Dear Mom,
You must be wondering why I started this project for you. I wish I could say that this was started with better intentions, as I would much rather go through this process out of a true desire to reach out and heal the parts of me that has been neglected over the years. I wish that these were just letters I use to help work through my depression and anxiety. A way to manage the pain I’ve been struggling with since your loss, as I wasn’t given much of an opportunity to grieve you. It is hard to look at all of these wishful thoughts, and say that I still have hope that my life will finally turn around. That I’ll have a moment to take in a deep sigh of relief, and laugh (as well as cry) while I create this collection of fragmented memories.
Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be that lucky.
I expected my life to have complications due to surviving stage 4 cancer at thirteen years old, but I’m afraid my doctor might have underplayed some of the problems I would have to face in my adulthood. I will say that I was given a ‘small’ break, though I’m sure you wouldn’t find my definition of a ‘small break’ very amusing if I were to explain it for you. Honestly, it could be argued that my sense of humor is broken. Most of my jokes fall flat or come out as self depreciating when I’m attempting to make light of a dark situation – which, lets face it, is a typical Tuesday by this point in my life. I try not to bring too much attention to it, but my health problems are showing themselves on my sleeve practically. There’s no hiding most – if not, all – of them.
It wasn’t much choice to skip college, not entirely, but it is probably for the best that I didn’t pursue any degree. My 30th birthday came with a omen I wasn’t expecting, and it has only been down hill since then. I’ve grown so numb towards the conversation of cancer; I’ve been checked so often that I’m just waiting for that evitable test that’ll finally come out to be positive. There’s already one that will be knocking on my door soon – it’s just a matter of time. I wish I could remember grandma’s sister more than just the fleeting images I get in my head. I remember, distantly, one of you mentioning how she had passed from breast cancer. There’s no reason to ask about what it would be like when I finally get it, as I imagine it’ll just be like the Lymphoma, but on easy. Or so, that’s how I’m maintaining some kind of optimism. Still, it would have been nice to know the details. Nobody else has a clue about it, and I would ask you if I was of the impression you’d actually answer me through a Ouji board.
But I’m Hispanic, so I know better than to even try that.
Some people are worried about a skeleton dressed in a black curtain and carrying a scythe, and I find myself worried over this odd cancer fairy just sprinkling her dust all over me where I’ll finally get diagnosed with breast cancer. Nikki doesn’t like it whenever I egg it on, but the demon you know, right? At least I would have something to fight then, because waiting around feels like that horrible nightmare where you’re in the DMV but the number you pulled is thousands upon thousands behind what the bored lady at the counter is calling. Only for me, I can’t just be sitting around and waiting. No. That’ll be too easy. I’m struggling with pain I try and minimize with jokes and distractions. I’m always so tired, but I can’t sleep and I’m never comfortable. Every joint feels like they’re on fire, and if they aren’t on fire, they’re asleep. And even if they are asleep, it aches. I’m dizzy, dehydrated – but if I drink too much, I’m cramping up. If I eat, I fill up so fast and I only ever enjoy the first few bites. It is so rare that I can eat and be comfortable after – it’s actually torture. Especially when you married a foodie. Now that is torture.
I could go on and on and on….
Fighting cancer feels like a battle I can win, because it is a battle I can see. It’s battle that has an attack already all lined up with just a bit of tweaking.
I don’t know what I’m fighting right now. It feels like it was only yesterday that I was walking miles, upon miles while working a physically demanding job and thriving. I could slip on a pair of jeans, and just leave. Let my legs carry me to my destination and have a bit of fun while I get there. I went on adventures with my husband and my best friends. I didn’t blink whenever there was a show coming up at my husband’s job. I wouldn’t think twice about putting myself on the list, and enjoying a bit of fun at a rock show before going back to work. I managed a store – people depended on me! I was getting somewhere attainable for once in my life, and it all falls apart because my body just couldn’t handle it anymore.
Now, I’m bound to my bed and wondering when my legs will let me taste freedom again. When will the pain end? When will I finally have this stupid surgery to correct my hips? Fix my back? Who can finally tell me what is wrong with me?..
I’m sorry that I’m still sick, mom. You made your sacrifices so that I can survive, yet I feel as though I’m wasting away here while trying to find good health again. It isn’t fair that I find myself struggling, suffering, once again at a point in my life where I thought things would finally go my way.
In moments like these, people find their connection to religion and the passages that sprinkle the pages in between the stories on the bible. I remember, after my communion, you left it up to me to decide if I want to continue going to church and studying the literature. Every once in a while I find myself wondering if I am missing something by not finding comfort in that book, yet I’m still driven away from it due to the sour taste it leaves in my mouth whenever I think on the instances religion was brought into my life. I find my hope and my faith in the people I love rather in a book full of things I can’t be certain are true – not in the sense that God or Jesus are real, but the meaning behind the words. I’ve seen so many people use religion as a way to continue to spread hate that I’m afraid it is far too tainted for me to find any comfort. Even if it wasn’t, I just don’t see myself as someone who can look for answers in a book like that. My faith and hope are rocky, though I doubt it has anything to do with a ‘lack of religion’ or anything similar to that. I think it is just a healthy reaction to all the negativity one endures. Keeping yourself on the other side is what is important, and I want you to know that I haven’t changed yet, so I’ll be alright.
No matter how hopeless or dim things get around me, I want you to know that I have every intention of pulling through. It would be stupid of me to give up when I made it this far. Despite what I say, or how I act, I do have every intention of making it pass the age you were when you passed away. With luck, the next twenty years will be far better because either way, I’m going to make it to fifty one. Might as well make it fun.
No matter what, I’ll be fine.
Sabey
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