I will talk about my infusion another day.
Today is the sixth anniversary of mom’s death. This is still my favorite picture of her ever, and that will likely never change. If you want to see something that embarrassed me at the time but now amuses the hell out of me and goes to show how fun my mom could be, this is it: That was taken at my friend Amy’s wedding, which took place on July 6th that year. My mom had dyed her hair red, white, and blue for the 4th of July. I was absolutely mortified that my mom was going to a wedding for my friends with wonky colored hair. I was around 23, and my mom still had the ability to embarrass me. I wish now that I had her guts, that I was comfortable dying my hair like that. I’m always too worried about being professional, even though I don’t have a job. Maybe some day I’ll be able to embarrass my son in the same manner.
As is my usual coping response to today, I am staying away from most of my media. I am taking my son to daycare, even though I am not going to my classes, because I am in no emotional state to handle him today and he doesn’t deserve to have a mama who is just overly sensitive and angry. It’s not his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. Cancer is such a bitch. I spent last week actually learning about cancer in one of my classes. I had planned to miss that class but I’m glad I didn’t. I am also really glad it wasn’t this week because I sure as shit couldn’t have handled it. Nope. My poor professor who was teaching the aforementioned class was teaching the cancer section the day before the fifth anniversary of her dad’s death from cancer, and she’d just lost her uncle a week and a half before. We both made it through that class without crying…I don’t know how close she was, but I was shaking with emotion after sharing a teensy bit about mom and her cancers, and after we discussed the fact that you don’t usually die of breast cancer, you die from the effects of it because it often goes to the brain…which is how my mom’s mom died. My mom was only 17. I think her mom was only 42. That’s only five years from now for me. I only remember because mom was freaked out until she passed that age marker.
Some year I’ll be okay with this, right? It won’t always leave me raw and angry and in tears and generally miserable when the anniversary rolls around, right? It does get better? Because I’d really like it to be. Grief is a bitch and I would like it to go away and leave me alone.