This blog is my attempt at having my feelings heard about the loss of my mother and the grief I am overcome with since her diagnosis of breast cancer in October 2007 and her passing in March 2009. Even if no one ever reads it, I am comforted that it is posted and that somewhere in the abyss of the world wide web I can share my feelings and thoughts publicly. Which is something I can not comfortably do face to face with most people. My other small hope is that maybe it can give people some insider information on how to deal with a friend who is grieving the loss of a loved one and not fall prey to the absurd and often extremely insensitive and ridiculous ways society tells us to extend sympathy. One thing I wish to make clear is that I am not asking for pity or sympathy, just hoping for peace of mind and clarity along this extremely rough path I am forced to follow and writing seems to be my best option for both of those desires.
I should begin with a little background information about my mom. First and foremost, she wasn't just my mom, she was my best friend. As corny as that may sound, its very true, so let me make that clear. My mother's given name was Margaret Rosanne (Michael) Canavan, however she used her middle name, Rosanne exclusively. But from a very early age her father, I am told, started calling her Posie and the nickname stuck with her throughout her life. To her sisters, she was always Posie, often Rosie Posie. To her many cherished nieces and nephews, Aunt Posie. I myself often used the name Posie interchangeably with mom or mama. It just fit. Hence the title of my blog.
My mom was the proverbial mother to not only her two children by birth, but to everyone she knew. Her friends, her coworkers, her family, her acquaintances; whether younger or older than she, she always had a tinge of mother hen in her works and dealings with everyone she came in contact with. Her life's work was helping others. She was the most charitable person, close to sainthood. She was always doing something for someone else, helping out, lending a hand, always going above and beyond. And she always did so with the purest of hearts. Selflessly, she found herself in helping others. Those of you who were blessed to know her understand what I mean by that. Posie had an amazing inner personal strength that stemmed from her unwavering faith. Even in her most difficult life trials, she found the courage to keep going, move forward, extend forgiveness, learn from the past, but embrace each new day with hope. The woman was simply amazing. When I hear the term "amazing grace" I think of her. She gracefully embraced the meaning of life with such an amazing heart. And my heart aches this incredible, unfathomable loneliness in her absence.
I will never forget the evening in October of 2007 that my dad called me at home with life shattering news. The phone rang a couple times before I reached it. I was not in the mood for conversation that night and had let several previous calls go to voicemail. Without the benefit of caller id, my heart overrode my aching head and said,"answer this call, NOW". It was my dad and he told me I needed to make the short half hour trek from Corvallis to Lebanon, it was of great urgency. He did not want to tell me why, but I advised him that driving with the knowledge of what I was to face, no matter how terrible, would be better than driving clueless and being out of my mind with anxiety and worry. So he said it. The words that I had dreaded and feared the most in my life. Ever since my maternal grandmother had died in '94.... He said, "your mom is very sick and in the hospital." Instantly I knew why. Without any details into her condition, diagnosis, or prognosis, I knew it was breast cancer, the same thing that had taken my grandmother. For years I had begged and pleaded with her to be sure to have her mammograms and she always eased my fears with, "you have nothing to worry about. I'm fine". Only now do I see the flaw in my contentment with that statement. She never said, "I had one recently. I've been to the doctor, I'm okay. My next mammogram is___. The test results were fine". She saw to it that everyone but her self was taken care of.
And so began her journey, our family's journey, my grief, our grief. That first night at the hospital the prognosis the doctors offered was devastating. My knees crumbled when I heard, "she most likely won't make it to the end of the month". But she did. And for 17 more months she fought the cancer valiantly. During that time I didn't allow myself to completely feel the grief the my heart was aching from and that was due to her invincible spirit. She kept us all going, how I do not know, but she never felt sorry for herself and didn't let us feel sorry for her either.
The night she died, I knew it instantly when it happened, though I was not by her side. And although grief and mourning set in instantly, it wasn't the full blown, in your face, "YOUR-MOTHER- IS-DEAD" version. It was the coping, "there-are-so-many-things-to-be-taken-care-of-and-do-first" version. Sure I bawled my eyes out, I yelled and screamed, I got angry, all of those "normal" grieving things to do. But it wasn't until a few weeks later when the adrenaline wore off and I really "felt" it. I won't say that anyone who has been through this will know what I mean when I say that. Maybe no one can identify and then again maybe every person on this planet who has lost a beloved mother knows full well what I'm talking about. All I know is that this is me and what I am going through and all I want is a tiny voice in this vast universe to express my emotions and hopefully, God will have mercy on me, and allow me to understand my crazy, mixed up, jumbled thoughts and I might entertain the hope of once again having a clear thought in my head.
