This is my first time sharing a guest post from someone I’ve only met virtually. My family has graciously received story after story from friends around us of their shared experience losing a parent and the grief that follows. My brother, Michael shared with our family when Troy’s mom’s cancer continued to spread. We prayed for her knowing the pain of losing a parent. Troy’s mom soon lost her battle to cancer on this side of Heaven. Michael shared when he and Troy met, they both hugged with no words, but eyes full of tears.
We would have never anticipated the stories we would hear and share this year with new friends and old. May we slow down our own plans and priorities and attune ourselves to receive and share in life’s joys and sufferings with those who God brings in our path. Thanks for sharing, Troy.
(taken October 23rd 1988, on my way to boot camp)
The world somehow feels different now. Every day I wake up, there is an unexplainable emptiness –an emptiness of having lost one of the greatest gifts of life -a parent’s unconditional love.
The emptiness feels like a small child who ventures out from safety, then they return to home base for a safe reunion. For me, home base was my parents. As we get older, we venture further from that base. One day, we leave for good to start college or in my case, to join the Navy. However far away we go, that familiar comfort of home base will always be there when we return. Even in my midlife, I have a loving family of my own away from “home”, yet I know there is a home base beyond the four walls I now call home.
I knew home and its dependability, but the security of having a home base died for me on Feb 15th at 11:05pm when my mom took her last breath.
The gravity of such a loss threw me into stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, in that order – or so I think. 8 months. 8 months since her diagnosis with pancreatic cancer. I guess the grief really began then, June 28th, 2016.
I thought at the time, of writing this piece, I was reaching acceptance. I am only just now accepting the diagnosis. This could not possibly happen to my mother and definitely not the end result. It still seems so unimaginable.
The very week of Christmas we learned that chemotherapy was having no affect on the tumor. In fact, the tumor had grown and spread to other organs. The doctor recommended that my mom surround herself with loved ones and enjoy each day until the end. She still seemed so full of life. It just couldn’t be real.
Each week she became weaker and weaker. Each passing minute, a hopeless step closer to the inevitable.
In the last 3 weeks of her life, I woke up everyday to confront and face the reality again and again. It felt like the movie Groundhog Day. Each day, I began the process of grief again. Every morning, it felt new and still so unbelievable again. By the end of the day, there was peace. And then just like clock work, I would wake up and feel the same sadness I had the morning before.
On the day she died, I have never felt more relieved. Then, the relief was replaced with gravity. Gravity of my “home base” being lost forever. Again. Every morning new and empty. Of course, my geographical “home” will always be in the same place, but my safety of my mother’s unconditional love will be missed forever.
Today is March 3, 2017 – a whole 2 weeks and 1.5 days since my mother passed away and every morning it is new. New and empty, the pain repeating itself and then the peace, followed by another painful morning.
I miss you, Mommy.