Dee’s Story
She died at 52 and I was 22 – was I an exact mirror of her existence? Could I change things or did she will this? I still remember looking at her from the door of her ward. She looked at me and said “Take note….this will be you one day”. Did she want it to be? Or was she warning me to change my ways. Our relationship was so strained it could have gone either way. She had been sick for so long. Since I was 14, and there I was looking at her trying not to cry. No matter what I couldn’t imagine a life without her. And I couldn’t tell her. I had to stay strong – pretend none of this was permanent – she was going to make it – how could she not.
She saved us from an abusive home. We left with her with a fractured jaw hanging onto my pink elephant running through a bus station to jump into a cab waiting on the other side. He followed us from our small home in the country – to the bus station. The home told her to go the bus station like we were leaving town and grab a car to Interval house – a cab would be waiting. We lost him there. I can’t imagine what others must have thought. She had a pink elephant in one hand, my hand in her other and my brother trailing behind, mom with a fractured jaw and a bloodied face…, but we made it.
We always made it how could we not survive this. How could I lose her so young, how could we not survive this. I don’t know how, but we didn’t. She died. She died before anything could happen- before we could show her how we truly did survive. She died. She died before I found love, she died before I established a career, she died before she could meet my son. She died before she could see who I was. She died.
When you lose your ground note you hang on tighter to all of the strength she ever gave you. You feel like its your duty to look after everything left behind. It was my job to make sure my older brother still had an anchor. Didn’t matter that I didn’t, you simply assume the position. You miss her but you channel her – and you carry her through. Everyone looks at you – they try to see her in you, they try to talk to you like you are her. You become the Woman of the house as my grandfather dubbed me after the funeral. You become the woman she was so others don’t have to grieve as much. So others don’t have to feel the full loss.
But this. Everyone saw her again. They saw me being diagnosed with a pelvic mass. Everyone said it was my turn. Everyone thought Dee is going to die. Just like her mother. Everyone saw it. Same age, same disease. I almost believed it myself. No one said it – and many didn’t reach out from my mothers’ family. It was almost taboo to talk about it. It may have been too hard. Seems unfair, all I’ve ever dealt with was “hard” I didn’t get a break. I got to this point on my own – and I was going to have to get through it with new found family and some die hard friends. It was too familiar for others. But to me, I knew no matter what I needed to fight….this was NOT my legacy. My son needs his mother. I need to see him grow up – see his children. Be a grandmother.
The mass was benign. It’s official, I wasn’t my mother. There I sat on the cancer ward after surgery – and I didn’t belong. As I walked around the floor I saw her. I saw her in each room. I saw her in my reflection. But it wasn’t her. It was me. I was leaving soon. I made it. A horrible 15 cm scar and everything removed but I’m here. I’m not dying…at least not yet. I’m here. The breath I’ve been waiting to take is coming. Still fearful to take it. But it’s mine to take when I’m ready. It’s mine.
