Life is flowing like nectar.

In life there is death; in death there is life.

These past few weeks have kept me extremely busy as I prepared for my big cross-country move and kept my mind off of things. I am finally getting settled into my new home and slowly realizing the reality of everything that has happened. I have been pretty strong throughout most of this process, because I am my mother's daughter and because of the wonderful support group I have-- my amazing friends, my supportive family, my rock of a boyfriend and all the other wonderful people that have extended kind words to me and my family. I could not thank all of you enough.

But in this calm after the storm, I can't help but feel my heart ache from her absence. Perhaps this feeling is heightened by the fact that I am thousands of miles away from everyone I know and love (Tom is back in the DMV for a wedding, so I am alone here in LA) or maybe it is all just starting to actually hit me. I miss being able to talk to her. I really want to hear her get excited about my new place, telling me about all the things I should do for it. I want to hear her tell me that I shouldn't be nervous about school because everything with is going to be ok, because I am her star. I just miss her. With all of these wonderful new things happening, I can't help but want to share them with her as I had in the past.

There is this beautiful hibiscus plant at the entrance to our apartment that reminds me so much of her--she had a few hibiscus plants in our house, as they were the flower of Puerto Rico. She would have loved this plant, I can hear her "ohh mai goohd they are beauutiful" over their delicate white petals and vibrant deep red center.

There is so much beauty in this world, and this world is so much more beautiful because of you. Mom, I know that you will always be here with me, in every beautiful thing I see.

Comments

Carmen Mateo

My mother was first diagnosed with retroperitoneal liposarcoma in October of 2005. I had come home to see her in the hospital—during the removal of a cyst on her breast the doctors accidentally punctured her lung. It was during her stay at the hospital that they completed an MRI of her core (to verify the lung’s status) and found a large mysterious mass—a tumor. Though frightened by this news she was thankful for the discovery. Weeks went by as my parents spoke with other doctors and centers trying to figure out what this tumor was and what to do. Eventually she was diagnosed—liposarcoma, a rare type of cancerous tumor that manifests itself as a mass of fat. The irony of it—my mother the skinniest petite woman in the world, had a fat tumor. Right before Thanksgiving she went to Sloan Kettering to have surgery to remove the almost 8lb tumor. Being the strong woman that she is, she recovered quickly from the surgery and began her healing journey. It was years bef...

The feared M-word

Today I felt the pain of mortality stab me in the heart. I have always been optimistic of my mother’s condition, knowing that with optimism and hope we could battle her cancer and finally overcome her disease. These past few years since her diagnosis of retroperitoneal liposarcoma in October/September of 2005 have been a rollercoaster of highs and lows, getting through it all. I tried to be strong for my mother, show her the strength she has within, assure her that she is doing everything she can to heal herself, and that surely she is on her way to recovery. I thought that in believing in her and her strength that she would be able to overcome anything. With every returning tumor she was better equipped to heal her body, to teach her body to heal itself. I was there supporting her through her surgeries, her trial chemo treatments, always there letting her know that she was on the road to recovery. Today after finishing her second round of a trial chemo that seemed hopefull...

Some days there won't be a song in your heart.

Sing anyway. So the chemo trial is out of the picture. Whether it is because it is actually not possible to get Carmen in the trial, or because she does not want to go through the painful side effects of the chemo treatment that probably won't cure her disease, I do not know. All I know is that tomorrow (probably) she will be coming home for hospice care until nature takes its course. It is hard not to look back at all the things we could have done. I know this must be extremely hard for my mother, but we should not harp on things we can not change. It is also extremely hard for me to just accept that this is the reality of our situation, but we should have the strength and grace to support Carmen now in these difficult times. We have spent almost 6 years in this battle, where we have hoped for a miracle to fight what seems to be the inevitable now. I think the worst of this all, is the uncertainty. We simply do not know how things will go, it could be weeks or days. It seems ...

Nectar of Life

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