When Your Heart Cries

For most, the month of December is filled with the stresses of shopping, the excitement of gatherings, the fear of eating too much and the exchange of gifts, awaiting the birth of Jesus. Caring out traditions of decorating the tree. Hanging family momentums for everyone to see. Lights as bright as the smile of the child who Santa came to see. The “Silent Nights” filling the air with Christmas spirit.

For me, I was feeling great! Decorating our Christmas tree (Our chemo tree that almost caught fire! haha), listening to the kids describe the decorations to each other with much excitement. Yanking and pulling until it was freed. From the Doras to the Santas, to the personalized decorations made by their schools. Bringing back many memories for the girls to see.

I was excited to know my last round of chemo was to soon be completed. Surgery is scheduled for January 8th and 6 weeks of radiation would soon follow. All putting a sense of closure to the scary, scary monster called sarcoma. Allowing me to focus on faith, diet, exercise, family and friends. My prescription to curing my cancer!

Aunt Gloria was in route to help care for the girls. I was so excited to know I could spend some time with her and I was on the upswing. Maybe a nice dinner, maybe some wine, most importantly…a chat about Mike. Aunt Gloria was very close to Mike’s mom, sisters without the blood. She was my source to Mike’s childhood, all the great details men don’t want their wife to know! Haha! I always cherish these talks, the distance and time never allowing enough.

Then the call. A call so familiar. A call full of fear. My father has a ruptured brain aneurysm in the right lobe. Emergency surgery was needed and scheduled for Sunday AM, my chemo flight was scheduled for Sunday PM. Today was Saturday. I packed my bags as best I could, typed my mommy notes for Mike and Aunt Gloria. Off to the airport, not landing until 9:30 PM. Each of my sisters, traveling in as well. All so familiar, the numbness setting in. Only this time it’s my father, my last living parent. Could this really be happening? Another sadness tainting the holidays. My mother passed away Jan. 11, 2002; I have cancer this very Dec., my father’s brain surgery…memories marked with each Christmas.

We visited my father this very night. Talking, laughing, and learning what’s to come. My father optimistic, sharing his thoughts. Complimenting each of us. My heart began to weep when he said he needed to be there for the grandkids, he wanted to see them grow up. I wanted that so much. This is their Abuelo (Grandpa), their Abuelo who slides down the slide with them, personalizing birthdays by shopping for clothes, and frequently visiting. What a feeling to know, his family was near, his family does care. Could this really be happening? He needing brain surgery, me having cancer? His more severe, no time to prepare, no time to fear.

Sunday morning we spent more time as a family, surgery was scheduled for 8:00 am. Talking about daily life, omitting surgery conversation. Hugging and kissing as he was rolled out of the room. Can you imagine this feeling? Have you experienced this heartache? All the emotions surfacing, holding back the fear. Praying to God, Abuelo has many more years with us and a chance to live out more dreams.

All the sisters, once again taking over the waiting room. Each claiming our space, setting our borders. Some on computers, others reading magazines, others trying to nap. Patricia attempting a new sit up, almost knocking over Maria, making us all laugh! Definitely a déjà vu, only years before it was a different surgery, doctors thinking cancer would be found. Yet again, my father winning this fight, reclaiming his life, no sign of cancer.

My heart stopping as the surgeon approaches, what was the news?

“Surgery went well. Your father did well.”

We waited two hours to see him; he was in post surgery recovery. Feeling relieved the first hurdle behind us. Many more weeks of recovery. Many more weeks to “really” know. Would he be the dad we know, would he have his memory, would he be physically challenged. Many more prayers needed.

Then the breaking news. “Your father wasn’t breathing after surgery. It also appears he had an allergic reaction to one of the drugs. We can’t get the ventilator down his throat, it’s too swollen.” I guess we are in mid air, the first hurdle not quite behind us. This news hit me hard, I could no longer hold my tears, I lost my strength but not my faith.

Tonight I replay something my sister told me when I found out I had cancer. “Pray everything will be “OK” no matter what “ok” is and God give us the strength to accept whatever “ok” may be.” This has become my power, my security and I have found myself telling others this exact line. I cling to my faith tonight that everything will be ok. I pack my bags for my last round of chemotherapy, my last weeks of nasty chemo side effects. Tomorrow, I will be in the University of Michigan Hospital receiving my chemo, continuing my cancer fight, my father will be at St. Johns Hospital approximately 50 minutes from me, fighting for his life, recovering from brain surgery.

Please pray for all of us, ask God to give us the strength. May your holidays be full of love and time spent with your family and friends. Setting aside others faults and differences, knowing life can be short. Ask yourself what life would be like if that person wasn’t making memories with you. Forgive and forget. Love and live to the fullest, making every HOUR count.