Near the End of 2014

Today in 2014, I wrote, "Grateful that this year of loss is coming to a close. I'm hoping for less loss in 2015. Just enough to learn how to breathe again." Mom died in June of 2014. What I couldn't possibly know was that my husband was dealing with symptoms of colon cancer, and he never shared that information with me while I was taking care of my mother. In fact, he never went to get that colonoscopy I begged for him to get until after the new year. By July 2015, he was gone, too.

Folks, if you do nothing else for the new year, please plan for a colonoscopy. If you're on a regular five-year schedule at this point, bless your heart -- and I mean that phrase in the most genuine way. If you had colon cancer and survived (or any cancer for that matter), you might think about joining the Cancer Survivors Network. This is a place where you can find your survivor twin, help, and companionship. 

Until tomorrow...

Photo: From left, my husband, Hugh, my father, Robert, and my mother, Joanne. They're all gone.

28 December, The Dullest Day for a Decade

Not much happened on this day since 2012, according to the daily gratitude lists I've kept for almost a decade (skipped a few years, sometime around my husband's death and my recovery from surgery, 2015-2018). Even my Facebook memories are dull for this day. Probably due to that "nothing is happening" syndrome that occurs during the lull between many a Christmas and New Year.

In 2012, I moved my daughter from her college town of Memphis to my house in Kentucky. In 2013, I was in Virginia, as witnessed by the fuzzy photo of that huge poinsettia my mother received as a gift. By 2014, I was with dad in Virginia, where I commented that I thought he was doing well. Also noted that my cousin was moving from Pennsylvania to about five miles from dad to take care of his mother (my father's sister). He's been there since.

In 2015, I was without a husband, as he died a year and one month after my mother, in July. I had quit smoking a month after his death, and I commented that I didn't have to take as many showers at dad's place, because I didn't smell like smoke. Dad and I settled into a tradition where I would join him every Christmas week. We would eat at King's Island Restaurant for one meal. Christmas breakfasts would consist of my mother's oyster stew. We also took walks around the mall (see photo above), and he was always ahead of me. This was not an activity that included talking, obviously. In the evenings, we'd have a glass of wine and watch Hallmark Movies.

I found his addiction to Hallmark movies hilarious, as he never finished watching a movie when mom wanted him to sit with her to watch one. He always said he knew how it would end, and he had better things to do. Always a disappointment to mom in that arena. I even told dad that mom would be turning over in her grave knowing that he was watching one to two movies every evening...all the way to the end. He especially loved the castle movies with the waltzes. I ended up buying a few waltz CDs so he could listen to the music.

I miss those few years I had with dad alone for a number of reasons, mainly because I was as lonely as he was. But, traditions always change. If they don't, then they end and all we have are memories. If we don't share memories, then those stories die with us.

The Heart Doc and Fluid, 2013

Thorocentisis in practice.
Courtesy of NHLB.

Today in 2013, I accompanied my mother to here regular appointment with her heart doctor. I don't remember his name (it was a "he"), but I have a vague recollection of where the office was located.
Mom wasn't allowed to drive, and my driving drove her nuts. She was especially anxious about my driving that day, saying something to the effect that I would kill her with a car accident before she ever died of cancer.

It was a tough day for her. Since we learned she only had one kidney this year when she had an imaging test of her digestive system in March, we knew she was going to have a tough go with everything...especially with chemo. Fluid build-up was becoming a constant this month, and it would get worse as the months continued. Within a week, she had gained seven pounds, all fluid. We knew this, because she had a thorocentisis done on her right lung ten days prior.

Thoracocentesis is a medical procedure where a medical professional inserts a needle into the pleural space (the space between the lungs and chest wall) to remove fluid or air. According to the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute, a government institution, this imbalance of fluids can be caused by heart, kidney, or liver failure, or other medical conditions. 

My mother never complained of any pain from that procedure, because I think she felt such relief. But, talking to mom about pain was difficult, because she preferred the word, "uncomfortable." Often we overlooked things because she refused to say she was in pain.

On this day, th doc pumped her full of Lasix and ordered more Lasix for home use. He then called later that day to stop the Lasix, as her count was far too high compared to ten days prior. Since it was a Friday, she had to ride through the weekend before she could see anyone on Monday. I think this was during a time when hospice had to stop their services and then pick up again later for some reason, probably insurance. Making a note to see if that was the case. At any rate, I don't believe I had anyone to call for weekend help at this time.

I mentioned this visit on Facebook with friends and, of course, received responses of well-wishes and remedies (dandelion tea), and notes from other friends who also were going through cancer treatments. A lot of my friends were so supportive, but it was difficult at time to have to tell some of them that I couldn't do what they suggested, because anything out of balance could throw mom's health off. So, we never touched the dandelion tea.

In several comments I mention my mother's physical capabilities at this point. She was either falling asleep in her chair and spilling coffee all over herself, or she was walking around with no direction, slightly fuzzy-headed and wobbling (I compared her to a dreidel), with a slight fever. She also complained of lower back pain, which was probably her kidney.

It appears my husband left Virginia to return to Kentucky, as I mentioned that she was "acting" well while he was there. As soon as she left she seemed to fall apart. The effort it must have taken for her to mask all those symptoms. I can't and I never could imagine the strength she had to cover her illnesses up. But, she wasn't fond of any illness. She refused to believe when her children were sick. Some long stories there. Perfectionists never like to have lives disrupted by anything as ugly as sickness.

And here she was. The first in our nuclear family to face a diagnosed death prognosis. But, she had already lived well past her three-month predicted time left on earth. Here she was, nine months after her diagnosis, still alive and kicking.

Celebrating 60 Years of Marriage, 2013

My parents married the day after Christmas in 1953 which was a convenience for their kids as they aged. I mean, what do you get for parents who are celebrating 50 to 60 years of mar,riage? I don't remember the gifts my brothers gave, but I think the best gift I gave them was an expensive meal ticket to one of the fancier restaurants in Lynchburg, Virginia. where they were living at the time. As kids, we just gave them silly gifts. (note to myself to remember the pear).

I'll have to go through my notes to understand why they chose that date for their wedding. I believe it was because dad was in the Air Force and he had limited leave. I learned a few interesting facts just this past year as I went through articles in papers at Newspapers.com...They were married at the Baptist Church in Clifton Forge, then had a reception at my mother's uncle's now-defunct restaurant just at the edge of town. Afterwards, they honeymooned in Williamsburg. Dad didn't have a dime left after all that hoopla. I think they rented a cabin in Williamsburg for $10 per night, because they owners felt for their circumstances. Dad was a born salesman.

My parents were always sweet to each other on their anniversaries. Mom would make dad a special meal, dad would have flowers for mom, and so on and so on. I'm sure I'll remember more about their anniversaries as I write, but the one that stands out for me the most was their last anniversary together. They celebrated their 60th anniversary togther on 26 December 2013. I managed to remember to get a notice and a photo together for the local newspaper in time, which was important to my mother. They also received a beautiful cake from their Sunday School class. I still have the brown butterfly topper, floating to the right in the photo. The butterflies weren't edible.

The anniversary I didn't note at all was the one where dad decided to finally bury mom. The only reason I noticed was when I went to my Facebook memories and saw the image of the gravesite. That image rocked me back on my heels, because I didn't understand why dad wanted to bury mom on such a cold day in December. It just didn't occur to me at all that that day would have marked their 63rd anniversary in 2017.

Mom was cremated and her cremains went into a beautiful urn that she picked out the day before she took to her bed to die. When we picked up the urn, it was in a box, and dad kept it in that box for almost a full year. My baby brother visited him at one point and said, "Dad, why don't you take her out of the box, man?" Dad looked puzzled and then laughed, from what I heard. He had forgotten she was there, but he didn't forget. It was like she was a Schrödinger's wife...there and not there.

So he took that beautiful urn out of the box, and two years later he told me he was ready to let her go. I think he was mulling over how much longer he was going to live, and he didn't want to put the pressure on me to get mom in the ground along with his cremains when the time came. So I called Tommy Slusser at Nicely's Funeral Home in Clifton Forge, and he agreed to meet up with us the day after Christmas to bury mom.

What we didn't know was that public works, which takes care of the cemetery, had the week off for the holidays. Tommy had dug the hole for mom's urn himself, and he didn't expect anything from us. Mom's stone was already laid, and all he did was dig a deep hole--with a shovel--for the urn right between mom's stone and where dad's stone would be. They were sharing one plot, and I do believe dad also ordered his stone that year and paid for it.

We went to visit dad's brother afterward, and I could tell that dad felt a great sense of relief after dealing with what, I'm sure, was one of the more difficult things he had to do in his life.

It was over. She was in the ground, finally, and he would join her two years after his death in 2022. My father donated his body to science in Richmond, and when they finished with him, they sent his cremains to Tommy. The timing was off to make his burial an anniversary thing--which I never even thought about, honestly--so I just did what I could do. They're together now, and the synchronicity of several years between death and burial for them both is enough for me.

My parents both are buried at Mountain View Cemetery in Clifton Forge. I'm still working on their Find A Grave memorials. You can find them at Joanne Elizabeth Eanes Goin and Robert Meredith Goin, Sr.

NOTE to self: I know I have a photo of mom and dad on their 60th. 

Also, found the newspaper clipping on 5 January 2014. I blurred out the section that listed names of the living. Of course, I'm an historian. I forgot to note the date, page, and column of this article, but I can tell you the mention was in the Lynchburg News and Advance.