Guilt

With relief that I have these options, there is also guilt for those who don't.

I have a more than an acquaintance, not quite a close friend, waiting for God to call her to heaven. She is close to my husband’s age, has two young children and a loving husband, and is about to lose her eight year battle with cancer.

I’ve randomly kept in touch with her through the years, mostly through run-ins and chance meetings, but still often enough for me to follow her journey. I have one description of this woman – tough. She is the survivor that was given numerous “one more month to live” and managed to defeat them all. She signed up for any treatment, experimental or traditional, in every hope that this one would finally work. Even as Hospice was called in and she received her two week death sentence, she still lives four weeks later. Unfortunately now we know that it’s a matter of hours and that her time is officially up.

I cried the day that Hospice was called. I cried looking at her deteriorating body in her Facebook pictures as she enjoyed her remaining time to the best of her ability. I still cry every time that I think of her and I understand her fight. I know that her number one goal in survival was to raise her children. I’m crying as I write this.

She is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. - Proverbs 31:25

That’s where the guilt comes in. I can’t help but think of every comment that I’ve shared with my woman/fellow mom friends about needing time away from my children. Or every night that I wish that bedtime would just arrive sooner so that I can have some time for myself. Worst yet, the Monday mornings where I happily kiss them good-bye and leave for work because the weekend was just too stressful and I’m happy that it’s over.

I know that I am human and a good mom, but I just can’t help but feel guilt. I know that she is laying there fighting for survival, for the chance to spend one more minute with her children, and I have the luxury of wishing that away. I think of all of the “play with me, Mommy” that I have blown off for things much less important. I think of all of the times that I’ve taken their presence, that moment for granted.

This brave, wonderful woman is such a reality check. I fully understand that without this surgery on January 17th, that this is my fate. She doesn’t just keep my guilt in check, she is also a constant reminder of how lucky and blessed I am to have a warning, to hopefully never hear the dreaded c word.

Over the weekend I did curl up with my oldest son and watch a movie. I took in the smell of his hair, how his back felt when I rubbed it, and his weight on my lap. I consciously tried to commit that moment to memory. I am making a vow to myself that I will continue to do this, to the best of my ability. I know that I will still be selfish, wishing the time away, but I want to be fully there in moments, as well. I don’t mind living this one in extremes, although I know that it won’t be constant and that most of our lives will be spent in the middle ground of the daily grind.

I wish that I had a cute way to end this post, but I don’t. My heart and my prayers go out to her and her friends and family that she will soon be leaving. I know that she will always be there in spirit during every huge life event – first dances, graduations, marriage, children born, etc. I know because that’s how my mom is with me. I also know that this isn’t a comfort to anyone. Nothing can or ever will replace your mom. I yearn for the emptiness in her children’s and husband’s heart. My heart breaks for her parents watching their baby pass. I am thankful for her time on earth and that I got to know her, as minimal as it was.