Two weeks ago, My 32 year year old daughter died.
She had an unidentified rapidly spreading cancer.
She wasn't even sick.
She had back pain and leg swelling.
She worked on her feet eight or ten or twelve hours a night, five or six nights a week, overnights at McDonald's for approximately 10 years.
Of course her back hurt.
Of course her leg(s) swelled.
These are the same symptoms that forced me out of work, despite an extended medical leave for rest and treatment.
Her daughter was 80 days from her 12th birthday.
Already taller than her mother (and grandmother), already more curvy, a good artist, largely self-taught and still self-teaching.
She made her mother so happy.
She made her mother laugh.
She made her smile.
Her son turned 7 the day she was admitted into the hospital.
They had his party on Saturday, his birthday would be Sunday.
By midnight, by Sunday, by his actual birthday, she was in the hospital.
He would not see her in person again.
He, too made her laugh and smile and play, and just beam with happiness.
She was so pleased with her kids even when they frustrated her. That was part of the fun, part of the job, part of the love.
The largest part of her reason for existing, for working her legs off.
He would not see her again.
Hailey would not see her again.
I would not see her again.
She died in a local, neighborhood hospital, with no final hugs from her kids, no good-bye from her mother, no farewells of any sort from the rest of the extended family, who tried to organize a parking lot banners-and-waves for her.
She did not die alone. On the last day, they finally allowed her husband to be with her, and he was there for her.
He was there for her, holding her as she left us, helping her to ease into the long good-bye that she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.
He, better than anyone, could get her to face hard facts, to admit to hard truths.
He. too. is way too young to be facing this, and left with these bereft children while his own being is split into parts, as if an amputation. If Hailey was 80 days from her 12th, he was 78 or 76 (sorry, cant remember the day right now) days from his 31st.
Too young.
They have been part of one another for over a quarter century. They had been a couple for more than half their lives.
He is handling it in the ages old way: One task, one chore, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.
Me, I guess I'm handling it the same way, but I wonder.
It just seems too damn big to be true.
Too crazy.
Too wild.
Too fictional.
I'd like to think this is one of my crazy story-telling dreams, but I know it is not.
I'd like to think this is an alternate reality, and somewhere she's sending me a text or pictures of the kids, but I know it isn't and I know she's not.
She just isn't.
Even if there were to be an alternate reality, that isn't where I am.
Although it remains where she isnt.
I wake up between 3:30 and 4 every morning, if I sleep at all.
That is when she would be getting off work and we would talk, text, chat, and often meet. Usually across the street at Kroger's store, just before they opened.
I want to show her things from my house, I want to share jokes about tv shows and brief flurries of arguments about songs, and ...
Well, if you've lost someone, you know.
If you haven't, you can't know.
Tammy, oh Tammy.
I miss you so.
She had an unidentified rapidly spreading cancer.
She wasn't even sick.
She had back pain and leg swelling.
She worked on her feet eight or ten or twelve hours a night, five or six nights a week, overnights at McDonald's for approximately 10 years.
Of course her back hurt.
Of course her leg(s) swelled.
These are the same symptoms that forced me out of work, despite an extended medical leave for rest and treatment.
Her daughter was 80 days from her 12th birthday.
Already taller than her mother (and grandmother), already more curvy, a good artist, largely self-taught and still self-teaching.
She made her mother so happy.
She made her mother laugh.
She made her smile.
Her son turned 7 the day she was admitted into the hospital.
They had his party on Saturday, his birthday would be Sunday.
By midnight, by Sunday, by his actual birthday, she was in the hospital.
He would not see her in person again.
He, too made her laugh and smile and play, and just beam with happiness.
She was so pleased with her kids even when they frustrated her. That was part of the fun, part of the job, part of the love.
The largest part of her reason for existing, for working her legs off.
He would not see her again.
Hailey would not see her again.
I would not see her again.
She died in a local, neighborhood hospital, with no final hugs from her kids, no good-bye from her mother, no farewells of any sort from the rest of the extended family, who tried to organize a parking lot banners-and-waves for her.
She did not die alone. On the last day, they finally allowed her husband to be with her, and he was there for her.
He was there for her, holding her as she left us, helping her to ease into the long good-bye that she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.
He, better than anyone, could get her to face hard facts, to admit to hard truths.
He. too. is way too young to be facing this, and left with these bereft children while his own being is split into parts, as if an amputation. If Hailey was 80 days from her 12th, he was 78 or 76 (sorry, cant remember the day right now) days from his 31st.
Too young.
They have been part of one another for over a quarter century. They had been a couple for more than half their lives.
He is handling it in the ages old way: One task, one chore, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.
Me, I guess I'm handling it the same way, but I wonder.
It just seems too damn big to be true.
Too crazy.
Too wild.
Too fictional.
I'd like to think this is one of my crazy story-telling dreams, but I know it is not.
I'd like to think this is an alternate reality, and somewhere she's sending me a text or pictures of the kids, but I know it isn't and I know she's not.
She just isn't.
Even if there were to be an alternate reality, that isn't where I am.
Although it remains where she isnt.
I wake up between 3:30 and 4 every morning, if I sleep at all.
That is when she would be getting off work and we would talk, text, chat, and often meet. Usually across the street at Kroger's store, just before they opened.
I want to show her things from my house, I want to share jokes about tv shows and brief flurries of arguments about songs, and ...
Well, if you've lost someone, you know.
If you haven't, you can't know.
Tammy, oh Tammy.
I miss you so.
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