|An early ad for Chesterfields|
I never read Mom's notebook, but in my world it was filled with notes reminding her to praise her other
|The "Cancer" Diary|
Mom's routine didn't change after that day, with one small exception. She'd still sit at the table drinking her coffee or water, and casually rediscover her chirping stuffed birds and the new cards and letters that
|Reminding people of things can be painful|
At some point, it may have been weeks, or days, I don't remember (FYI, that's why I write blogs, I have a spot for all my memories), it was decided that ultimately it was cruel to remind Mom each day that she might have cancer. That page from her notebook disappeared and the chirping of the stuffed birds stopped being interrupted by gasps and shocked exclamations. Things became routine in the house once again. The ultimate irony came a year or two later when, just prior to her death, Mom had another chest X-Ray and the spot on her lungs had not grown at all and the cancer diagnosis was removed. This reaffirmed our decision to remove the page from the memory notebook, but could you imagine how we would have felt if we hadn't? Elder care is not that different from parenting, you try to get it right all the time, but you rarely do, so you settle for "close enough" (A quick shout out to my 10th grade Geometry teacher Mr. Weinel, who taught me that "Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades and sometimes, dancing") That's my funny "cancer story", and if we meet on the street and I try and tell it again, feel free to remind me that you've heard it.
|The chirpy birds with their new owner Oretta|