Urban Mama

A Worthy Organization

Many of you reading this know my kick-ass friend Susan, aka WhyMommy, who has been fighting cancer for more than three years. A few weeks ago, she and another amazing friend Sue, of Laundry for Six, announced a new nonprofit venture that will help women with breast cancer get access to much-needed compression sleeves if they suffer from lymphedema.

I also wanted to share how important I think this issue is, because my own mother struggled with lymphedema, and I know she would have absolutely loved these stylish sleeves. I urge you to consider donating to the cause, so more and more women can get what they need!

If you want to more about the collaboration between Crickett's Answer and LympheDIVAS, please visit Susan's blog, and find out how you can help women with breast cancer!

 

The Best Gift I Ever Gave: Mami's Final Birthday

SWAGG is a free mobile app (download here) that lets you shop smarter using your mobile phone. Buy, send or swap SWAGG GIFTS and organize your old school plastic gift cards.

For every download of the app between now and Dec. 31, 2010, SWAGG will donate $1 to Stand Up To Cancer (SU2C) , up to $125,000.

Clever Girls Collective and SWAGG are sending a pair of movie fans to the Sundance Film Festival! Download the SWAGG app and then visit the Ultimate SWAGG Getaway Sweepstakes site to enter to win a trip for two to the Sundance Film Festival. Entry deadline is January 3, 2011, 11:59pm, PST.

My mother, whom I always, without exception, called Mami, turned 67 just 10 days before she died in fall of 2008. For her birthday, which my three siblings and I knew, deep down in that part of our hearts we knew would soon be crushed with grief, that it was going to be her last birthday. That's not something most people can possibly (or should ever) know -- about themselves or the people they love -- but when you are in the end stages of metastatic cancer, it's not difficult to guess that if your next birthday is probably it. We knew it, and she knew it too.

The baby and I went down to Florida for her birthday, as did my older brother Louis and his family, to join Jorge, Diana and their families for the birthday celebration. My good friend Audrey silk-screened T-shirts that said "Team Abuela" for all eight grandchildren, with my eldest niece's saying 1 on the back and so on, in birth order, stopping with Baby J, who was 8.

I could say that seeing the shirts on the grandkids or simply having all four of us together one final time was the birthday gift, but we even had a physical present for her as well. We ordered a custom photo blanket made up of photos of all eight grandchildren. She was always cold, so the blanket served a double purpose of warming her body and keeping the grandbabies close to her, both physically and figuratively. It was, quite frankly, the perfect present. I'm not sure whe I'll ever give another gift with so much meaning.

As I was helping Mami back into her bedroom later that evening (she slept as many hours a day as an infant at this point), she said to me, in Spanish, "What a beautiful blanket. It's such a shame I won't get to enjoy it very long. At the time, I wasn't quite ready to hear her acceptance of her imminent death, so I just replied in my normal, rambly way about how she needed it, because she was cold, and now she could see their photos all the time, especially the five kids who didn't live in Florida (like mine).

But now that more than two years have passed, I know that our gift to her giving her a chance to realize that the four of us would be okay. We were all grown, married, parents. We were all unconditionally devoted to her and each other. She had raised us right and had experienced the joy and privilege of witnessing our weddings and births. She knew she could let go of the pain, because we would go on loving her, loving each other, loving those beautiful grandchildren she adored.

Because of my commitment to Stand Up to Cancer, I hope you'll download the app, because SWAGG has partnered with SU2C to donate $1 for every download of the app between now and Dec. 31, 2010. Your FREE download will directly provide a $1 donation to SU2C (up to $125,000). For more about SU2C, visit http://www.standup2cancer.org/

 

 

Learn more about the coolest new app that revolutionizes the whole shopping, gifting, and gift card-organizing experience and Download the SWAGG app to your iPhone or Droid. I was selected for this sponsorship by Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity.

Stand Up to Cancer

I haven't posted in a while, but next week, since it's my birthday, I'm hosting a giveaway a day, so if you stay tuned you'll have a really good chance of winning some of my favorite things (book, movie, apps, video games) as well as some cool swag and household products.

BUT, that's not why I'm writing today. I'm writing because tonight all of the major networks are broadcasting Stand Up to Cancer starting at 8PM ET, and I hope you will watch.

Chances are that like me, you've probably known someone who is or has battled cancer. Maybe your mother didn't die from it, but you know someone, don't you? A sibling, a cousin, an aunt or close friend. I have so many reasons to watch, so many reasons to *give,* so I'll name just a few of them:

1. Mami, who died at age 67 after an 8-year battle with colon and cervical cancer. I miss her every single day.

2. Ele (my beloved aunt), who died at age 74 after suffering from multiple myeloma for two years

3. Mama (my grandmother), who died at 79 just six months after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer

4. Tia (my great-aunt who shared my birthday) lived until the ripe age of 92, but she would have lived longer had stomach and colon cancer not metastasized

5. Susan, a breast cancer survivor and an amazing friend who has taught me about IBC, about never giving up, about delighting in the blessings we've been bestowed

6. Sarah, a breast cancer survivor who was my first friend to have -- and beat -- cancer. She is in remission and nearing a 30-something birthday on the same day as mine.

And that is just a tiny half-dozen names that remind me how much we need to do to find ways to fight cancer. I know there are hundreds of organizations you can donate to, but please at least watch, find out how you can help, if not financially than with your time. Watch for the names on tour list.

Team WhyMommy's Virtual Science Fair

Susan, aka WhyMommy, is an easy woman to love. She's smart, generous, loving and kind. She's nothing short of amazing, and it has been such a pleasure knowing her for the past two years.

The first time I met Susan, she and Jean aka Stimey, were driving me to the DC Metro Moms launch party at Le Chat Noir in Friendship Heights. She was wearing a headscarf, and I immediately wondered if she had cancer but figured it wasn't something I should ask about so soon. As it turned out, I didn't need to ask, because the topic came up in the course of the drive, and she shared about IBC, which I'm ashamed to admit I had never heard of before that evening. I was in awe of her.

More than two years later I'm still in awe of Susan. In her honor, I decided not to do an actual science experiment so much as enjoy nature remembering her own family's love of the outdoors (and her boys' penchant for climbing trees!).

During Spring Break, my friend Mica and I took our kids to Jekyll Island, Georgia, where we took every available opportunity to ride bikes, take long, winding nature walks (we saw alligators, cranes, birds of prey, and tons and tons of bugs -- including Chiggers that live in the Spanish moss). The children climbed trees, swam, learned about sea turtles at the Georgia Turtle Rescue Center, and were in touch with the outdoors every single day. That's not something I always do here in the DC suburbs, but on this trip, I wanted the kids to experience nature, to appreciate what the natural world has to offer, to ask questions big and small, even if I don't always know the answer.

Susan, you are an inspiration. Your commitment to your children, to your husband, to science, to your friends, family and fellow mothers with cancer, has helped so many. I hope you feel loved today and every day as you battle cancer. We are here for you and can't wait to take a nature walk with you and your boys some day soon.

Thank you to Jean for setting up today's Virtual Science Fair!

Soon

I'm not sure if this is going to be an upbeat blog to visit anytime soon. It's not that I'm depressed all of the time, but I'm grieving, even though my mother is still alive. I'm not much in the mood to run giveaway contests, post product recommendations or track my kids' shenanigans right now. I love being with Mami, my brother, sister and their families, but I'm also reminded every day of the undeniable fact that my mother is dying. And not in the "we're all going to die some day" way, but soon, soon, soon. OK, not today, tomorrow, next week or perhaps even next month, but SOON. SOON. SOON.

Yesterday I had my first breakdown since coming down July 27th. Mami said she wanted to look for a piece of jewelry to leave to my youngest niece, who is 21 months old. She also asked me to help her find a sapphire ring my father gave her; she wants to give it to the Schmoopette. My composure completely cracked then, and I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Mami turned herself away from me while I cried and suggested I put the baby down (he was sleeping in my arms). I took that as a directive to leave, so I went to my 13-year-old niece's room, where I've been sleeping, and cried. After a while I decided to take a shower, and I cried again, knowing no one could hear me over the sound of the running water.

I've come to realize that in addition to being sad, I'm also quite angry. I'm angry and bitter that some people live until their 60s before their parents die. I'm angry that my father died when I was two, and that I mistakenly assumed that God would allow us to keep our mother until she was in her 80s. I'm angry that I'll be parentless, an orphan at 32 (my birthday is in September). I'm angry that I live three states away from my brother in New York and four states away from my sister and brother in Florida. How will I get through this without them?

I'm also worried. I'm worried that after my mom's heart stops beating I'll stop being who I am. Not completely, but enough for those who love me to notice. That I won't be as kind or sweet or funny or loving. That I'll turn into a bitter, weepy shrew of a woman who lashes out irrationally at her kids and her husband. That I'll be angry at my husband for having two living, healthy parents who are older than Mami. That I'll dread Mother's Day Thanksgiving and Christmas. That I'll feel alone, even though I know I won't be...

This is my life, trying to keep going as normal as can be while always being aware of the fact that my mother is dying. Soon.

Photo credit: "Grief and sorrow" by Javier Kohen on Flickr

Querida Mami

You look so gaunt I can't help but stare at your tiny frame. You joke that you're on a concentration camp diet. I'm relieved you still have your sense of humor. I laugh, but I'm also terrified at how breakable you seem. You don't even want to know how much you weigh anymore, because it's in double digits you haven't been since girlhood.

You sleep so much throughout the day that I told the kids: "Abuela is kind of nocturnal."

You keep the TV on most of the time and show no interest in reading -- even the sweet prayer devotional guides one of your best friends sent. You don't watch anything but the Spanish-language stations anymore.

You grimace and wince and close your eyes and rub the parts of your body that ache, that hurt you so deeply you can't even describe the pain.

You wake up after midnight and call out for ice in your cooler, vanilla ice cream, a ham-and-cheese sandwich. It's the least we can do. Whatever you want, whenever you want it, you can have it. We want you to eat.

You come down after much prodding to call your second-oldest grandchild -- the eldest grandson -- for his 12th birthday. Everyone sings, wishes him well, asks about his presents on the speaker-phone. You ask to speak to him privately. After a minute or two, you hang up the phone, your eyes misty, your nose red, and your voice cracking.

"Are you OK?" I ask. You nod, but I know what you're probably thinking: "Is this my last birthday greeting to him?" or maybe "Will I get to see him again?"  or "Will he remember this conversation?" Maybe you're thinking something else entirely, but that's what I'm thinking, anyway.

You sing your youngest grandson, my sweet baby, a lullaby in Spanish: "Duermete niño, duermete ya..." It's hard now to hold even a 15-pound four-month old, but you cradle him tightly in your feeble arms, crooning the same song you sang to all of your other grandchildren, and your children before them.

You know he won't remember the song on his own, but I will, and I'll sing it to his children one day too.

Mourning a Stranger

On June 23rd, a friend posted about a mother of six at her church in Philadelphia who was dying of Inflammatory Breast Cancer. She said the family thought she had about two weeks to live and linked to Punk Rock Mommy. I was intrigued by the name of the blog, the fact that she was suffering from IBC -- an aggressive form of breast cancer I had only recently become aware of through Susan at Toddler Planet --  and because my mother also has terminal, stage-IV cancer. So I began to read the blog that very day.

I became engrossed in Andrea's words. She had a raw, no-nonsense yet lyrical way of writing about facing death. She was open about the physical, emotional, and spiritual aspects of accepting your own death. She was heartbreaking in one sentence and funny in the next. She didn't shy away from gallows humor. She was straight forward about her urgent need to be with her children, her husband and her inner-circle of friends, even if it meant saying no to well-intentioned would-be visitors. She joked about death being inconvenient and admitted she was jealous her husband would get a big master bedroom all to himself.

Every day since the 23rd, I would reload her site multiple times to see if she had updated. When she didn't update, I read posts in her archive, looked at the photos in her Flickr set and prayed for her and her family.

On the 5th of July, after a day out with the kids, I came home and reloaded her blog. I saw the photo of a lit candle and just knew she had died. But what's amazing is that she left one final post for her husband to publish. It is one of the most powerful things I've ever read. Andrea's dying declarations challenge us not to be petty or spiteful. She thanks God for the final year she had with her family, even though it was it was so painful. Read her words yourself; they're heartbreakingly beautiful.

I'm so thankful I was able to follow Andrea while she was still alive. I am grateful that she gave me insights on what it's like for my mother to face a disease that is killing her. Thank you, Andrea, for everything. I'll miss your words and wisdom.

Why Cancer Sucks

Of course this is the understatement of the millennium, but recently I've met or read about more and more strong, amazing women who've had to put their lives on hold to battle cancer. Sometimes, like in the case of my new friend Susan, there is a triumphant remission. But in other cases, like with Meg's soulsister Jen, the cancer proves so powerful that final wishlists must be drawn up. And then there is the heartbreaking story of two sisters the Mothering community knew as mighty-mama and Kundalini Mama. Both had breast cancer and died a few months apart last year, leaving behind children (babies really), who still desperately needed them.

With my own mother, cancer has left her weakened but not defeated. She has a permanent ostomy and a surgery-related fistula to deal with, yet her voice is full of spirit. She has a long road of recovery ahead, but we -- my siblings, our spouses, her best friends -- all know she has the will to live, to overcome the depressing obstacles in her way. What's devastating, of course, is that for some, and eventually most people battling cancer, will is not enough. No amount of determination or support or even access to the country's finest oncologists can beat some people's cancer in the long-run. It boils down to a matter of time, and how that time should be and could be spent.

I know when "the time" comes for my mother, and I'm hoping it won't be for a long while, I will want to be with her as much as possible. Even if that means leaving my children temporarily under the care of friends and a live-in nanny. I will want the kids to talk to their Abuela and brighten her mood. I want to take lots of pictures, so when they ask about her I can show them and remind them what a funny, happy woman she was -- a woman who had so many friends she lived with her cell-phone virtually attached to her ear. I pray that my mom still has several rounds to go in her fight with cancer, even if I know deep-down that eventually her body, if not her spirit, may have to put down the gloves and rest. It's a downer of a thought, but like I said, cancer sucks.