My story of my mom's cancer and finding some healing

October 31, 2009:

I was having a party in the basement. It wasn't technically a Halloween Party, though everyone was encouraged to wear costumes. It was "Infinity plus Seven"-- A party to celebrate my best friend Lora's birthday, my birthday, and the beginning of our friendship all rolled into one. We met in 8th grade--seven years previous. The infinity is because we feel like we've known each other forever and I think we actually have.

My mom and dad had been gone all day. My mom's back had been bugging her and I knew they went to the doctors, but I was so distracted by the party, I didn't worry about it. Plus, it was just a back problem. Why worry about a little thing like that?

Part of me wishes I had somehow known how wrong I was, that I had some sense of foreboding, but really, I'm glad I didn't. That part was one of the last times in almost 2 years that I was completely myself. I was in my element and enjoying every minute. I was really, truly happy. My memories of that party are vague because the events that followed were so much bigger, but I remember laughing, smiling, and truly being happy.

November 1, 2009:

My dad called a family meeting. Family meetings are common for my family, but not like this. I only remember a couple other family meetings where I felt a sense of dread like I did that day. Once was when my dad told us my Uncle Charlie was missing--and had been for half a week. He ended up committing suicide. The other time I remember it was when my dad told us my Uncle Wayne had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer and probably wasn't going to make it.

Maybe I'm adding the feeling of dread as an after effect. Maybe. But I remember dread. My dad informed us that at the doctor's, they had run an MRI and found a mass in my mom's pancreas. They didn't know what that meant exactly. It could be several things, but it was most likely cancer.

November 2009--the rest of the month:

I don't remember much of November. It's something I think I've been trying to forget. I do remember that after my dad told us that we started talking about how to get my mom to and from doctor's appointments. I told them I could do it. I stopped going to school so I could take care of my mom. I was with her when we first met the oncologist. I was with her when the biopsy was done--at least I was in the hospital. They didn't let me go back with her. I was with her when they told her the results. I eventually withdrew from school--I wasn't going anyways. I was at home, all day every day taking care of my mom and trying to keep the house in balance. My brother and I took turns cooking dinner. I held the bowl while my mom threw up. I tried to convince her to take her medicine. I called doctors, set up appointments, went to chemo with her. My world was my mom. And somehow during that I tried to fit in a boyfriend and catching up on work so I could leave it with a good conscience. I remember how relieving it was to have people there for Thanksgiving--to not feel like I had to carry all the burdens myself. But I remember how despairing it was as well to know this very well might be my last thanksgiving with mom.

December 2009:

Chemo continued. Mary moved in to help which took a huge load off my back, but was really hard for me as well. I saw how easily she ran things and I felt like despairing. I wasn't nearly as good at it as she was. With Mary there, I found myself with more free time, but I knew I couldn't go back to BYU. I didn't have the emotional stamina to hold up. I'd failed classes before, and I wasn't so emotionally screwed up then as I was at this point. The idea of massage came to me. I'd thought about doing it after I got my bachelors degree. Why not do it the other way around? So I researched schools and decided to go to the Utah College of Massage Therapy. Chris went to Arizona to spend Christmas with his family. I was left trying to find ways to help my mom, buying Christmas presents for her was the worst. How could I buy her something, knowing by the next year, it would probably be back in my hands? I had started crocheting her a blanket, but I didn't have the heart to continue.

Early January 2009:

My mother was dying and there was nothing I could do to help her. My relationship felt stagnant and it was the one area of my life I had some control. I freaked out. I almost
broke up with Chris. Luckily he was ready to take the next step. Instead of breaking up, we decided to get married. But we didn't tell anyone except those we'd confided in during the "freak out" process. I also started school. School gave me something to focus on. Chris gave me a reason to be happy. So I pushed on.

January-May 5, 2010:

I think during this time I overcompensated for my feelings of pain by throwing myself so much into school, work, and planning for my wedding that I went a little crazy. I didn't act crazy. But I was grouchy. I was uptight. I didn't care about making friends at school because, well, I was just going to leave them when I got married in May and plus, I was there to learn, not to socialize. I ran myself ragged. The moments I had alone with Chris were my only moments of peace--moments I could relax and just be. Chris officially proposed to me February 12, 2010. It was one year after we started dating to the day. After that point, I could be upfront about my wedding. Plans were made on a small budget and I had to run every single detail. If I didn't do it, no one would. My mom was too sick. Everyone else was so focused on my mom that they really didn't have time or energy to help. Celest helped a little, my soon to be mother in law helped when she was in town during March, but I found myself stressed as I planned every detail. During this time, Lora went on her mission and I found myself without even her to help me.

May 6, 2010:

My wedding day. This day will forever be one of the most precious days of my life. I married the man of my dreams, a man who could worthily take me to the temple and who calls me beautiful every day--a man who I admire and respect. I left Cindy Pope in the dust and became Cindy Crockett. Everyone remembers their wedding day fondly, but mine was particularly important. My mom was there. She sat and watched me get married. She hugged me and told me she loved me. She was in the pictures, smiling radiantly at me-- so proud of her little girl all grown up. She stood in line at the reception. I know that some of the people who came didn't come to see me. They came to see her. I didn't care. I was just happy my mother could be there.

The rest of May 2010-August 2010:

2 weeks after my wedding, my mom went downhill. If I had gotten married simply a month later, she wouldn't have been able to be there--or at least she would have been at the wedding and missed everything else. She could barely leave the house. She was so sick. I was now living in Orem, going to school at the Lindon campus of UCMT, and trying to figure out what it meant to be married. I didn't have as much time as I wanted to visit her. I wanted to be there every day, but could barely get there. On July 19, 2010 I was hit by a drunk (and maybe high) driver. My car rolled and I got beat up pretty bad. The car was totaled. Luckily I didn't break any bones, but I was in constant pain (as I write this, I'm still in the recovery process). I also developed anxiety about driving. This made going to see my mom even more difficult, but I tried. I didn't really get to know anyone in my ward because about every other week we were in Murray visiting my mom.

By August, we all knew my mom was barely hanging on. My visits to see her increased, but being in school, it was hard. I wanted her to die because I didn't like seeing her like that, but I desperately wanted it to go back to how it was before. One day I was singing "I often go walking" and I realized I didn't know my mom's favorite flower. I knew grandma's, but I didn't know my mom's. No one else I asked seemed to know either. So, one day while helping her go to the restroom, I asked her. She said "pink roses. The ones that smell good." I bought her a rose that next week. A pink rose that smelled good. It was all I could do for my mom to brighten up her day. I couldn't take away the pain. It seemed pitiful that all I could do was buy her a flower, but at least I could do that.

I wish I could forget what she looked like during those last few weeks, but I'll never forget her withered body lying in the hospital bed, shallowly breathing, barely awake enough to talk to me at all. I developed a paranoia that she would die while I was at school and that no one would be able to get a hold of me. (Cell phones were strictly forbidden during class time. I could only check it during lunch.) My dad was given Chris's number. Chris was given the school's number. And yet I worried. I prayed that when the time came I'd have enough notice to get there.

August 29, 2010:

I visited my mom. We skipped church to go up and see her. She was semi conscious of me being in there with her. She slept through a lot of it. She was heavily medicated. But I talked with her--really, I talked to her. She would respond in short sentences, but mostly I talked. It was the last time she spoke to me.

August 30, 2010:

I had developed the habit of checking my phone as soon as class ended just in case. I had just had a really good class and was in a good mood. I was considering what to eat for lunch when I opened my phone. There was a text from my dad. It said "Call home." My heart dropped. I called home. My dad told me that my mom was unresponsive. The nurses had confirmed that she wouldn't be around long. Today, maybe tomorrow, she would be gone. I sat in the lunch area and talked to my dad. Then I called Chris and worked out a plan to get us up to Murray as soon as he got out of school. I would have gone then but I had a final that afternoon. I had to take it. Some people saw me crying and hugged me. They tried to make it feel better. They couldn't. I don't know if I even ate lunch. I just tried to hold on through the rest of the day. I think I left my ring on my phone just in case my dad needed to get through. I don't remember if I told my teachers then or not. I just know I passed the final. I did a really good job actually. Especially on the hands on final. Normally when I massage, I could forget everything else. It wasn't so easy that day, but I forced myself to focus on the body I was massaging, and I made it through. I was even given a compliment about my style by the TA.

After school, I went and picked up Chris. I think I had him drive up the rest of the way. I think we picked up hamburgers or something, but maybe I didn't eat then. I'm not sure. I remember getting there and the place being full of people. People let me through and I held my mom's hand. At one point James told me to climb up next to her on the bed. I did. I don't know how long I was there with her, but it probably wasn't as long as it felt. She couldn't breathe right. She couldn't talk. She couldn't blink her eyes. I know her spirit could hear us, but I'm not sure it was through her physical ears.

The last moments of my mom's life were painful. I was laying beside her, holding her hand, and stroking her face. My sister Cheryl was stroking her forehead. My aunt Sherrie and her son were on the other side. Cheryl and I told her it was ok, she could go. We wanted her to be free. She wasn't living: she had one foot out the door already. I prayed my heart out. A tear fell down her face. She made some funny noises--like she was trying to say something but couldn't. She took one more breath, and she was gone. My mother died before my eyes.

August 31--Sept 5, 2010:

I was numb. Completely numb. I went home with Chris and cried. Then I went back to my dad's to help. I helped make funeral arrangements. I helped pick the flowers. Because I asked, we knew to get pink flowers to put on the coffin. Everyone came except Jay. Jay was on his mission. All my other siblings were there with their spouses and kids. It was a time of joy--seeing each other after not seeing some of the siblings for a long time, but the joy was short lived and the smaller part of the equation. We were all mourning our mother. I didn't go back to school all that week. I remember at the viewing being the person who stood by dad. The only other one who did for an extended period of time was James. If James wasn't by him, I tried hard to be. I could only imagine what he was going through. I couldn't really cry. I accepted people's platitudes, but really, I didn't care to hear them. Not then.

The next morning was the funeral. Before the funeral there was another smaller viewing. Again, I stood by my dad. I wanted him to know he wasn't alone. I again was numb. I stayed that way until they closed the casket. Then I bawled. That was the end. My mom was really gone. It wasn't a nightmare. My mother was dead and we were going to bury her body. I spoke at the funeral, telling some of my memories of mom. I don't remember what I said and it's not important. I remember my brother mark calling us all June's warriors. I remember them playing the recording of my mom singing her song. I remember the choir singing my mom's other song. And I remember the confusion of trying to get to the graveyard. All the close parking spots were taken. I shouldn't have been driving. I was a wreck, even if I seemed calm. People were walking in the middle of the road and I couldn't get to a parking spot. I freaked out and started crying. Why wouldn't they just walk on the grass? After I finally parked, we went to the tent. I was frustrated because my family didn't fit under the tent provided for us. Other people were crowding in and many of us were standing out in the sun. Then when we went to put flowers on the grave, I had to stop their kids from taking our family's flowers. We only bought enough for us. After we were all done, I fell into Chris's arms. I had no energy of my own. My mother was dead. We were walking away from the casket, leaving her body to be buried. Reality struck. I would never see my mom bustling about the house cleaning again. She'd never play the piano and sing again. I missed our conversations, I would even have rather had one of our nasty fights. At the luncheon, my grandpa said he thought he lost his best friend. I said me too.

The next day we took family pictures. I was in rebellion. I didn't want family pictures. I was ornery. I went off and cried. We were taking the pictures because all of us but Jay were there. But we weren't all there. My mom was gone. For the picture of me and Chris? I'm all red in the face from crying. The day after a funeral is a bad day to take family pictures.

September 2010-May 2011:

I've been a half person for a long time. My heart was ripped into pieces when my mom died. It was damaged from the day I found out about the mass in her pancreas, but when she died, a chunk of me was ripped out. It's taken me forever to do the things she liked to do. Singing in church made me cry. My mom loved the hymns. Playing the piano? That's what mom did. Drawing? mom did that too. Writing poems? yup. My mom did that. Crocheting? my mom was the one who taught me to crochet. I lost myself in school, then work--anything to distract me from the feelings I had inside. My depression increased. I didn't care about what I ate. Visiting my dad was like a trip to hell. I did it because I loved him. But I hated being in that house. It helped that he rearranged his bedroom, but still...it was torture. On top of that, my dad started dating. Theoretically, I am ok with this. He's met a woman who he might marry. And theoretically, that's ok. I like her. She's good for him. As long as I think of them getting married "someday", I'm ok with it. But that "someday" is going to come pretty quick, and I'm pretty sure that when that day comes, I'll be less ok with it. It's going to be really hard emotionally. I went to a concert with them--my little sister's. I sat by Eva. Eva sat by my dad. There was an empty space by my dad. I couldn't help picturing my mom there. It made the concert a little harder to enjoy. My dad will always be married to my mom. When he gets remarried--well, then he'll have 2 wives. One who is alive, and the other one who is making sure he's not making any silly decisions from the other side.

June 1, 2011:

Today, today I feel peace. I've mourned as I wrote this, but before I began, I simply felt like myself. I know that I still have a ways to go before I'm completely "better", and I will always miss my mom, but today I am me. Today I ran around in shorts and a comfortable shirt--barefoot inside, flip flops outside. I relaxed and watched a cheesy movie. I laughed. I smiled. And I felt almost whole. I think it helps being here (in Arizona at Chris's parents house), where no one else is mourning with me. Being around whole people makes it easier to feel whole. Here I have a mom and a dad who love me. Back home, I know my dad loves me. But when I'm with him, I wish my mom was there. It feels natural to not have my mom here. She's never been here with me, so why would she be now? When I visit my dad, I see my mom in the halls of the house, on the paintings on the wall, in the plants, in the dishes, and especially in the garden.

Even if I were at home though, I think I would still feel better than I did before. I can now sing in church without crying. I've started playing around on the piano again. I've picked up writing in my journal. I even crocheted a little bit. My inspiration still isn't there when it comes to poems, but I've written other things. I've come to accept I'm my mother's daughter and the more I embrace who she was and what she did the more I will find myself again.

Today, I'm not the girl whose mom died. I'm not a massage therapist, a primary teacher, an activity days leader, or anything else. Today, for the first time since that party almost 2 years ago, I just am. And I'm happy. I'm a different me than the girl who sat laughing with her friends on October 31, 2009. Time has changed me, but today there are no false walls. I'm not hiding behind my callings or jobs.

Today, I can stare the world in the face and declare, I am me, the real me. I am Cindy.