• Genetic or Not, Gay Won’t Go Away – Frank Bruni
• Peyton Manning and the Worst Goodbye Party Ever — Andrew Sharp
• The Most Influential Books of the Last 50 (or so) Years — Super Scholar
• More Evidence Supports Barefoot Running — Kyle Stack
• Ancient Tanzania Had Early Social Network — Red Orbit
• Tragic Truth About Caste — Shikha Dalmia
• The Liberal Arts as Guideposts in the 21st Century — Nannerl O. Keohane
• Room for Debate: English is Global, So Why Learn Arabic — THe New York Times
• Forget Networking. How to Become a Connector – Alina Tugend
• How to Be Happy at Work — Geoffrey James
• The Long Goodbye — Doug Monroe
• Path is Found for the Spread of Alzheimer’s — Gina Kolota
• Can You Teach Color Sense? — Jude Stewart
• The Biodiversity Project — Joel Sartore
• Mark Zuckerberg, the Hacker Way and the Art of the Founder’s Letter — Steven Levy
• Quitting Facebook Could Make You Happier — Michael Austin
• Everything You Thought  You Knew About Learning is Wrong – Garth Sundem
• The Art of the Obituary — Harry de Quetteville
• 20 Things to Start Doing in Your Relationships — Marc and Angel Hack Life
• Great Ways to Invest in Yourself — Carlos Portocarrero
• On Criticism, Cynicism, Sharpening Your Gut Instinct — Scott Belsky
• Handling Interruptions With the Urgent vs Important Matrix — T.A. McCann

 
Meet Mr. Toilet — Focus Forward Films

The play was really good, and Nixon delivered a Tony-award winning performance. Unlike my usual practice, I didn’t look up anything about the play. It was pretty clear that Nixon would play a character with cancer, given her bald head the poster. The play has other characters, but it is, essentially, a one-woman play about a women stage IV ovarian cancer. If you plan/want to see the play, and do not want any spoilers, I suggest that you stop reading now.
 
 
 
 
 
As Nixon’s character, Dr. Vivian Bearing, took us through her experience from diagnosis to death, I felt a wave of emotions flood over me. The sequence of events In the last 10 minutes, or so, of the play was nearly identical to that of my late mother. Tears slowly started to run down one cheek, and then another. The sounds of sniffles and eyes being wiped were audible throughout the theater. The end scene and visual imagery at the very end of the play was overwhelming (I originally started to write “haunting,” but I think that may be the wrong word choice.) I stood with nearly everyone in the theater to give Nixon a standing ovation. Once the curtain fell, I fell back into seat, sobbing almost uncontrollably for about 10 minutes. Thankfully, Carla was there to console me. We were asked to clear the theater, so I had to pull myself together so that we could walk out. The fresh air on the walk back to the subway helped clear my head.

There’s no other way to put this — I really miss my mom. She took her last breath about 1 am on Tuesday, May 27, 2007. Four days shy of her 62 birthday. I was in the room with my mom as she faded away and took her last breath. I had to remind the code team that my mom was a DNR. I have to tell you, having to forcefully tell medical personnel to back off and let your mom die is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I sat holding my mom’s hand until she went cold. I waited in the room until my sister could get to the hospital to say her goodbye. As you can tell, even after almost 15 years, that night is still a very vivid memory.

The pain of losing my mom is clearly just below the surface.

Interestingly, I don’t regret going to the play last night. As painful as it was watching things unfold on stage, it was, in an odd way,honoring my mom, and so many women who have battled cancer. The play reminded me how strong of a woman my mom was. In spite of the pain she was dealing with, my mom put off morphine so that she could be lucid when my sister and I go to the hospital. (We were all in DC for my graduation from law school.) My mom struggled to walk me through some “housekeeping” issues, as she put it. The last thing she said before she died was that she was proud of me. (sob)

My reaction to the play has caused me to think about whether I am just pretending to have “come to grips” with my mother’s death. It’s not as if I don’t think about my mom often, but I am a bit surprised by how much my heart aches. Do we ever really “get over it?” How do we honor the feelings when they arise? I have been struggling to find some answers to these, and other questions since last night. I had to stop typing this piece for a while because the tears and sobbed resumed. Most of the time when I think about my mom, I get a smile on my face because she and I had a similar sense of humor. There are times, though, that I just can’t shake the tears and sorrow. Perhaps, I am not supposed to lose those feelings. *shrug* I have to allow myself the freedom to fell down or have a full-blown uncontrollable cry. The funny thing is, my sorrow is not really that much about my loss–no matter how great. I really feel bad that mom spent so much of her life helping others, and didn’t get any time to take a breath, rest, and just do some things for herself. I feel like she was robbed, by cancer, of some well-deserved “Judy time.”

Let me just end with this. With all the current hullabaloo about Komen and Planned Parenthood, I hope that people don’t lose sight that what’s really at the base of all that chatter is people. People suffering, struggling, recovering or relenting to cancer. These are just people in the generic sense. They are beautiful, meaningful women. Mothers, Wives, Sisters, Daughters, Friends. They are women that don’t deserve to get caught in the center of petty bullshit about political perceptions. Cancer doesn’t give a damn about political party, race, socioeconomic class, or even gender.

I will always love you mom! Thank you for everything.

Love, Poopsie

Source: TurboTax

click the infographic to enlarge

Source: Anytime Health