This is Chapter 3 in the Grief Memoir. Catch up with previous chapters here.
I had been in Phoenix for about a week when our 2020 Friendsgiving trip was canceled due to the pandemic, and it was looking like our daycare was about to close again due to a COVID-19 surge. My husband James and I decided that we’d do the ultimate pivot – get everyone to Phoenix for the holidays.
We put a lot of hope into a last-minute leave request for him to bring the girls to Arizona and surprise my parents with their trip.
The long-term plan was that the girls and I would stay in Arizona through the holidays, with James coming back for Christmas. We’d return home to Kentucky after the holidays where hopefully daycare was open again. Solo parenting, caring for my mom, my job…this would all work, right? In the back of our heads was the lingering thought that this was our last holiday with all of us together.
Later I learned about anticipatory grief, of the feelings of loss even before that loss happens. In those moments, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you I was starting to have that, but in reality, I was. So instead, I focused on my to-do list. What were the actions I could take to get through the day, week, and next few weeks? To be honest, I don’t remember how I felt in November or December that year except for busy and tired.
By staying in Arizona I was right there to help with caregiving and helping decide any next steps for treatment. If my kids were with me, then I wouldn’t miss them. My husband and I had done deployments and Army trainings, so what was a few weeks to us?
Nothing moves fast in the Army, but miraculously, in two days, James’ chain of command navigated the extra approval processes due to COVID and his leave was approved. James, his stepmom, and the girls were on their way to Phoenix.
I let a few local friends in on the plan and they helped bring over some sides, a turkey breast to cook, and other necessities for the meal. As I cooked Thanksgiving dinner by myself, I started to feel like the family traditions baton was being passed to me. I hyper-fixated on making the meal perfect, just like mom would.
As James and the crew were delayed, I could only stall dinner for so long, so we started to eat before they arrived. Just as we finished the main course, the doorbell rang. I coaxed my mom to come check the door with me and as she realized who was there, joy filled her face. I will never forget that moment.
After a few fun days together, it was time to get back to life – James and his stepmom went back to Kentucky and the girls and I stayed with my parents. I don’t remember every detail of the following weeks, and I can’t tell you how I felt – if I felt anything. I made myself so busy that there was not time to feel.
So much happened every day and I just had to get through each one. I bought a preschool curriculum to occupy my 4-year-old and planned trips to the zoo. We went shopping for presents.
After one outing, I pulled into the driveway to water streaming out from the garage – a pipe broke by the washing machine. I went into fix-it mode, helping my parents navigate a home insurance claim while hiring contractors and plumbers. The leak led to the discovery of asbestos in the walls, so the entire area was sealed off for weeks as the company removed it and then repaired the walls and pipe. We walked our laundry back and forth from their neighbor’s house as infrequently as I could manage, but with four of us in the house, it was often.
I worked between entertaining the kids and helping my mom. I relied time and again on the amazing community my parents had – took breaks when people came to visit, accepted any and all meals, and got babysitting help for doctors’ appointments.
The amazing social workers at her doctor’s office recommended palliative care for Mom. Palliative care focuses on improving the quality of life for patients with serious illnesses. A nurse came to my parents’ house and helped us assess everything going on with Mom, providing suggestions to help improve nutrition, and look at her other medications. It was nice to have another set of eyes looking at everything holistically.
My mom also had appointments with a new doctor to try another treatment – chemotherapy directly to her brain. We scheduled surgery to have a device implanted into her brain so they could administer the drug after the holidays.
James returned just before surgery to take over kid care during the operation (which is always at the crack of dawn) and do the final push to Christmas.
Between my own stress, to-do list, and doom scrolling to get a mental break, Christmas was just another day… but with a lot of presents. I remember really focusing on making it a Christmas that my mom would be proud to host. We made all her go-to recipes. We cooked; she rested. It was another passing of the torch moment as much as I wouldn’t admit that.
The day we finally left to go home to Kentucky my mom had her first dose of the new chemo to her brain. She seemed to be handling it fine as we left. My one-week trip in November had officially turned into seven intense weeks.
Despite my focus, I made some core memories during my stay. There was the time my mom helped me fry the latkes for Hanukkah, one of the last times we cooked together. My mom read to the girls often, sharing her favorite books from my childhood with them snuggled up together. We made our annual trip to Zoolights, although rather than pushing a wheelchair we opted for drive-thru style, staying warm. I started helping my mom with a photo digitization project by organizing family photos dating back to the late 1800s. Mom told us who people were in many photos and even shared stories while we did slideshows of some of her favorite trips, including rafting down the Grand Canyon and visiting Europe with her mom.
Most importantly, we all got to spend time together, as a family, time that we normally don’t have by living so far away. I was hopeful that the new chemo would help, and mom would get better. I didn’t have a trip planned but knew I’d be back soon, after I took a well-earned break.
I just didn’t realize how soon.
Come back every Wednesday to walk this journey with Jessica Hall as part of the MilSpouse Memoirs, stories brought to you in chapters, one week at a time.