Elephants and Tea - December 2021 - 34

Caregiving CACTUS CANCER SOCIETY
places with her grandchild. Travel helped fill
some of the void my dad left.
A few years later, we had another positive
pregnancy test. We were elated. There was
going to be no stress, no insane travel regime
to see a dying parent. We were basking in happiness
and weren't looking back. Two months
into my pregnancy, my mom came to visit
us. I was shocked when I picked her up at the
airport. She was this yellow-orange color, including
her eyes. She mentioned her stomach
had been hurting, but she had an appointment
with her doctor when she got back.
Days later, she ended up in the ER and
was convinced to go home to get tests done.
A pancreatic cancer diagnosis came shortly
after, and it felt like the most screwed-up deja
vu imaginable. The flashbacks from when my
dad was sick were almost too much. This time
had to end differently.
Six months later, we delivered another
healthy baby. My mom was going through
aggressive chemo and was frequently in the
hospital to treat extreme side effects. She started
getting blood clots, and the day my water
broke, she had a clot in her lung. I was grateful
for Facetime and that she could see the baby,
but inside I was furious. They got the tumor
with clear margins, yet she was in the hospital
constantly. Why couldn't she catch a break?
When the baby was ten weeks old, COVID
reared its ugly head, my mental health was
tanking, and my mom was in the hospital after
being found unconscious by her neighbor. I was
too scared to get on a plane, and the inability
to find toilet paper seemed like the straw that
could break this camel's back. Her doctor
called me; it was time to do the kind thing
and stop treatment. Just as I was coming back
from maternity leave, she moved in with us.
We got some support through at-home hospice
care, but having healthcare workers come
in and out of our apartment while COVID
was rampant, juggling a newborn and a toddler,
and managing work was an unbelievable
load. For better or worse, my husband was
furloughed from his job so he was able to be
at home to help. We idly stood by, watching
COVID play out while my mom deteriorated
before our eyes.
The last day she was alive, I was beyond frustrated.
I was feeling the pressure of everything
weighing on me. I was constantly late to Zoom
calls, telehealth appointments, and preschool
classes. When we put the girls down for a nap
in the afternoon, my mom would lay down too,
and it was a blissful two hours when the apartment
was quiet and I could silence the noise
of all the stress that was blaring around me.
I walked past her room before getting on the
computer, and the instant I saw her, I knew.
The expression on her face wasn't right, and she
was unresponsive. I spent the next ten minutes
holding her hand, telling her that the girls and
I were going to be okay. She died shortly after.
It was a normal day, with no sign that she was
in any more distress than the days before. I
had grossly overestimated how much time I
had left with her, and I was ashamed of how
I had acted all day. And just like that, I was
grieving another parent.
We got her back to Colorado and had a small
funeral. We buried her with my dad, cleaned
out her house, and tied up loose strings. It was
the quietest summer.
Both my parents died of cancer, and their
deaths couldn't have been more different. But
once again, people praised the presence of
another baby. They said we were lucky we had
her to help us look forward, and they weren't
wrong, but what I wanted was more time with
my parents.
Fifteen months out and I've accepted their
loss, but the grief from navigating life without
them is still a knot in my throat. I miss them
the most in times of triumph and defeat. I lean
" I won't lecture on
how life is short, carpe
diem, or to always say
" I love you. " I mean,
duh. You can remind
yourself to do that
already. No, the lesson
I've learned from all of
this tremendous grief
is to show yourself
some freaking grace. "
on my friends who were my superheroes last
year. Grief math is still a prominent game I
play in my head. How many holidays it's been,
how old my parents would be now, how long
they would have been married.
The biggest lesson isn't the cliche one that
comes to mind. I won't lecture on how life is
short, carpe diem, or to always say " I love you. "
I mean, duh. You can remind yourself to do
that already. No, the lesson I've learned from
all of this tremendous grief is to show yourself
some freaking grace. Give these things credit:
that your loved ones know how you feel, that
the appreciation you have is known, and that
while you'll always wish for more time, it's
okay that things were left where they were.
Tomorrow isn't promised, but don't torture
yourself because yesterday was cut short for
someone in your life. It's how I've learned to
live with myself and what I tell my past self.
Be kind. Show yourself some grace. l
AERIAL DONOVAN IS THE CHIEF PROGRAM OFFICER AT CACTUS CANCER SOCIETY,
FORMERLY LACUNA LOFT. HER PASSION IS HELPING THE YOUNG ADULT CANCER
COMMUNITY DISCOVER RESOURCES AND ENCOURAGING THEM TO ENGAGE WITH EACH
OTHER. HER KNOWLEDGE AND EXPERTISE IN COMMUNITY BUILDING AND ORGANIZING
+ EXECUTING DIGITAL EVENTS HAS HELPED CACTUS CANCER SOCIETY'S PROGRAMMING
FLOURISH. PRIOR TO CACTUS CANCER SOCIETY, SHE WAS VP OF PROGRAMS AT
GRYT HEALTH AND VOLUNTEERED WITH ORGANIZATIONS SUCH AS STUPID CANCER,
IMERMAN'S ANGELS, AND PREVIOUSLY WITH CACTUS CANCER SOCIETY.
34
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DECEMBER 2021
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Elephants and Tea - December 2021

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