The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

Every year I go through the same thing.  I argue with myself for weeks about this day. Say something, don't say something.  Do something to commemorate it, hide in the house.  Share it, keep it to myself.  See if anyone remembers - don't be a jerk.  So five years of it, and I always end up here.  On the keyboard, dishing out my words.  I guess I need it.  When I logged into Blogger I was shocked to see that I had only blogged once since Year 4.  Sometimes I just post on my Facebook page - Portality Thoughts . . . I do a shorter version, but wow.  The blogging has really slowed down.   I think you get to a place where you just keep it inside.  After all, it's been literal years and it's not forefront on anyone else's mind (sans family).  And then I think, but this is my story.  My life living without him, and I remember how grateful I am that I documented it - because to be honest, grief can be a real memory stealer. ...

My mother-in-law once told me her 50's were her favorite.  I should have had a clue when on the morning of my 50th birthday, my previous German Shepherd, Sarge, had the worst case of diarrhea I'd ever seen.  In the house!  With people coming over for a meal.  I'm sure glad we can't see the future.  It's not always bright.  I won't say my fifties have been my least favorite, because of my grandkids, but they have been the hardest and most painful years of my life. Six years later, and we've lost our son John to the opioid epidemic, my Dad and I, along with my mother-in-law all hang out at the cancer center, and it definitely has not been butterflies, unicorns, and rainbows.  I have a standing joke with a friend - I type in "uni" on my phone and this comes up:  🦋🦄🌈.  It reminds me that while life is not all butterflies, unicorns, and rainbows, people prefer it when it is.  We have a natural human instinct to look for the good, to try an...

You came to me in a dream. They are rare, but I covet them so. You were yourself, just as I remember you. The dream was so detailed, so strange, so comforting.   Grandma was there too – my family intact. In the dream, Grandpa didn't like where I parked my truck, so he moved it. (He stills tells me how to drive). We were on Litchfield Avenue, we grabbed a pizza at the old Dominos location, and he was concerned our food would get cold. He parked the truck so well, so close to someone’s house, that we couldn't find it!  We told Grandpa we lost the truck and he said, "I parked it at Lavash's", a name I've never heard of, but how odd. Also in the dream, a friend gave me a card announcing the opening of a salon – it was very much in color. It was so blue - as if you took a piece of the summer sky and mixed it with the opalescence of seashells. I'll never believe the "experts" when they say you dream in black and white. Anyway, John, you backed ...

A Room With A View . . . My corner for the morning - a warm blanket and peanut butter & jelly toast . . .I'm all set Yeah.  Being facetious.  I can see some treetops!  The cancer center is BUSY!  Everyone is getting their after Christmas dose of life-saving poison and the nurses are trying to keep up.  I thought I’d bring you with me today, dear reader, (⬅️ Morgan 😂) and show you what a day in the life of this grieving, and now, cancer patient, looks like.   My appointment was at 8.  8:30 . . .I had my port accessed and headed back to the waiting room.  I saw the Doc about – 9:30.  He listened to my heart, squeezed my ankles, and asked how it went on Round One. I told him it went really great.  Then I shared my genetic results with him.  I'm BRCA 1 Positive - so this is definitely inherited and genetic.   His reaction was a little shocked, and he confirmed what Mayo said about another surgery.  So, after chemo is all ...

Pick your poison.  That phrase has been turning around in my head for a solid 24 hours now.  Sometimes you don’t get to pick your poison, but you end up taking it anyway.  Did John pick his poison in this case? I suppose he did. When the nurse mentioned I'd be getting fentanyl on Wednesday my heart about stopped.  Can I choose?  That particular drug killed my son.  FENTANYL. I know there is a place for it in the medical world – in the world of pain, but how do you respond to a nurse telling you that you will be given fentanyl for your “pain” when they place your chemo port on Wednesday.  Wait, what??? I felt exactly the same when they offered it to Kate when she was waiting for her epidural . . .she declined.  Do I?  Can I decline that any more than I can decline the weeks and weeks of poison that I am willingly signing up for with Chemotherapy?  It sure makes me think.   Honestly.  I feel lik...