It’s been almost 7 years.
Sometimes it feels like yesterday when I would hear you shouting, “Hey Dee” as I walked in the door. Other times it feels like it’s been a lifetime since that week.
The week that we celebrated our last Thanksgiving together and you played with your first grandchild, the only one you’d know. The week that we decorated the house for Christmas and I shared with you the name I’d want if I ever had a child, a little girl, of my own.
It’s hard to believe it was the same week that I stood writhing in pain as I watched them remove you from life support.
That breast cancer diagnosis forever changed our lives. I wish I could tell you that everything is fine without you….it’s not, but we move forward as we know you would want us to.
I always say you died from breast cancer. We both know that’s only partially true. The cancer was gone…. you were lucky and caught it early. It’s hard to explain that the treatment killed you. It’s hard to share that you were taken from us on your very last day of chemotherapy……a day that should have been full of celebrating.
Anaphylactic Reaction. Fatal. Rare. But it happens.
It happened to you.
It happened to us.
It changed me forever.
I try not to scare those who need chemotherapy, as it can be a necessary evil, but I want them to be informed, to ask questions……a gazillion questions. Get a second and third opinion. Bring someone just a step removed to the appointments so they really “hear” what the doctor says and takes notes. Ask even more questions. Know the risks.
You died……and my heart breaks every time I say it, or think it, or hear my little girl (the one you never met) say…..”your mommy will come back soon”.
Every 69 seconds a woman dies of breast cancer.
But you are more than a number, a statistic. You are my mom and I love you!
(Join me this month as I host my annual breast cancer awareness blog event in memory of my mom. It will be full of informational posts, personal posts, and a more).