Happy Mother's Day

This mother's day marks the beginning of a completely new tradition.

In years past, my family and I would get together and have brunch at Black Market Bistro or cook up a delicious Spanish late lunch. The years that I was abroad, I would call home wishing my Carmencita a happy mother's day, making sure that Jose and Daniel were treating her to an amazing mother's day. A few years ago we started the tradition of gardening the day away. Years ago when I was younger, my brother and I would wake up early and make her breakfast in bed-- a random assortment of foods carefully brought to her on a tray that she would happily eat, with our help of course.

This year is different. The duality of time never ceases to amaze me, how it can simultaneously feel so long and so short. It has been 133 days since you left us. Those 133 days feel like so long ago, so long since I heard your voice, felt your touch, saw you. Sometimes it feels like you are slipping away, like I can't remember so many little things about you and memories of times past. At the same time, there are some things I remember as if they just happened.

But today is about celebration--a celebration of the amazing woman who brought me into this world, who selflessly cared for me, my family, and so many others, who taught me the meaning of strength, beauty, courage, and love. So today mom, I celebrate you and everything you have been, are, and will always be. Te quiero mucho tesoro. <8

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

Search This Blog