 2011.
Harlow sitting with Grandma in her hospital bed. She was in and out of the hospital several times in the last few months of her life.
Danielle went with her to the PET scan reading (and all subsequent PET scan readings) and the news was bad...the cancer was up and down her spine - in 7 places (or so), including her C1. That posed quite a risk so she began radiation on the C1 within days. That was the start of many rounds of chemo, and one round of radiation. By the next PET scan, the tumor in the C1 was virtually gone, but new tumors had emerged. There was a mix of reduction and new tumors. The news again, not good. Those PET scan appointments were by far the hardest things to sit through together. Danielle and Grandmas would wait for Dr. Schewe to come in and give us the news. It was never good, and Grandma was often devastated, sometimes crying, as he read the news. We both knew that the cancer was winning.
But remarkably, Grandma always asked, "so what is the next treatment?". Dr. Schewe would refer us to Dr. Kantor for the next treatment and we would wait a few days before seeing the oncologist. There seemed to always be another option, as explained to us - breast cancer has 10 (now 11 we believe) "regimens" (treatments). By the end, Grandma had tried 9. She wanted desparately to try the 10th, despite that she was almost immobile by the time this would have happened. She told Danielle several times in her last weeks that she just wanted to see it through, just try all the options. It might have been possible, given that the last chemo option was a pill and she might been able to have home assessments (rather than needing to go in) with her home health care option, but the decision was made to put her in hospice and she was never given the opportunity to see it through. This is something that has remained very hard for us, especially given that Grandma told us many times that she really wanted this, but didn't want to "be a pain". We learned so much from watching Grandma die, especially about respecting a person't desire to die in a certain way, and the importance of that.
The last few months of Grandma's life were really hard and most of our time - outside of our normal family and work obligations - was spent with her. Danielle was at appointments with her, either check ups, chemo, or other things several times a week. As Grandma's health declined she was as determined as ever to do things her way - which was always the way she lived and reflected her fiesty spirit. At times, she didn't take very good care of herself, not eating and getting confused with her medications, but she was resilient and persistent. Once she went into hospice care, all of that stopped and a huge void entered our lives, where we could no longer help to take care of her and what was once a mutliple times a week opportunity to love and care for her came to a sudden stop. She became completely immobile and very aware that she was coming to the end of her life. This was hard because she didn't make that choice and she was never quite at ease with how the process was happening. Grandma was not one of those people that made the most of this - it was not her way - no, she was sad, sometimes angry, sometimes peaceful, always kind of somber. Her last few weeks were a mix of memories, lots of family visits (thank God for all those family visits - they made her so happy), struggles, and in the end silence and pain. Watching her go was one of the most painful things we have every experienced. But we know that she is freed from her pain now, that she is an angel in Heaven, and that her memory will forever remain strong in our household.
When Olivia looks at the evening sky and sees the bright orange, pinks, and yellows that sometimes appear, she now always very confidently says "look, that's Grandma, sending us a message." She even did this while we were out car shopping once, declaring this to the saleswoman. It was hard not to cry. Danielle's mother would always say that the beautiful skies were the angels baking cookies, and we have passed this sentiment on to our girls. It is so comforting when Olivia makes this declaration - and without even a remote doubt - that her Grandma is in Heaven, looking down on her, sending her messages. I know the bond between Olivia and her Grandma will always be strong because of her memories and these reminders.
What we all wouldn't give for one more day with Grandma, to hear her funny stories, see her big smile, and learn from all her clever thoughts about the world. She died too soon. As we await the birth of our third child, any day now, her void is bigger than ever. We have two voicemails that we've saved for 4 and a half years now...the first was the day that Olivia was born, and the second is from the day Harlow was born. Both are Grandma telling us how happy she is, how she loves the girls' names, and even crying through one. Knowing that we will not be getting that call when this baby is born is very hard to think about. We miss her, we miss her beautiful, eccentric spirit. The void that is here will take a long time to fill.
May the Long Time Sun Shine Upon You
All Love Surround You
And the Pure Light Within You
Guide Your Way On
