Pain by numbers

I look back now and wonder if she was dying that day at the beach, or that weekend at my cousin’s wedding. If the monster was already there, breaking her body down one cell at a time. Stalking her organs and ambushing her insides. The cancer had won before she even knew to fight.

I was 24 years old when my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and I was 24 years old when she died from the disease. The whole experience organized in my mind by numbers. On the day she died, I was 24 years old, my baby was 1, my brother 22, my dad 66 and my mom 57. She was diagnosed when she was 56; the cancer was in stage 4. Before the diagnosis, she'd been sick for 3 months. After the diagnosis, she was sick for 7 months, before dying at 6:30pm on 10/1/99. I was 45 minutes from home when she slipped away.

In a period of 18 months, I brought one life into this world and helped another leave. Everyday, I packed up my toddler and drove the 35 minutes to my parents’ home where I spent the days feeding my mom food she wouldn’t eat, driving her to doctors who did nothing, and brought her water for painkillers which did little.

Weeks before she died, high on narcotics, her eyes fixed on the living room, patio sliding glass doors, she said, “At Christmastime, you'll put the tree there, and the lights will sparkle.” She didn’t survive long enough to see that Christmas tree. But I did...somehow...I survived.

This post was originally published on 2012 Body Blogger Calendar a few weeks ago. As one of the twelve bloggers in this year's 2012 Body Blogger Calender I, along with the eleven other bloggers, were asked to write about 'a personal story of survival.' This was mine.

Proceeds from this year's calendar will go to support Violence UnSilenced. I'm not sure when the calendars will be available to purchase, but, when they are, I'll let you know so that you can buy one, or two, or three, or more!