On Family and Community...

This past week has been hard. It’s the first week where the amount of pain medicine needed to keep Mom comfortable has exceeded her body's ability to stay conscious and coherent.

The week before was a gift I will treasure forever. Mom’s brother and sister flew in to spend her last “good” week making a few more amazing memories together.

We had several big family dinners gathered around Mom’s giant dinner table. She loved hosting special occasions and it was vitally important that everyone have a place at the table.

Those last meals with Mom were just another example of the grace that has been afforded to our family in this trial. Being all together nourished my soul.

My car accident has limited my already limited mobility. I’m just not as stable on my feet as I was before getting hit. Walking in my current condition doesn’t seem safe anymore. I’m going to start using a wheelchair as my primary means of mobility.

Various reactions to this transition and years of feeling slighted have enabled me to describe and define concept of ableism. I’ve been asked to write an article on the topic that I hope will spark an ableist “Me too” movement.

When I told my daughter about the wheelchair I didn’t anticipate her great swell of emotions. She was simultaneously heartbroken and furious at the guy who hit me. As a father, hearing her revenge fantasy was heartwarming.

Being together with Mom in this moment is proving to be a bonding and life-affirming experience for me, my family, and our community of friends who have come to visit.

Over the past four months, while waiting and hoping the chemo was working, Mom and I have connected and bonded in a way that makes me certain and secure in the eternal nature of her spirit.

She told all the reasons why she didn’t want to die, but if she did have to die, she wasn’t worried because she knew I would carry on her legacy of loving and uniting our family.

She would call me her hero and thank me for refusing to give up when life got hard, and I would tell her the same thing. No matter how many times I told her, she always seem surprised, “Me? Your hero?”

This week was particularly hard because the week before had been so great. A good friend told me how surprised he’d been by the speed of his mom’s decline upon entering hospice.

I’m glad he prepared me because that’s what happened with Mom. She is comfortable and asleep most of the day and night. When she does wake up, she’s still in there, ready to give you one of her beautiful smiles. It’s just a lot fewer smiles than I’m used to.

When Mom’s siblings went home, there was a noticeable void around the house. I loved all the time I got to spend with everybody. I had special moments and meaningful conversations with everyone.

It was also a relief to always have someone nearby that I could ask for help. I’ve been needing a lot more help since the car accident.

This week has been much quieter around the house. I’ve really missed the extra help and late-night chats.

Friends have been stopping by regularly with food for us and flowers for Mom. One night, Mom and Dad’s travel buddies came over for a great dinner full of laughter and reminiscing.

But most of the time, it’s pretty quiet around the house. I moved back in to help Dad and catch as much Mom time as possible.

It is such a blessing when people stop by for a visit. For the time they are here, the energy shifts and the focus changes. The burden of life always feels a little lighter with friends by your side.

I cannot explain the joy I get from hearing stories about my mom or reminiscing about old times. These stories are providing the healing comfort I’m longing for in this moment.

I’m so happy that so many people have sent her flowers. Her room is filled and smells so good. It’s so fun showing her the bouquets and reading her the notes. She will light up the room with pure delight at the sight of more flowers. I’m beyond words blessed by the outpouring of love for Mom.

Everyone says the same thing: please tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you in this moment.

What I need now and want more than anything are people to come over and keep me company.

I’ve been blessed with deeply meaningful conversations with people who love me and have known me my whole life. I’ve also had great laughs with newer friends who don’t know Mom but understand the importance of showing up.

Our family friend and physician came over yesterday. I have been at a loss for what to expect from Mom’s cancer during this time. He explained that cancer cells are hungry buggers. They outcompete healthy cells, growing faster, consuming more and more of the available nutrients. In this way, cancer cells rob healthy cells of the energy needed to live.

At this point, hydration is paramount. She needs a minimum of four ounces of water per day to keep the lights on until cancer turns them off.

Today she drank plenty of water and happily ate a crème brûlée made by her one and only most favorite granddaughter—my baby girl.

The next few weeks are a sacred time for Mom and our family. Mom has spent her whole life intentionally encouraging and loving on the people she happened upon that day. She established meaningful relationships with the people in her life most people might just consider extras.

For example, the bartender from Pita Jungle Ahwatukee stopped by this week with a big bouquet, a card signed by all the servers, and her beautiful baby girl to bless Mom.

If you’ve already come, I hope you come back. If you haven’t come yet, you still have time to come share in celebrating Mom’s life with us.