Cancer

It’s seven AM. I wake up but I’m late! I know any minute - My Grandmother will enter my home. In a flurry, telling me what she did and did not. I run to the stairs and there she is. Enters at a speed that I swear could throw you to the ground. She has finished her rounds: Car wash, Costco, Office Depot and Home Depot. Things Cancer will steal from her. What matters to me: A dozen doughnuts. Eleven with windows and One devil’s food, half eaten. She couldn’t resist or wait.

It’s seven PM. My “Alicia radar” has gone off. I can feel the car approaching from a mile away. She’s at the door now. Her mood is heavy. You can always tell what kind of mood My Grandmother is in. Doesn’t matter. I know it’s seven PM and a plastic red, sticky steakhouse booth is waiting for us. I promise you, everyone. Everyone knows when Alicia enters a room. She has yet to realize the force of her personal magnetism. I scooch into a booth. A man is taking our order. Numerous Cokes for me and dry martini(s) for her. No olives. She will share the cocktail onions with me when I’m older. I settle into the booth and I know I’ll be taking a “booth nap” later. I shut my eyes. I can still hear a man taking our order and another man, tonight’s entertainment. He sings crooners, Frank Sinatra.

It’s mid day afternoon . September twenty first. I got a call hours ago, warning me that she’s on her way. I know I should be ready. I’m late! She enters my home, again. This time, again - Doughnuts and Ice cream in hand. I’m at the stairs. I blink and she’s gone. I saw her with an ice cream in her mouth. Her mood is heavy. We feel like home to each other. Time froze and I take a mental picture. Oblivious and not ready for what Cancer will take from her. It’s all the above.

Seven AM, she forgets who I am. She’s insistent that she has a meeting to attend, a document to proof-read and list to do. We have to convince her those days are gone. It’s Seven PM. She’s folding a blanket for the third time. She’s packing candles, thinking they’re her clothes, she’s pleading for her phone. Not realizing she is home. I’m not thirty- three. I’ve become eight again. I’m in her way for a very important round to make. Yet she has not left the house in days.

Cancer brain is real. I see it every night at seven PM. Instead of waiting at the door for doughnuts - I duck and cover. Instead of her burst through the door. It’s a friend, a colleague. Reaching for her door, waking her up. Without caring that we JUST calmed her down just enough so she gets only minutes of sleep. Or us, minutes of peace? I do not wake her up anymore. To say goodbye, maybe my last. She does not remember me in the mornings. In the evenings only. Her eyes search for me in the mornings. She saves me my special seat at the breakfast table. I’m at work, where she wished to be. I hope one day her mind retires. Instead of re-tired.

She can still shift the energy of the room. It’s now feels like a waiting room. People, wait to see her. It’s not her! Yet, they look away when she asks what’s your name? Skin and bones. Sticks and stones, still won’t break her bones and it definitely won’t break our home. When did holding her hand while crossing the street turn into holding her back…from leaving a house that is mine. It’s been hers the whole time, too. Seven PM. I’m not taking a nap in a booth, I’m soothing her to sleep, I’m holding her hand as we walk her to a seat, for a ten-minute sleep. Visitors try and not weep, too late - I do that in my sleep.

Cancer brain. Cancel our subscription to this pain. I watch people. People sleep, people eat. People enter. People leave. What’s my age again? What’s my name? I’m your grand-daughter, let us explain.

Let’s get on a plane, let’s do rounds again. The only rounds I know now.. is seven PM, pills for the pain. Cancer brain. People who awed and gawked at her beauty now wince at her pain. Silence please, she’s trying to sleep. I can no longer hear her enter a room. I can see her confused.

I’ll miss Seven PM and I hope her cancer brain doesn’t leave a stain. She’s my home, heart and let us explain her cancer brain.

#Cancers #Dementia

It’s seven AM. I wake up but I’m late! I know any minute - My Grandmother will enter my home. In a flurry, telling me what she did and did not. I run to the stairs and there she is. Enters at a speed that I swear could throw you to the ground. She has finished her rounds: Car wash, Costco, Office Depot and Home Depot. Things Cancer will steal from her. What matters to me: A dozen doughnuts. Eleven with windows and One devil’s food, half eaten. She couldn’t resist or wait.

It’s seven PM. My “Alicia radar” has gone off. I can feel the car approaching from a mile away. She’s at the door now. Her mood is heavy. You can always tell what kind of mood My Grandmother is in. Doesn’t matter. I know it’s seven PM and a plastic red, sticky steakhouse booth is waiting for us. I promise you, everyone. Everyone knows when Alicia enters a room. She has yet to realize the force of her personal magnetism. I scooch into a booth. A man is taking our order. Numerous Cokes for me and dry martini(s) for her. No olives. She will share the cocktail onions with me when I’m older. I settle into the booth and I know I’ll be taking a “booth nap” later. I shut my eyes. I can still hear a man taking our order and another man, tonight’s entertainment. He sings crooners, Frank Sinatra.

It’s mid day afternoon . September twenty first. I got a call hours ago, warning me that she’s on her way. I know I should be ready. I’m late! She enters my home, again. This time, again - Doughnuts and Ice cream in hand. I’m at the stairs. I blink and she’s gone. I saw her with an ice cream in her mouth. Her mood is heavy. We feel like home to each other. Time froze and I take a mental picture. Oblivious and not ready for what Cancer will take from her. It’s all the above.

Seven AM, she forgets who I am. She’s insistent that she has a meeting to attend, a document to proof-read and list to do. We have to convince her those days are gone. It’s Seven PM. She’s folding a blanket for the third time. She’s packing candles, thinking they’re her clothes, she’s pleading for her phone. Not realizing she is home. I’m not thirty- three. I’ve become eight again. I’m in her way for a very important round to make. Yet she has not left the house in days.

Cancer brain is real. I see it every night at seven PM. Instead of waiting at the door for doughnuts - I duck and cover. Instead of her burst through the door. It’s a friend, a colleague. Reaching for her door, waking her up. Without caring that we JUST calmed her down just enough so she gets only minutes of sleep. Or us, minutes of peace? I do not wake her up anymore. To say goodbye, maybe my last. She does not remember me in the mornings. In the evenings only. Her eyes search for me in the mornings. She saves me my special seat at the breakfast table. I’m at work, where she wished to be. I hope one day her mind retires. Instead of re-tired.

She can still shift the energy of the room. It’s now feels like a waiting room. People, wait to see her. It’s not her! Yet, they look away when she asks what’s your name? Skin and bones. Sticks and stones, still won’t break her bones and it definitely won’t break our home. When did holding her hand while crossing the street turn into holding her back…from leaving a house that is mine. It’s been hers the whole time, too. Seven PM. I’m not taking a nap in a booth, I’m soothing her to sleep, I’m holding her hand as we walk her to a seat, for a ten-minute sleep. Visitors try and not weep, too late - I do that in my sleep.

Cancer brain. Cancel our subscription to this pain. I watch people. People sleep, people eat. People enter. People leave. What’s my age again? What’s my name? I’m your grand-daughter, let us explain.

Let’s get on a plane, let’s do rounds again. The only rounds I know now.. is seven PM, pills for the pain. Cancer brain. People who awed and gawked at her beauty now wince at her pain. Silence please, she’s trying to sleep. I can no longer hear her enter a room. I can see her confused.

I’ll miss Seven PM and I hope her cancer brain doesn’t leave a stain. She’s my home, heart and let us explain her cancer brain.

#Cancers #Dementia

I’m eight years old, covered by a pillow on my head. The loud hum of my grandmother drying her hair fills the room. I give up and settle for Live! Regis and Kathie playing softly on the TV. I’m not paying attention, I have my eyes on her—my grandmother, sitting on a white, cold metal stool, without skipping a beat. She leans in for a hug, saying “Up, up and away,” before closing the door behind her. I’m left in the comfort of her bed. This house has bones.

Will this memory stay etched in my mind forever? I pray so. Will it be cancer? Pancreatic cancer, the “silent killer.” I’ll argue that it’s the loudest sound I’ve ever been forced to know.

Those same arms that reached out to me—in swimming lessons, rocky currents, and rollerblade twirls—have become the bones I hold. The ones I lead to the kitchen, stand up from the floor, and guide towards the door. Those firm, certain steps I’ve always loved to know have become soft bones. They will always be my home.

“You are my Universe. You are my World. You are my Everything,” she says. She is my home. Her bones—they become my home.

“Go, go, go,” is the only direction I’ve known her to have. Now, there’s nowhere to go. No meeting, no home. Time is slipping away from me, so is she. Roosters yell to a morning, now we let her sleep the day away. All the to-do’s. That time has gone. What do you all have to say? Let me remind you of the names you’ve said.

Pancreatic cancer - steals time but gives you strength. Holiday spirit turns into Holiday Ache. The scent I knew so well faded into an Evanscent, it vanishes quickly but is delicate along the way.

Help! I get by with a little help from her bones.

*To have bones - When a person’s flesh, strength, or energy fades, the bones become the last structure left.

#Cancers #PancreaticCancer #Grief

I’m eight years old, covered by a pillow on my head. The loud hum of my grandmother drying her hair fills the room. I give up and settle for Live! Regis and Kathie playing softly on the TV. I’m not paying attention, I have my eyes on her—my grandmother, sitting on a white, cold metal stool, without skipping a beat. She leans in for a hug, saying “Up, up and away,” before closing the door behind her. I’m left in the comfort of her bed. This house has bones.

Will this memory stay etched in my mind forever? I pray so. Will it be cancer? Pancreatic cancer, the “silent killer.” I’ll argue that it’s the loudest sound I’ve ever been forced to know.

Those same arms that reached out to me—in swimming lessons, rocky currents, and rollerblade twirls—have become the bones I hold. The ones I lead to the kitchen, stand up from the floor, and guide towards the door. Those firm, certain steps I’ve always loved to know have become soft bones. They will always be my home.

“You are my Universe. You are my World. You are my Everything,” she says. She is my home. Her bones—they become my home.

“Go, go, go,” is the only direction I’ve known her to have. Now, there’s nowhere to go. No meeting, no home. Time is slipping away from me, so is she. Roosters yell to a morning, now we let her sleep the day away. All the to-do’s. That time has gone. What do you all have to say? Let me remind you of the names you’ve said.

Pancreatic cancer - steals time but gives you strength. Holiday spirit turns into Holiday Ache. The scent I knew so well faded into an Evanscent, it vanishes quickly but is delicate along the way.

Help! I get by with a little help from her bones.

*To have bones - When a person’s flesh, strength, or energy fades, the bones become the last structure left.

#Cancers #PancreaticCancer #Grief