There are obviously many things for me to be thankful for. Being alive and cancer free is nothing to shake a stick at. Having a great support group who has taken care of me this whole time is equally awesome. And nothing beats having the best cancer care team in the whole world as the icing on my cake of thankfulness. But despite all these things I know I should celebrate this Thanksgiving, I’ve been feeling a bit down the last few days. At first, I pushed my depression aside as temporary, but it has persisted and I’m still feeling off.
The anniversary of my Mother’s death was this past Wednesday. It has been 29 years since she left us and each year I think it won’t be a big deal when her anniversary comes around. I mean, I was three years old when she died and it’s been a long time since her death. I have a ton of friends who lost parents when they were older and able to process their respective losses much better than a three-year-old could. That said, it confuses me each year when I catch myself in a melancholy mood during the Thanksgiving holiday.
I’m in a particularly melancholy mood right now, given the battle I’ve fought this year. I feel like I should feel more empowered, content, and happy with life, but I’m experiencing quite the opposite. When I think about my Mom’s death, I realize now more than ever before, how hard her battle was. I can’t imagine what chemo was like for her, receiving the same Adriamycin crap they gave me, but in one dose instead of four. I’m also sobered by the thought of what my Dad went through during her treatment, watching her slowly deteriorate and die in front of him. Again, I can’t imagine that experience. My path has been much easier and for that I am truly grateful. But it’s hard to be thankful this time of year when the anniversary of my Mother’s death highlights the things I have lost. And when I think about the things I have lost to this disease — my Mother, my breasts — I feel sad and angry. I’m staring at my physical therapist’s notes to me on how I can regain range of motion in my arms; I’m feeling that sensation of numbness in my chest and armpits; I notice a slight twinge of pain as I reach behind me to scratch my back; and I realize that I’ve lost a lot this year. And yes, I know I’ve gained a lot more than I’ve lost, I for whatever reason, I am still focused on my grief. I suspect the haze of depression will fade in a few days and at that point I can focus more on the positives in my life and all that I have to be thankful for, but for now, all I want to do is sit on my couch and cry.
Cat,
As I read this blog, I am searching for the words to convey what I want to say without sounding like a “know it all” or preachy or whatever… I just want you to know that you are allowed to grieve, you are allowed to feel sad, you are allowed to feel angry… and whatever other emotions come to you. In fact, more than being allowed, you are entitled to it! You have been through so much this past year and unless a person has been there – it is so hard to understand. Most people just don’t get it unless they have been through it. So, feel what you need to feel – sure there is a ton to be grateful for, but you also have the right to grieve your many losses this past year (and in childhood) as well. Healing from breast cancer takes time, both physically and emotionally. Its been 3 1/2 years for me… and there are some days I still feel like I am healing, although they are much fewer and far between than they used to be. I think the hardest is when treatment is done – before you had to spend so much energy and concentration on fighting to stay alive and now that that phase is over it is sometimes quite difficult where to focus your energy on. I think the aftermath is sometimes harder than the treatment phase… but it will gradually get easier. Keep hanging in there – wishing tissues and some comforting ice cream your way.
Comment by Sheri — November 29, 2008 @ 7:21 pm |