Mom is reading Tidbits. She says to me, “This will make you feel good. Number of people who traveled by air worldwide in 2012, over 3 billion.”
Me, “How does that make me feel good?”
Mom, “No, keep listening. Number of passengers who died in crashes in 2012, 414.” (Still not seeing how this will make we feel good… But I keep listening.)
Mom, “Number of people killed or injured by bathtubs each year, about 182,000. So you’re more likely to die in your bathtub than a plane crash. Don’t you feel better?”
Me, “No. I hardly ever fly but I use the bathtub all the time. Now I’m scared.”
I’m not the first daughter to shave her mother’s head due to chemotherapy and I won’t be the last. Actually, it was kind of fun. There’s just something about shaving someone’s head. If you’ve never done it, I highly recommend it. I have shaved my share of heads in my day, mostly my husband’s, but once I shaved my own. Having shaved other heads and my own I have to say that both experiences are pretty cathartic.
I shaved Mom’s head on her actual birthday, August 16th and then we went shopping for scarves and hats. We found a lot of scarves but not many hats because Mom has an abnormally small head for an adult. She claims it is due to being a preemie. I have decided to start calling her “Baby Head”. It’s her superhero alter-ego. I’ve been trying to think of a good pirate name for her too. Pirate Nana is good but Captain Baby Head might be better.
She has been really awesome through this whole experience. It’s nice that we can joke around and make a terrible situation light-hearted and a lot of fun.
There are things you want the world to understand but you don’t want to say. You wish and hope everyone knows and that they will understand what you’re going through but you know deep inside that most don’t. And maybe no one does. Your story is like my story but it is not the same story.
I’m angry. I’m so so angry. And I’m so so devastated. I’m full of regret and full of determination to make the best of what I have.
I’ve experienced loss but never like this. In some ways my loss doesn’t compare with anyone else’s and in many ways it’s exactly the same.
Thank you for caring. Thank you for your support. Thank you for all you have done and said that has shown me your love for me and my mother.
I’m going to be weird and stoic and strange for a while. I’m going to be sad and angry and fine. Sometimes I’m going to seem perfectly fine. It’s just a thin layer and it dissolves every night around 9pm which is when I start thinking about breaking things and sobbing uncontrollably.
I’ve had a lot of offers of help for my mom and myself. Expect me to take you up on them. And expect me to try to do everything myself. I’m a mess.
I love you all. Thanks for understanding the unspoken things in my heart.
For those who don’t know… I can’t… Just email me. I can’t bring myself to write it here.