Kindred Spirits
“Spirituality is recognizing and celebrating that we are all inextricably connected to each other by a power greater than all of us, and that our connection to that power and to one another is grounded in love and compassion. Practicing spirituality brings a sense of perspective, meaning and purpose to our lives.”
Receiving the news that there was a mass in my mom’s chest brought a sense of PTSD. Just 5 years ago we sat in a tiny room at Children’s Hospital in Seattle when 5 doctors came in to discuss Micah’s X-Ray. His bones look good, they said. “But we found a mass in his chest.”
Looking back, I see my body reacted similarly – tears, dropping to my knees, and an overall sense of feeling paralyzed. My mom was shaken as well and finally said to me, “Mandy, you have to get up, you are the mother.”
She stayed with us for those 2 ½ weeks while we met with the oncologists, created a plan for testing and treatment. Because we were told that the mass in Micah’s chest was cancer. He was 2 ½ months old. Their relationship was special from the moment they met. Fast forward 5 ½ years - Micah was my number one helper in being grandma’s caretaker. He would tattle on her if she didn’t take her vitamins or drink her water, he made sure she did her breathing treatments, and he took the nightly ritual of oils in the diffuser and on her chest, heart, and feet very seriously. Since he had school and because we are living through a pandemic he was not able to come to see her - their last visit was over Christmas. When I told Micah, 3 days before she died, that “grandma is getting ready for her journey to heaven” - he burst into tears. Uncontrollable sobs - I still believe I have never seen him cry so hard. He had a lot of the same feelings I did “How can you live without your mommy? What will I do without my Chicago grandma, she’s my best friend?” - and possibly most excruciating “Why didn’t you let me come help you? I would have made sure grandma took her medicine and vitamins and she would’ve gotten better.” (insert mom guilt to the max)
After she called to tell me there was a mass in her chest a wave of dread washed over me – she spent those 2 ½ weeks with Micah saying over and over “please god, take it out of him and give it to me.” I can still hear her voice when she said it. Thinking back, it sounded like she truly meant it. She wanted it out of him – and she would’ve done anything for that to be possible.
To this day I wonder if that is what happened. I wonder if my sweet baby received a miracle from my mom. Logically, I understand that this does not make sense. Spiritually, I believe it is wholly possible.
My mom lived for that little boy. She loved him more than life and would have done anything for him. Just more support that my theory could somehow be correct. I can’t decide if I think this is beautiful or gut wrenching. It can be both, right? Perhaps Brutiful (Brutal + Beautiful).
Throughout her journey she never used the word “scared.” She would be “anxious” about test results and scans, but never “scared.” I have dove into studying emotions and I know that the words we use to describe them matter. Sometimes she would get frustrated with me when I tried to understand what she was feeling. She would say “I feel like shit, Mandy. That’s it.” But I knew there was an emotion behind feeling like shit. She later admitted that she was frustrated - she didn’t want to be “the sick grandma” and it was incredibly hard for her to struggle with things like walking up 5 stairs without becoming breathless. B.C. (Before Cancer) she was so active, she almost never sat down.
On Monday April 16, 2020 I held my phone up on speaker in my mom’s room as her, my dad, and I listened to the oncologist share her suggestion to move into hospice care. That any more treatment at that point would’ve done “more harm than good” as her body was just too weak. Tears quietly streamed down her cheeks. The only words she said to the doctor were “I understand.” The doctor asked if she had any questions. “I understand.” The doctor apologized, said she wished there was more to be done. “I understand.” She took the news with grace, just as she had taken her diagnosis.
After we hung up the phone, I asked her if she was scared – she said “no.” Firmly. I believed her. I asked her if she was angry – she said “no.” I believed her. She said “I am just really, really sad.” There is a difference between all of those emotions - I feel all of them now on a daily basis.
To this day I wonder if her courage came from Micah. He did so well in the hospital - nurses and doctors commenting on how strong and brave he was. He handled being poked and prodded, going hours with no food before testing, and smiled often, even in the middle of a room of tears. I wonder if they somehow made each other stronger through a connection that only they could see.
Mom & Micah {approximately 3 weeks new}