Being a warrior is draining. All that armor, heavy boots, fierce exterior. It’s physically and emotionally exhausting. With the chill of fall in the air and pumpkins on doorsteps and witches face-planted on neighborhood trees, I am taken back two years to when I was in full on warrior mode. It was a month after the Pocket Call, when I discovered my former spouse’s infidelity, and a few weeks before his return from a long business trip.
Surreal is the only word to describe that time in my life.
That suit of armor was mighty heavy. Perhaps that’s why I could drop five pounds overnight. I was weighed down by the crumbling foundation of my life. I was in full on ME versus HIM mode. Ready to fight the battle to end his betrayal. I was NOT going to be used, lied to, walked on. Staying sane while my whole world imploded was a real feat. In the moment I was able to pull it off, but in retrospect, I can see just how precarious my situation was and how fragile I felt. Despite my armor.
While I balanced on a tight rope of barbed wire, protecting children too young to understand, moving into the house we were to grow old in (as long as his double life remained a secret) and settling into a new community after moving across the country as an intact family, my Mom was running back and forth underneath me holding a rescue net outstretched, ready to catch me should I fall, unable to stay balanced in the midst of total upheaval.
My Mom took the news of my husband’s infidelity as hard, quite possibly harder, as I did. Emotionally, I was destroyed. Emotionally and physically, she was rattled. As a Mom myself I can see how it caused such distress for her. She felt betrayed by him personally, and she felt my pain in addition to her own. The double whammy brought about a debilitating case of Shingles, the worst her doctor had seen, along the left side of her head, neck, shoulder and back. She was in excruciating pain. I knew this because she said, I’ve felt better. Which is as close as she will get to complaining.
This isn’t a martyr move on her part. She believes completely in the power of optimism, the depleting energy of negativity and the power of prayer over the benefits of worrying. (Did I ever tell you about her reaction to discovering our house was on fire? …Honey, do you have a fire burning in the fireplace? No…? Well then, the house is on fire. I’ll call the fire department. Will you take the children outside?)
A few months after my Dad died in 1989, four weeks after being diagnosed with Melanoma, my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. One of her first thoughts was, I am not going to put our children through any more pain and worry. She remained upbeat and optimistic, while still in mourning, and made arrangements for surgery.
We knew nothing of her illness.
As the day neared, she asked my sister to drive her to the hospital. I believe she also told her of the diagnosis, but she probably sugarcoated it to the best of her ability. She was really good at coating things with sugar. It was then that we all found out about the tumor and the surgery she was about to have to remove it and the surrounding lymph nodes. I recall her saying something like, There is absolutely nothing to be concerned about.
I was numb. Following her lead, I downplayed the surgery, probably tossing around a few jokes about radiation and how her inner glow would only be stronger. Inside I was still so sad about losing my Dad. I would go to mass and cry throughout the entire service thinking of his funeral. If they played On Eagle’s Wings I would sob. Tissues would come to me from in front and behind. I’m not even sure that I absorbed my Mom’s diagnosis. I’m not sure I was capable.
She remained cancer free until 2009, two years before we moved to California. Another small encapsulated tumor slowly grew in her left breast. As if going to get her hair done, she had surgery and radiation. We followed her lead. She was completely confident that they would cut out the tumor, she would get radiation, and ultimately she would be cancer free. Yet again. Instead of talking about the surgery or the side effects of radiation, she would talk about the kindness of the hospital staff, how lovely everyone was and oh, their sense of humor!
She can spin surgery and radiation into a spa visit. Amazing.
After her follow up exams over the next year, with her doctor confirming that it was sloth-like tumor, now gone, and all was well, she decided to stop getting mammograms. At the age of 85, a slow growing cancer wasn’t going to shut down her physical body. She had a pacemaker to deal with, copious amounts of solitaire to play on her iPad, and a life to live.
Little did she know she would also have a heart to save.
I didn’t tell my Mom about the Pocket Call right away, taking a page from her own operating manual. I didn’t want to cause her any stress or pain. But when I did I immediately felt the power of her love, prayers and support. It was her strength that I relied upon when I had none of my own. While we spoke on the phone nearly daily after I moved in to my own apartment, a few years after my Dad died, we spoke daily and more, for an hour at least, post Pocket Call. I would drop the dudes off at school and go home to call her. Starting my day with her comforting words of support and practical guidance insured that I could get to the end of the day intact.
She did her best to take away my pain all the while suffering her own. And then came the Shingles. I wrote about it here and it begs a rereading at this point, before continuing with this post.
Hearing about how she suffered for over a month with Shingles, not from her of course, but from my siblings and family friends, made me angry. I wanted to transfer all that pain to my former spouse. A normal, but not necessarily beneficial, reaction. In my mind he caused her to get Shingles. Or at the least, he was responsible for the severity of her case.
At a time in her life when she deserved to kick back and eat ice cream while watching baseball, she was suffering for her daughter. That was a major incentive for me to work hard to be brave and to make good choices – I wanted to heal up fast so she could get back to having fun. So that she would know I was going to be okay. I didn’t want her to stress. Because stress causes dis-ease. And dis-ease can lead to cancer.
Which is where we have arrived.
Last week my Mom was diagnosed with cancer, again. She fired up the spin machine, and her news came out something like this:
Some lymph nodes are swollen and the tissue around the lungs is enflamed, on her left side. That’s why she is having difficulty breathing. But it can be treated with a pill, that’s basically a cure. So, as long as she is hormonally receptive (which she will be because she was in the past), she will be managing a chronic condition and cancer won’t be what kills her. But I don’t think she ever used the word cancer.
My sister the nurse translated that to this: She is somewhere between imminently terminal and chronic with cancer in her lymph nodes and in the tissue surrounding her lungs. We’ll know more next week.
When I repeated this reiteration of her diagnosis – somewhere between imminently terminal and chronic – to my Mom, I said, Aren’t we all.
We laughed. And then after I hung up the phone I cried.
Actually my Ego cried, because selfishly I fear the day when I can’t call my Mom. When I have to deal with the challenges of divorce without the centering and wisdom-filled words that she shares with me. When I have to go forth without her to hold my hand. When I don’t have a spouse’s shoulder to cry on while I mourn her passing.
My soul celebrates her and will cheer her transition out of this world and into the next when she is ready to go. She deserves a grand parade – an extraordinary woman who gives and gives and never asks for anything but love and honesty in return.
My Ego wants to smack my former spouse, yelling at him for causing her such pain in her final years. But that will only serve to weaken my own systems.
Dis-ease causes disease.
It is not for me to place blame. To blame is to judge. To judge is to come from the Ego. Coming from the Ego lowers my vibration. Lowering my vibration hides the magic. (This is how I talk myself off the Ego ledge and back to Earth.)
I am vulnerable. And being vulnerable is beautiful.
It’s no secret that we move one day closer to death each day we are here. With this fair warning that my Mom is human, which is counter to my angelic vision of her, I must continue to be supple and open-hearted, even though I want to pull on the armor and be all tough warrior.
We’ve become closer than I ever imagined possible over these last two years. She stood by my side throughout this entire experience. I turned to her. Every time. And she never failed to be there for me. Instead of worrying about what I will do when she is not here, I am going to be grateful daily that she was here for me when I needed her most.
And I’ll be here for her to insure that she eats ice cream, watches baseball, plays solitaire, laughs heartily and often, and eats more ice cream, surrounded by her family who realize just how fortunate we are to have her in our lives.
Mom, I love you. Cancer, you suck.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Stephanie – October 21, 2013
I am so . . . I don’t know – the word “sorry” doesn’t even come close to what I feel for you. I know what you’ve been through because of your raw and honest sharing, and to have this come at this point, well, to say it’s unfair is an understatement.
When you’ve written about your mother, it always brought to mind my wonderful Grandmother. She was so like your mom, finding the good in all things, being so happy with simplicity – her lilacs blooming, a hummingbird visiting her feeder, the first frost making the empty cornfields glow with the rising sun, daffodils pushing up through the snow. She even had a Praying Mantis that lived on her porch that would come when she called – no lie!
She was a farmers wife, understood that a day off would put you behind two weeks, that even a blizzard shouldn’t stop you from going out to the barn at 4:30am because the animals were hungry.
She lost my Grandfather when she was 56 years old and lived the rest of her life alone because she was “married”. She lived in an 120-year-old farm house, by herself until she was 94-years-old, because it was home. A stroke ended her independent living and she spent the rest of her days in a care facility. She passed from this earth looking into my eyes. On Halloween. (She would have gotten a giant kick out of the irony of that fact!). The night before she passed, there was a beautiful Northern Lights display – her sendoff, I think.
So sorry, I digress. As kind and warm and as self-contained as she was, she was also a quiet warrior when it came to her family. She wasn’t about revenge, but simply propping up those of us that needed a shoulder, a hand to hold, and a well-timed hug.
What I see has happened throughout all of this is your mother has shown you there is strength in tending your own garden, there is power in humor, and that love is a balm that can and does cure all. Pure, pure love. And she has passé that torch to you. There is no greater wealth than being armed to go through the world with a loving heart, a twinkle in your eye, a chuckle in your heart, and avid curiosity. I think you found these things for yourself, with her quiet guidance. And she will always be there, no matter where she is. Celebrate her now, absorb her love, reflect it back to her, and you’ll both be fine, come what may. She must be so proud of you, Dear Cleo.
Cleo – October 22, 2013
S,
Oh, your words! Digress at will! Your Grandmother is a beautiful spirit. And to be there at the very moment she passed from here to there…what anawesome experience to share.
Okay – this: “She even had a Praying Mantis that lived on her porch that would come when she called – no lie!” Holy insect, that’s amazing! Beautiful. That’s MAGIC! She knew what to look for, where to place her focus, how to keep her vibrational energy elevated so that a Praying Mantis would WANT to be there, just waiting to hear her voice so it could rush over and be in her presence. THIS is the ideal I seek. Simple, yes, but utterly insanely magical.
Tears at reading this: “…there is strength in tending your own garden, there is power in humor, and that love is a balm that can and does cure all. Pure, pure love.”
As my Mom is fond of saying, Life is not complicated, until you complicate it. Thank you so much, S. These are such beautiful words. I’m so grateful you took the time to share them with us.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Your mom and my “Nonnie” are sure to be related way back in some way. She had a cardiac cath at 88-years-old and my dad’s friend was the cardiologist. He invited us into the room to see that three of her coronary arteries were block 98%. They didn’t think she’d make it though the week if they did nothing so they offered bypass surgery which they didn’t think she’d make it through due to her advanced age. I asked what she wanted to do and she said “Let’s go for it”. She was out of the hospital in a week! All these interns and residents kept coming to meet the medical marvel, and little nerdie guy said “I just can’t believe you’re doing so well”. And she said, very simply, “Well, they fixed me, didn’t they?”. That is where she reminds me so much of your mom. Get on with it, do what you have to do, because I have my life to live. Brilliant! The year after she passed I had some of those rubber Livestrong type bracelets made up for my family reunion. The read: W.W.N.D? (What Would Nonnie Do?). She was all the moral and compassionate compass I ever needed.
Stephanie – October 22, 2013
Your mom and my “Nonnie” are sure to be related way back in some way. She had a cardiac cath at 88-years-old and my dad’s friend was the cardiologist. He invited us into the room to see that three of her coronary arteries were block 98%. They didn’t think she’d make it though the week if they did nothing so they offered bypass surgery which they didn’t think she’d make it through due to her advanced age. I asked what she wanted to do and she said “Let’s go for it”. She was out of the hospital in a week! All these interns and residents kept coming to meet the medical marvel, and little nerdie guy said “I just can’t believe you’re doing so well”. And she said, very simply, “Well, they fixed me, didn’t they?”. That is where she reminds me so much of your mom. Get on with it, do what you have to do, because I have my life to live. Brilliant! The year after she passed I had some of those rubber Livestrong type bracelets made up for my family reunion. The read: W.W.N.D? (What Would Nonnie Do?). She was all the moral and compassionate compass I ever needed.
Cleo- October 25, 2013
S,
Two peas in a pod. Two birds in a bush. Two optimistic women who have an appreciation for the gift of each day.
I’m hopeful that I will raise the dudes to understand how fortunate they are to be alive right now. And that joy does not come from having each day be perfect – filled with video games and candy and money spent on presents left untouched within days. Rather, joy comes from understanding a little more about life by the time one’s head hits the pillow. Joy comes from succeeding when faced with a challenge. Joy comes from making another person feel good. Joy is in the simplest of things – those that nurture the soul, not pass the time.
Best compliment ever: “She was all the moral and compassionate compass I ever needed.”
Love yourself,
Cleo
NancyTex – October 22, 2013
What a beautiful post, C. Your mom is a beautiful, angelic warrior — as we’ve all witnessed, through your words and this blog. She is in my thoughts and prayers. Hugs to you. xoxo nancy
Cleo – October 23, 2013
N,
Thank you, m’lady. Your love and support is much appreciated. Stay close and keep sweatin’!
Love yourself,
Cleo
Michael Anderson – October 22, 2013
Your mom is a lover of baseball! That explains everything. Baseball teaches us how to lose. It is the only game where, if you fail two-thirds of the time at the plate, you are at the top of your game.
I love coaching baseball, this coming spring of 2014 will be my 8th consecutive year. I love gathering my boys and girls at that first Little League practice in spring, with the grass still wet from a recent rain, and telling them why baseball will help them make their lives so much happier. Why? Because it will teach them to lose gracefully, pick themselves up off the field, and make the next play as if what happened before was just not that important.
No, it is not about ignoring the past, and life is certainly about learning from past mistakes. But more importantly, it is about adjusting the past’s significance to your life, such that you don’t continue to ground out time after time due to its undue influence.
You’ve had a good run with your mom. You must be so thankful. And some day in the future, there will be no one left to be the barrier to your own mortality. As you said, every day we all get a little bit closer. What a wonderful experience. What a wonderful life. So much beauty. So many glorious dreams.
As you always say, Love Yourself.
Cleo – October 22, 2013
M,
OMG – this needs to be on a shirt, tattooed on my inner arm, whispered in my ear hourly – “it is about adjusting the past’s significance to your life, such that you don’t continue to ground out time after time due to its undue influence”. Beautifully stated. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it.
My Mom will stay up and watch games until the sun rises. She roots for her team – the Yankees – and for the team of everyone she loves. Basically, if the Saskatchewan Penguins were playing the Homer Seals at 4AM her time and I had some rooting interest she would set her alarm to cheer them on. Seriously. She watches college football all day on Saturday, the NFL all day on Sunday and baseball every day it’s on. Squeeze in golf and her recent HGTV addiction and it’s amazing that she has time to play solitaire on her iPad and still speak to all 8 of her children nearly every day.
I’m surprised we didn’t wear her out sooner.
I’m just glad she didn’t trade me.
As always, grateful at large and grateful for your presence here.
Love yourself,
Cleo
RedGirl – October 22, 2013
Cleo, my life is evenly split between the exactly 40 years before my mothers death and the (hopefully) 40 after. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t remember my mum in one way or another, from silently chatting to her to using something special of hers. There is nothing comparable to a loving and loved mother, in this world. Years on, I still suffer bouts of brief anger at the people in her/our lives that caused her pain and dis-ease at various times, particularly towards the latter part of her life. But in the end, she lived the life she and the universe chose for her, and that, I can appreciate more and more each day.
I am sorry for your mum’s diagnosis, if hopefully, for no worse a reason than it means a little less ice cream eating as she visits doctors. Whether your mum has 15 days or 15 years of ice cream eating ahead of her, you will be amazed at the memories that are yet to be made.
Cleo – October 23, 2013
R,
Thank you so much, R. Beautifully stated, wonderful wisdom.
“But in the end, she lived the life she and the universe chose for her, and that, I can appreciate more and more each day.”
I’m not that organized, but trust me when I tell you that I will structure ice cream eating sessions to compensate for all doctor visits, and even sleep.
Like you, I will remain connected to my Mom long after she leaves the Earth and heads up and out. We will continue to make memories together, for the rest of time.
Stay close…
Love yourself,
Cleo
Avril – October 22, 2013
So sorry to hear about your Mum. Sending her, and you, positive healing vibrations.
Avril
Cleo – October 22, 2013
A,
Thank you. I can feel them, for sure. Today is a much lighter day. I feel the fogginess of muddy vibrations lifting and the joy of this magical life shining through. Her upbeat attitude and happy disposition is a fine example for me to emulate. Stay close, A. You are so appreciated.
Love yourself,
Cleo
fenix – October 22, 2103
what a great tribute to your mom and BTW is she interested in taking on any more daughters??? she sounds so wonderful! I’m glad you have her and will keep y’all in my prayers
Cleo – October 22, 2013
F,
You’d have to agree to having eight additional siblings!
She considers you all her children. Actually, she calls you kittens too. They’re so smart! So funny! So caring! So loyal! Ten thousand compliments a week to you all and me. Which just made me pause – she doesn’t compliment herself. Well, she better start. Or I’m going to go all Mother on her. She is insanely quick-witted. And quick to laugh. Funny. Worldly. She stood by my Dad as his biggest supporter, never failed to gain the respect of his peer group – high-profile, male executives. The wives loved her and the men respected her. Her first love, the focus of her attention, was him. Which made us all feel very secure.
She knows sports better than most men I know. She can open up an engine on the highway, but only got one speeding ticket. The police officer apologized profusely for having to write it. She gets parking spaces in the front row at malls during the holidays. And I’ve never seen a woman slice her fingers open as often – cutting chickens because she refused to pay extra for cut up chickens – and not bleed to death or lose a digit at least. I swear some cuts didn’t stop bleeding till the next day. Somehow she never lost us, always fed us and loved us one-on-one.
I hit the Mom lottery. So very grateful.
Thank you for the prayers. And for being here.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Susan – October 22, 2013
So sorry about your mom’s new diagnosis, Cleo. Cancer does suck a big one. Lost both my dad and grandmother to it in the last two years. You’re doing the best thing, you know. Making sure you’re there for her and your boys and yourself and the rest of your family. My grandmother would always say that God never gives you more than you can handle. From knowing you here, I know you’re going to exceed His wildest expectations.
Cleo – October 22, 2013
S,
Thank you for taking the time to comment and for your kind words of support. My Mother and your Grandmother must have gone to the same school. She says those very same words. And would echo your wisdom of keeping life simple by focusing on the most important parts – family, unconditional love, altruistic support of those in need. I’m going to set myself up to succeed on this one by focusing on loving my Mom, and all. Centering on that really helps to calm me, calm my mind.
I hope your Dad and Grandmother reach across the dimensions and hug you often. Sending you vibes of love and support, and glimpses of magic. You deserve it.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Laura – October 22, 2013
I’m so very sorry. I admire both of your strength, your Mom sounds amazing and selfless. Cancer can suck it!
Laura
Cleo – October 22, 2103
L,
Thank you for taking the time to comment, L. I’m so grateful to have the place to write it out and know that I have the support of all of you. It helped SO much to put those words down. I feel lighter, more centered, less stressed and ready to be there for my Mom. The sadness has lifted, just in time for a trip back East to see her. We’ll make magic together. And make the most of every day we have together here on Earth. Then, when she bids her physical body adieu, we’ll hold hands across the dimensions.
Love yourself,
Cleo
CF – October 22, 2013
Cleo, I’m sorry. There’s not much more to say other than I’m sorry and I’m sending positive thoughts to you and your mom. My mom is my rock. I know one day I’ll be facing the same situation and I am dreading it more than anything else I can think of. Hard to lose someone you love so much and who is so much a part of you. Not just a part of your life, but a part of YOU. Not an easy transition.
Cleo – October 23, 2013
C,
That connection that we have to our Moms…to Mother Nature…to the maternal. It softens the Earth, opens up the heart, calms the mind. I hope you will still be here when that time comes so that I can be there for you. In the moment we stay, unconscious of the passing of time, not missing a bit of the magic.
Thank you for your words of support.
Love yourself,
Cleo
bz – October 22, 2013
Hi Cleo,
I have been reading for awhile now ever since my sister in Marin told me about your site. I have found it tremendously helpful, funny, sad, enlightening, loving and even a little hatin’ going on (which I totally get btw). I am about 9 months into my own “pocket call” situation—different set of circumstances, but with the same results. Much ado was made by me over EVERYTHING the big fella did or did not do in our 16 year marriage, which ended with his affair with the work wife. All I can say is this process is a big yuck! But my dudes, my awesome family and my friends have kept me afloat throughout this ordeal. I think the one trait that has helped me survive, if I had to name one, is my quirky sense of humor. There have been numerous things to laugh over and some not so humorous. But the times when I need to stay strong and remain focused, I remember to smile on the inside. One example that never fails to make me smile is the first comment the big fella made after learning of the rather large retainer fee I paid for my attorney: “Who did you hire, Johnny Cochran?”
Glad your mom is there to help give you that unconditional love and guidance we all need. My wonderful mom died a few years ago, but I still feel her presence every day. I know she would want to give the big fella hell if she was still around to do it. My dad too.
Peace Love and Understanding!
Cleo – October 22, 2013
B,
Thank you for taking the time to comment and for your kind words. Grateful to know that you are here.
Oh, to think how my Dad would have reacted… Part of my wonders if my former spouse would have taken the high road out of fear and asked for a divorce. For a minute. Then I get back to the moment and continue on with the present set of facts, looking for magic everywhere. Those who pass are not far away. I feel that. Today I read an article about dark matter – understood a fraction of it – and made a note to investigate online with the dudes, on a children’s site. So I can comprehend the information. What I did glean was a practical theory, potentially, for the ‘other side’. I’ve never believed Heaven is up on a cloud but all around us. We just can’t identify it in the 3D with our human eyes. But as we continue to evolve and develop our spiritual, I feel a whole new world will open up. I sense my Dad as well. And one day I will sense my Mom.
In the mean time I will smile on the inside and the outside. And remember your words of wisdom regarding humor. The quirkier the better. Stay close, B.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Diane Mser – October 22, 2013
Oh Cleo, you are your mom! Every wonderful attribute you describe as hers is also clearly describing you! How blessed you are to have such a phenomenal role model, to both watch and be the beneficiary of all her grace and wisdom! But the real gift is that you absorbed the best of all that she has given and continues to give, and now have that to pass on to all those in your inner circle. Lucky you. Lucky us.
-Diane
Cleo – October 23, 2013
D,
Put down that tequila!
I am of my Mom, but I can’t claim to have her super powers. She has preached the same simple guidance since I was little, and most of the time I listened as I was growing up. Now that I am a Mom and in my 40s I have such an appreciation and respect for her wisdom. I’m SO grateful I had the opportunity to become an adult and experience this type of relationship, something my Dad and I did not get to share.
I am so blessed, fortunate, shined on…and more grateful than ever for the challenges of life. They have taught me to appreciate the bliss.
Thank you for being here and for your ultra kind words.
Love yourself,
Cleo
modernmatriarch – October 22, 2013
Your mother is an inspiration! You are so blessed to have such a fine example of maternal love and devotion. I will light a candle for both of you and send healing thoughts and prayers her way.
It sounds like she has had a beautiful life. Adult children who love and admire her, a happy marriage, and the kind of attitude about suffering I’m striving to achieve. I consider myself a bad Catholic, but I wonder if her Catholicism has helped her achieve that attitude. The theology of redemptive suffering is really all about turning lemons into lemonade.
cleo – October 23 2013
M,
Thank you so much for your kind words and support.
She has had a magical life, which comes into balance with times of great sadness. Her faith helped her to remain centered and focused on the important things in life – God and family. Living an honest life. Treating others as she herself wanted to be treated. Practicing unconditional love. And eternal optimism.
Lemons brighten the flavors in any dish, no?
Hope you are making musical magic,
Love yourself,
Cleo
Pineapple Chick – October 23, 2013
Hi Cleo,
Your mom is a shining beacon in the night storm…. This I know to be true…. She is beyond loving, nurturing, wise, kind, cheerful, funny, kind, motivated, caring…. My list could go on forever! She literally beams when she smiles and giggles like a teen in love!!! I know she treasures her children, just as you do. She is an incredible teacher in life. You have been absorbing her wisdom for years and will be able to guide her as needed. She will get through this in her own incredible way, with dignity and grace Hugs to both of you. xoxox! P.S. One of my fave things is the way she covered my cup of hot cocoa with tinfoil when we stepped out for a few minutes so it would still be warm upon our return….. I secretly think your mom is Mrs. Santa Claus….
cleo – October 23, 2013
P,
She has given me enough gifts to qualify as Mrs. Claus!
This is so true: “She literally beams when she smiles and giggles like a teen in love!!!”
When I would come home from school she would meet me at the bus, let me walk along the wall and take my time looking for caterpillars even though she had dinner for ten to cook. I would make my way into the kitchen there on the table would sit a cup of soup with a saucer sitting on top. To keep it warm.
She makes everything warm.
I love you, P. What are you doing next week? Me and my Mom are getting the band back together.
Love yourself,
Cleo
zaiche – October 23, 2013
Cleo–I bet this stage to come is going to be full of joy. Because your mom knows she will be in the presence of the One she has served for so long and so faithfully. I don’t know where heaven is, but the more I reflect on eternity and the fact that we are already in it. .. this flash in the pan weigh station that we tend to focus so much on when it’s just the waiting room, is brief for all of us, whether we’re here for 100 years or just 10. It’s just the most gossamer of filaments separating us from the reality that is to come. I for one want to train my eyes and heart there and use this time as wisely as possible. Sure sounds like your mom has.
cleo – October 23, 2013
Z,
Your comment, coupled with the documentary the dudes and I watched last night on the Big Bang, reminds me to focus on what really matters. Not just focus…ponder, discover, elevate my level of curiosity. On a day when a man rents out a baseball stadium to propose to a woman, misspelling words on the jumbotron, and having this intimate moment filmed for a TV show watched by millions for hours at a time (EGO on ‘roids!), I shed tears and struggled to comprehend the absolute magic of the creation of the Universe. I don’t say this to suggest I am better than, more evolved, but to demonstrate the contrast between a purely 3D understanding (obsession) of life and the real reality.
This is beautiful: “…this flash in the pan weigh station…It’s just the most gossamer of filaments separating us from the reality that is to come. I for one want to train my eyes and heart there and use this time as wisely as possible.” Me, too.
Thank you, Z. So grateful you are here.
M – October 23, 2013
What a beautiful testament to your mom! She sounds like an amazing woman and mother. 8 children, wow! Will we ever get to hear more about your brothers and sisters? You are so lucky to have each other. And what a blessing that she has been by your side these past two years. I wish her well…
This post reminded me of how I leaned on my mom (well, many people, but my mom most of all) after my pocket call. Sometimes we would talk 5-6 times a day as I struggled to understand what was incomprehensible. She was so patient, though I was a wreck, alternating between sobbing, righteous anger and pity parties, with LOTS of swear words sprinkled in. Infidelity made me swear like a trucker for awhile. I so needed to TALK during that period. And therapy 1x a week was not cutting it. Every so often I still need to call my mom for a free therapy session on this topic but I am sure she is grateful that those calls are now few and far between. Thank you for reminding me how far I have come in just over a year and how grateful I am that I am able to lean on my parents right now as I transition to a divorced mama of 3.
cleo – October 23, 2013
M,
Thank you, M. Threatening to write about my brothers and sisters keeps them in line! I’m sure there will be stories to tell – especially the one where Mom has us do a dry run of her Irish wake, complete with a visit to the funeral home to pick out her casket and instructions about her eulogy. Yep. Just this morning she cheerfully told my sister of that desire. I know the eulogy instructions are going to be something like this: Now, kiddies, don’t be gushing about how wonderful I am. Keep it short and sweet and give thanks to God.
I’ll be sure to agree to her wishes as long as she agrees to avoid all hymns associated with funerals (On Eagle’s Wings, especially) and opts instead for Here Come The Irish (Notre Dame football song), Chopsticks and Gregorian chants.
More than grateful, I bet your Mom is proud of your progress. Yes, you have come SO far! It’s mind-blowing to look back and realize just how shredded we were and how resilient. Brave. Determined. Hmmm…that sounds just like our Moms. It takes a lot to hold the hand of a person going through betrayal. It’s draining, exhausting. We are both blessed to have Moms who were so selfless and loving.
Here’s to Moms!
Love yourself,
Cleo
Nic – October 23, 2013
Oh, C, my heart aches for you with this news. I’m sending a big warm hug your way through the ethernet and holding space for you. She sounds like an absolute rock star of a mother, just as you are. Xo.
Nic
cleo – October 25, 2013
N,
Thank you, N. You best decorate that space like Mardi Gras because whether it is imminent or she lives to be 100 (she would probably dread that thought) we are going to celebrate each day like it’s the final one.
Isn’t that the way it should be always? Another gift, wrapped in the paper from a doctor’s chart. My Mom comes in to save the day and remind me to be deeply grateful for each moment and not judge it, just live it.
Thank you for being here, N. You rock.
Love yourself,
Cleo
T – October 25, 2013
Oh Cleo, my heart aches for this news. I think that all of your readers are just a little bit better off from your mother’s wisdom that you pass along.
She sounds like an extraordinary woman, which is no surprise considering she raised such a classy woman like yourself.
Like yours, my mother is also my rock. I, too, am fearful of the day when I can’t call her up to talk for hours, or when I can’t lean on her in my time of need. But I just keep reminding myself that she is here today, and today is all that we really have anyway!
I don’t have much wisdom to offer today, but just wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you and your mom.
Cancer sucks.
cleo – October 30, 2013
T,
Thank you for your kind words, and please accept my apologies for the delay in posting your comment. It’s being delayed even further by using my Mom’s iPad. I am not used to this! And imagine the battle to wrestle it from her in the midst of a game of Solitaire. Brutal.
Thank you for reminding me that it does no good, and in fact does harm, to leap ahead and think about that which isn’t real. I choose to remain here and be grateful for all that is beautiful right now. Wishing for an alternative is saying, This isn’t good enough and we both know that is so untrue. A our Moms rock.
Stay close, T.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Kath – November 8, 2013
Oh Cleo!
Cancer must be pretty stupid to mess with a kick-ass woman like your Mom! You and your Kick-Ass Mom (KAM for short) will be in my thoughts and wishes for health and the best quality of life possible as she navigates this latest diagnosis.
Would like to know your Mom’s favorite ice cream so we may all eat in her honor as well as in solidarity!
Lots of love to you and your beloved KAM!
xoxo
November 8, 2013
K,
You are so right! Cancer has been mislead. My Mom backs down to no one. But she does so with grace and humility.
Her favorite flavor is Rocky Road. Of course. Eat it up and it’s no longer rocky.
KAM – I love that. KAM. SHEBOW. THWAP.
And grace. Thank you, m’lady. Your love is much appreciated. We send it back a thousand fold.
Love yourself,
Cleo