Coming Home To Cancer

Is this real life?

2013-09-23T22:47:00.001-07:00

I hate those moments when I realize my mom is really dead.

Like, she's actually gone. Like, I'm really never going to see her again. Like, "Hey, remember when they put your mom's body in the ground and threw dirt on it? That's the last image of her you're ever going to see for the rest of your life."

She's not at home waiting to for you to take a break from college to come visit her. She's not eager to hear about how you did on your midterm. She's not even going to answer the phone when you're attempting to make Persian rice to give you verbal instructions as best as she can and say "Why didn't you watch me all these years?"

Like, she's really gone.

My throat swells. My heart pounds. My mouth gets so dry. All of a sudden, I feel so small and the room feels so big and empty.

I can't even cry. I'm just in shock.

This can't be real life.

Is this Grief? Is this what it's supposed to feel like?

2013-08-15T13:36:00.001-07:00

When my mom first diagnosed with brain cancer in January 2011, I developed anxiety. I figured it was normal. I mean, my mom had stage four brain cancer after all. That's pretty anxiety-producing.

Over the course of her cancer journey, the anxiety just got worse and worse. I knew my time with her was ticking away and I didn't want to waste it. I was away at school most of the time and it hurt to be away from her so much. I was anxious about whether I was making the right choices.

When it became obvious that the end was near, I prepared myself for the grief. For the sadness and depression that I assumed I would feel. I thought that with her gone, I would be less anxious and more depressed.

But that's not how it happened. I don't know if it's denial or what, but now a year after her death, the sadness hasn't sunk in. I get sad sometimes, and I cry. But I'm not stuck in a deep depression.

Instead, I'm stuck with this terrible anxiety. I thought that after she died, I'd feel relieved of the stress. I thought that when a loved one if sick, you feel anxious. And when a loved one dies, you feel depressed. That's not how it's worked out. Instead, the anxiety decided to stay.

But now, instead of having one thing, like my mom, to focus my anxiety on, it's just become the free-floating anxiety. I was not expecting this to happen at all. I thought I was as well prepared as I could be for grief, but I was definitely wrong.

I know people say that grief is different for everybody, but I thought for sure that at least I would feel more depressed than anxious. But no.

And sometimes I feel like the anxiety is preventing me from really grieving for my mom. Hey, maybe that's why my brain does it to me. As a defense mechanism. Whatever the reason, I wish it would go away.

I Live-Tweeted My Mom's Death

2013-07-09T12:05:00.001-07:00

In January 2012, a year after my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer, I decided to start this blog and a twitter account to promote it. Little did I know that I would essentially be live-tweeting my mom's last 7 months. As you read through these tweets (please excuse the minor typos), you will experience the many different aspects of how my mom's terminal illness was affecting both me and my mom.

I'm a college student whose mom has terminal Brain Cancer. Please check out my blog: http://t.co/nBzpU9KI
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) January 16, 2012

It's been a year since my mom was diagnosed with Brain Cancer. How much time does she have left? http://t.co/lO0lt5b1 #WorldCancerDay
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 5, 2012

Everytime I go home to visit my mom, it's so hard to say goodbye. I tear up almost everytime. #Cancer is a terrible thing. #ACureCantWait
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 8, 2012

Just got a random text from my mom: "Hi Misha! I love you!" Love you too, Mommy ♥ #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 12, 2012

I got news that my mom had her second seizure this morning. This one was very minor compared to the first, thank goodness. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 17, 2012

After the seizure this morning, my mom's doing well. Thanks for support @andynaranjo @alexajarvis @heatherwgaona #btsm pic.twitter.com/3RjtNP5H
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 18, 2012

I just learned that my mom is having an MRI on Monday to see if the @Tocagen clincal trial has worked. Please pray that it has! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 24, 2012

My sister called me 3 hours ago and told me that my dad took my mom to @ucsf ER #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

Since last night, my mom has had trouble walking and talking. She also threw up twice and fell once. So they went to the ER. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

My dad said they've been running tests on my mom for 3 huors and it would take about 6 hours before we know anything. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

I hate spending the afternoon crying. Gives me such a headache!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

I'm so tired from all the crying today. But I have to stay awake. My dad's supposed to call me after they get the test results back.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

The wait is killing me. I hate imagining my mom in the hospital.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

Just got a call from my parents! The doctors aren't sure what exactly is causing the problems. Might be swelling or fluids. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

My mom is going to spend a few days in the hospital. She still has her MRI sheduled for Monday. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

She was well enough to speak, and she kept complaining about how the doctors have no respect for privacy: "Privacy is a huge problem here."
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 26, 2012

Visited my mom at the hospital today. She's doing MUCH better! Her left arm only trembles slightly and her mind still isn't perfect. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

But she can walk and talk just fine! And her sense of humor is definitely back! Thank you to the doctors and nurses at @UCSF for everything!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

She had an MRI today, but no report from the oncologist yet. I'm keeping my fingers crossed! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

Got the results from the MRI. My mom's tumor is spreading in several directions from the right frontal lobe. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

The oncologist wants to take my mom off the @Tocagen trial because the tumor's growing. But my dad thinks she should stay on it. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

I'm not sure if surgery is an option. They have another appointment with the oncologist tonight to talk about treatments options. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

Got a text from my mom. I guess her hand won't stop shaking. #btsm --- ('7 I am ddi happy! So Hsppyb I tori ed in Nazz's seems:::(:;)!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 27, 2012

The @ucsf Neurooncology Board will be reviewing my mom's case on Thursday. So no options about treatments until then. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) February 28, 2012

The @UCSFCancer BT Board will be looking at my mom's case tomorrow. Hoping for a better reaction than what we got from @UCLAJCCC! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 1, 2012

I love getting sweet texts from my mom: "boos, boos, boos, love you, love you, love you" ("boos" means "kiss" in Farsi) #BTSM
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 4, 2012

One voicemail from my aunt and I'm a crying mess. Anything sets me off lately. And all she wanted was my address to send me a birthday card!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 11, 2012

Okay. Done crying. Back to studying.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 11, 2012

I got this book for my birthday, and I love it! So excited to read through the whole thing! #btsm pic.twitter.com/O5MkoJT4
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 20, 2012

Today, my mom looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "There's always a chair in my heart and you're sitting in it." #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 26, 2012

Today is my mom's birthday! I've made her this scarf for her birthday. I hope she likes it! #btsm pic.twitter.com/Z85WQ2WP
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) March 28, 2012

Just called my mom's phone. Listened to her answering machine. Then I remembered that she can't talk that clearly or sharply anymore. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 1, 2012

Decided to cut my Economics class to surprise my mom at home. I got home just as she was starting her nap. #Btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 3, 2012

I'm starving but I don't want to leave my mom's side. #btsm #CancerDaughterProblems
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 3, 2012

And she's awake!!! #winning #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 3, 2012

My mom sent me this text the other day about my haircut: "Youe hircu rlooks besuirul mish, you shoul dbe pou!" #btsm #braintumorthursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 5, 2012

It breaks my heart to see her have such difficulty typing. #btsm #braintumorthursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 5, 2012

I dream about my mom every night. In my dreams, she's active and happy. Like how she was back in July or so... But then I wake up. #BTSM
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 6, 2012

"Okay Mommy. Here's your bowl of soup." "I don't want the bowl. Just the soup." #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 11, 2012

Spent the evening at home with my mom. She looks much better than when I saw her on Sunday. #hope #btsm http://t.co/RETfh1yv
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 11, 2012

She's not doing well physically, but her mind was quite sharp tonight. Sharpest I've seen her in a long time. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 11, 2012

My mom's MRI is on Monday to see if the Avastin is working. #BrainTumorThursday #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 12, 2012

Text from Mom: "I love you& miss youn to. Loet me know when I can see youagain ." Her typing is so much better! #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 12, 2012

I'm going to thank Avastin for her improved typing skills. Hopefully it's a good predictor for her MRI on Monday. #BrainTumorThursday #Hope
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 12, 2012

Today my mom doesn't need her wheelchair! She's walking around with her walker! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 13, 2012

My mom on her 52nd birthday last month. She wouldn't wait until after the Happy Birthday song to eat her cake! #BTSM pic.twitter.com/O4b0phnR
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 14, 2012

#ThatDepressingMoment when I look at photos of my mom then (2009) and now #btsm But she's still beautiful ♥ pic.twitter.com/DmlarZHV
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 15, 2012

Happy Sunday! #btsm http://t.co/2iBeCMiu
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 15, 2012

My mom's MRI is today! Please send positive vibes. We're hoping the Avastin has been working. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 16, 2012

My mom just called me to tell me the results of today's MRI: the tumors are shrinking!!!!!!!!!!! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 17, 2012

I've never been so happy in my entire life!!!!!!! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 17, 2012

I now know what it feels like to sob tears of happiness. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 17, 2012

Can't. Stop. Smiling. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 17, 2012

I just want to tell the world that Avastin is truly amazing. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 17, 2012

My mom asked me to paint her nails. I haven't done that in about 10 years, but it turned out pretty good! #btsm pic.twitter.com/SDUZCWak
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 22, 2012

My mom's sense of humor seems to be doing better! But now she makes her jokes in her native Farsi, so I don't usually understand them. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 22, 2012

Mom woke up this morning irritated that she couldn't get herself out of bed. Dad said: "I'm grateful for each morning you wake up." #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 22, 2012

Made my mom a friendship bracelet during her nap today! Rainbow bracelet for Team Rainbow! http://t.co/xeerDbam #btsm pic.twitter.com/ZnyfinUS
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 23, 2012

My mom had a good day today! She was a speed demon with her walker and even walked a bit by herself! #btsm pic.twitter.com/rhbOHfMr
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 23, 2012

Until test results are back from today, no more Avastin. Which of course scares me because it's the only reason she's doing better. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 23, 2012

Told my mom that she was meeting with the neurosurgeon today, and she just stuck her fingers in her ears and yelled "lalalalalalala!" #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 23, 2012

Doctors say my mom has too much fluid in her brain which is why her movement/balance haven't gotten better with the good MRI results. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 24, 2012

She's going to have surgery to remove the fluid. Only downside is that she has to be off Avastin for 4 weeks before the surgery. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 24, 2012

I'm worried her tumor will grow back in those 4 weeks... #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 24, 2012

My mom's brain tumor is in her frontal lobe, that's the part that controls your personality and decision-making skills. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 27, 2012

Because of the location of her brain tumor, my mom almost seems like a different person now. I've watched her slip away #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 27, 2012

Had a dream last night that I was planning my mom's funeral and I didn't know if she wanted to be buried or cremated or what. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 27, 2012

Probably a reminder for me to ask her what should would like. Probably good information to have. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 27, 2012

Maybe she'll to donate her body to science. Anything for scientists to learn more about this evil Gliosarcoma tumor. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 27, 2012

I cried this morning when I realized that I wouldn't be able to visit my mom today because I have too much homework. #IHateCollege
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 29, 2012

Visited my mom! She looks even better than last week! Spent some time in the sun & made a "Happy Memories List"! #btsm pic.twitter.com/foBniirD
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 29, 2012

She's going to the hospital tomorrow for a spinal tap to find out if she needs a shunt. She's not looking forward to it. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 29, 2012

Mom's been in the hopsital for 5 hours & they still haven't started her spinal tap. To say she's getting grumpy is an understatement. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) April 30, 2012

My mom had her spinal tap procedure on Monday. They're keeping her at the hospital until Thursday (the reason is unknown to me). #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 2, 2012

I love my mom so much. I'm going to miss her so much. I don't want her to go anywhere. She's my mom! I love her! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 3, 2012

Sometimes I just can't control the tears. Glad I wasn't in public this time. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 3, 2012

My mom should be discharged from the hospital today! Five days at @ucsf for a stupid spinal tap. The shunt procedure is next Friday. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 4, 2012

My mom asked my to recite her a Persian nursery rhyme before her nap, but I couldn't remember any! Good thing my Grandma was here! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 5, 2012

My mom's shunt operation is at 6am tomorrow morning. And it looks like she'll be in the hospital for Mother's Day #btsm #braintumorthursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 10, 2012

Mom is in port-op. She looks pretty good! She can't talk yet, too exhausted. But she seems pretty aware. Good eye contact. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

Well this is awkward. My dad left the room for a minute and the nurse starts asking me questions. Like her eating habits and such. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

Wish I knew the answers... This is uncomfortable. Nurse asked if mom's been doing better since the spinal tap. And I don't know... #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

Probably a sign that I should spend more time with my mom. Once a week just doesn't cut it. So glad school ended yesterday. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

Shunt has been put in and looking good! She's rocking the asymmetrical haistyle! #btsm pic.twitter.com/xYpSFqR9
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

Sitting in the surgical waiting room for my mom to be assigned a room for overnight And my dad is snoring way too loud. #embarrassing #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

I always get nervous when the nurse comes to ask my mom to say her name and the year. So glad she got the answers right! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 11, 2012

Nurse: "Are you in pain?" Mom: (with difficulty) "...Yes" Nurse: "Would you like some medication?" Mom: "...No" #btsm #BraveMom
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 12, 2012

It hurts to see other girls my age having a good time around town with their mom. I wish my mom could walk on her own. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 12, 2012

Sometimes I get sad when I realize that I can't have the normal college experience all my friends are having.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 12, 2012

Tomorrow is Mother's Day and I don't know if my mom will be in the hospital or not. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 12, 2012

When I think about what my mom has gone through in the past 18 months, it makes me wonder how many surgeries one brain can handle. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 12, 2012

Mom's still in the hospital . Hopefully getting discharged today. Happy Mother's Day #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 13, 2012

My sister and I used to always make my mom breakfast in bed for Mother's Day. But the hospital's got that covered this year. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 13, 2012

I almost went home today to visit my mom. Good thing my dad called me to tell me she hadn't been discharged before I left! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 15, 2012

Mom transfered to @CPMCinSF today for 5 days of physical therapy. Hoping that with the shunt + PT, she'll be able to walk again! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 15, 2012

Enjoying lunch at @CPMCinSF. Had a great morning of physical therapy. Check out the incision from the shunt! #btsm pic.twitter.com/N8lBuLLe
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 15, 2012

My mom just poured ice water in her glass of milk... #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 15, 2012

Mom's having a good chuckle watching America's Funniest Home Videos. Love seeing her laugh! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 15, 2012

Spur of the moment MRI scheduled for my mom in 20 minutes! Hoping for good news! #btsm #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 17, 2012

Mom's new treatment plan: USE EVERY CHEMO DRUG WE CAN GET OUR HANDS ON (@Tocagen, Avastin, & 2 other trial drugs) #btsm #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 17, 2012

Male, Hispanic, and probably gay nurse came to take my mom's vitals. She says "Anyone ever told you you're cute?" He turned bright red #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 17, 2012

Got to the @CPMCinSF Hospital to visit my mom and she wasn't there! Guess my parents are at @UCSFCancer discussing the MRI results. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 22, 2012

MRI showed tumor growth, as was expected. @Tocagen and other clinical trial drug start next week. Avastin in 3 weeks. #btsm #hope
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 22, 2012

My mom: "Lately I've been dreaming about stuff from a long time ago. Like last night I dreamt about Mark Zuckerberg getting married." #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 23, 2012

Getting my mom from the wheelchair to the bed takes 5 min & 2 nurses. Hope @CPMCinSF can teach her to walk again. #btsm #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 24, 2012

I tell people mom has cancer. They ask how she's doing. I say not good. They ask if theres hope for remission. I say no. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 24, 2012

My mom's still at @CPMCinSF trying to learn how to walk again. Not going very well though. She still can't stand. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 26, 2012

I thought this shunt was suposed to help her movement! But I'm grateful her mind hasn't gotten any worse in several weeks. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 26, 2012

At the hospital with my mom. She's so excited I brought cherries. Only problem: she forgets to spit out the pits. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 26, 2012

My mom seems to have lost almost all of her movement in her left arm. Why is she not improving? #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 26, 2012

At the hospital with my mom and dad. They're both asleep. #QualityTime #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 26, 2012

My mom said she's tired of hospital food. Thinking I might just order a pizza to our hospital room... Can I do that? #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 26, 2012

Dad went to pick up the clinical trial chemo drugs. But they won't give it to my mom until she has a pregnancy test! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

Seriously?! Trust me. There is no way my mom is pregnant. She's already gone through menopause! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

And now we have to wait until Tuesday for the chemo drugs! Stupid Memorial Day. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

Pizza guy came right to our hospital room! And #PrincessAndTheFrog is on TV! It's a good night here @CPMCinSF! #btsm pic.twitter.com/tHMLc6M0
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

Nurse came into the room. My mom said, "I have a problem! I have to go to the hospital! I've had an erection for more than 4 hours!" #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

Apparently my mom thinks that #PrincessAndTheFrog is a very stupid movie. She didn't think that when we watched it a few months ago! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

My mom's Happy Memory Journal seems to only include stories of my and my sister when we were very little. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

Mom (with a blank face): "Ow." The nurse: "I have poked you with the needle yet." #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 27, 2012

Mom drew with pastels like she used to before the diagnosis! But her art looks a lot different now. #btsm #mphc pic.twitter.com/cXhR8zoM
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 28, 2012

Goodness these nurses like to wake my mom up every 3 hours and poke her with needles! #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 28, 2012

Mom's been in rehab 2 weeks. She got the shunt. Her motion was supposed to get better, not worse! We stopped Avastin for this? #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 28, 2012

Watching my mom try to stand is so sad. Her left arm just hangs there. Is there hope that her arm can get better? #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 28, 2012

Good news! My mom isn't pregnant! So she can start the CCNU chemo today! Hopefully we'll start the @Tocagen this week too. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 29, 2012

Absolutely terrified that we made the wrong decision to take my mom off Avastin for this shunt procedure. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 31, 2012

I didn't want to do it. My dad didn't want to do it. My mom didn't even want to do it. But all the doctors said it was a good idea. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) May 31, 2012

Looks like my mom & now my dad are starting to give up on physical therapy. She's not improving. My mom just wants to go home. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 1, 2012

I drew a picture of GG Bridge with pastel & Mom is fixing it with pen. Forever an architect! #btsm #mphc pic.twitter.com/fFxoYxoo
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 3, 2012

Nurse came in to test my mom's blood sugar. She asked which finger my mom wanted to use. My mom gave her a fierce middle finger. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 3, 2012

Today is National Cancer Survivors Day. So jealous of all the tweets that say "Dear Cancer, my mom won." My mom's losing. #mphc #fuckcancer
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 4, 2012

Dad invited me to a "big meeting with the staff" tomorrow at the physical therapy rehab to talk about "where we go from here." #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 5, 2012

Mom was supposed to stay at rehab for another week. But looks like she might just go home because she's not improving.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 5, 2012

Found this picture of my mom from just 2 years ago. pic.twitter.com/bo2iTT0A
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 5, 2012

My mom decides to tell me her dying wish for me and she says it in Farsi! Damn I wish I worked harder in Farsi class when I was a kid! #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 5, 2012

Update on my mom: Doctors have decided acute rehab has not been working. She will go home on Monday and therapists will come to her. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 6, 2012

Avastin will begin on Friday or Tuesday. (Yay!) And doctors say she's not ready for Hospice care (Yay! again!) #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 6, 2012

My mom added fireworks to the picture! #mphc #btsm pic.twitter.com/7xcP1Pu4
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 6, 2012

Mom has started saying things like "My time is limited" & "I don't think I'll be here much longer". How do I make her have hope? #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 7, 2012

Dad just called. Said that Mom has gotten worse since I saw her on Tues. Avastin starts on Monday, but if that doesn't work... #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

She's going home Monday. Dad got her a hospital bed & portable sling. I still can't believe my mom can't even stand on her own. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

My mom has lost movement of her left arm and leg, and now she's convinced that it's spreading to her right side. She's terrified. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

The acupuncturist speaks some Farsi! Nothing makes her more excited than speaking Farsi with the nurses and doctors!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

I brought the kids game Guess Who to play with my mom. She remembers the rules, but it's too complicated for her to play now. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

She remembers when i was little it was too complicated for me and how she tried to explain the concept of "process of elimination". #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

She remembers all that, but she still can't play the game right. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 8, 2012

My mom signed up for @lumosity to help stimulate her brain. Amazing to watch which games she's good at and which she struggles with. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 10, 2012

She's good with arithmetic & memory (not controlled by right frontal lobe). But she has trouble with quick decision-making. @lumosity #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 10, 2012

Mom told Dr she's been dying for Chinese food. He wrote her prescription for pork fried rice & pot stickers! #btsm pic.twitter.com/247n7U13
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 10, 2012

Mom is losing motion on left side of her mouth. She keeps biting her lip when she eats. Makes her lip bleed. Don't know how to help. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 10, 2012

How can I explain to my mom that 12:30pm is earlier in the day than 9:30pm? Why is she having trouble with that? #cancersucks #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 10, 2012

My aunt's knitting club will knit hats for cancer patients. My aunt asked Mom where she wanted the hats donated. "Guide Dogs For The Blind!"
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 11, 2012

Loving the fresh air on a warm SF evening! Last night at @CPMCinSF! Going home tomorrow! #btsm pic.twitter.com/3CcohB5c
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 11, 2012

Today's a big day for my mom. Starts the morning with physical, occupational, recreational, and speech therapies at @CPMCinSF. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 11, 2012

Then off to @UCSF to start Avastin!! So excited to be back on Avastin! Then back to @CPMCinSF to fill out discharge papers. Then home! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 11, 2012

I'm starting a project! It's a surprise present for my mom! I'm compiling happy stories from her friends & family into a book for her! #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 11, 2012

Mom is happy to be home! Only problem is that the wheelchair they gave her doesn't fit through her bedroom door. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 12, 2012

I hate anyone saying "Freshman year of college has been best year of my life!" Mine sucked. Fuck you Brain Cancer. #BrainTumorThursday #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 14, 2012

Wanted to visit my mom today, but my car just started acting weird. Mechanic says he isn't free until Tuesday. Not sure what to do! #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 15, 2012

Mom laying in new hospital bed with her wedding picture above. Parents got married in '83. Hence the perm. #btsm #mphc http://t.co/LRYfsGYz
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 17, 2012

Mom is a pro at eating corn with one hand now! She can't use her left hand. #btsm http://t.co/g2zI5lwh
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 17, 2012

I can't believe my mom's dying... #mphc #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 18, 2012

Upset with @MillsCollege for giving me less financial aid this year because they've determined I have less financial need. Seriously!? #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 18, 2012

Mom called me tonight to say goodnight. Put a big smile on my face. I saw her two days ago and I miss her so much! #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 20, 2012

Working on my mom's surprise present. Her friends are sending some great old pictures! http://t.co/ewcA64jc #btsm pic.twitter.com/b9IkXTXW
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 20, 2012

Had a dream last night that my mom was on her deathbed and I didn't finish her present in time for her to see it. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 21, 2012

Brain Cancer is killing my mom. She needs a cure. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 21, 2012

My mom can't walk anymore. And she has trouble comprehending what people say. Please don't die, Mom. I love you. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 21, 2012

Brain Cancer first affected my mom cognitively. Now it's destroying her physically. I'm afraid of what comes next. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 21, 2012

Mom's a fighter. She moved to US by herself when she was 18 & started her own business. But can she beat Brain Cancer? #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 21, 2012

Dad says that my mom has been having minor seizures all week and she's lost her appetite. Not good. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 22, 2012

Mom decided my Golden Gate Bridge picture needed more improvements! #btsm pic.twitter.com/zfjKM5NE
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 23, 2012

She added more cables & fireworks, & 2 drawings of E.T. riding over bridge. Focusing on the left is hard for her. #btsm pic.twitter.com/F2O5j4jl
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 23, 2012

My mom was such a cute baby! pic.twitter.com/u5dWYX1S
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 25, 2012

She tries her best to smile :) #btsm #mphc pic.twitter.com/aB8oKeGF
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 26, 2012

Visited Mom today. Got there at 2:30. She was so exhausted, she didn't even say "Hi" to me. Went to sleep & slept for 5 hours. #btsm #chemo
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 27, 2012

There's a jar in my mom's room with $1 bills. Each time someone cries in front of her, they have to put $1 in the jar. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 27, 2012

She says she's saving up so that I can "throw a great party after I'm dead an gone." Thanks Mom. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 27, 2012

My mom's Money Jar. She's saving up for her "After Party. You know, after I'm dead and gone." #btsm #mphc http://t.co/scmgEu8F
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 27, 2012

Woke my mom up from a nap this morning & she said she was dreaming about me. "You were prettier, smarter, and nicer." #ThanksMom #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 27, 2012

... My mom is writing a list of exactly how she wants her memorial service to be. She must know the end is soon. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 28, 2012

She's one stubborn lady. "How can I make sure you'll follow my instructions for my memorial service exactly as I wrote them?" #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 28, 2012

New book #btsm #mphc pic.twitter.com/5yUB68Z7
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 28, 2012

I just want to cry my eyes out and all I can get are a few tears. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 28, 2012

Meeting with oncologist. Doctor thinks treatment isn't working & it's time for hospice. Waiting to see what MRI says in 3 weeks. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 30, 2012

Found this hand-made poster in my sister's room. Made me cry. My sister is so strong. #mphc http://t.co/MuAJdhzM
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 30, 2012

We had a great art session today! Much better than Wednesday. #btsm http://t.co/l7V9mPvM http://t.co/4uw5gJzO
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 30, 2012

My mom wants to go to the cemetary where her dad's buried to choose a plot for herself. #btsm #depressingtweet
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 30, 2012

Cancer is killing my mom but what does Cancer get out of this situation? Just another person dead? I don't understand the point. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) June 30, 2012

Trying to get my mom to do this math worksheet. It's meant for first graders. She can't do it. Not even close. #btsm pic.twitter.com/bUgCVCiw
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 1, 2012

The math itself she has no problem with, it's the matching the number to the drawing she can't do. She can't make simple connections. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 1, 2012

My mom told me today that she wants tot donate her brain to science after she dies. Does anyone know hospitals that do this? @ucsf #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 1, 2012

My mom says that she wants to plan her After Party for August 20th, because she says that's the day she's going to die. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 1, 2012

My mom's Happy Memories book is done!!!!!!! So excited for it to arrive in the mail! http://t.co/ewcA64jc #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 1, 2012

I gave my mom this worksheet to do. You're supposed to draw a line between the matching whales... #btsm http://t.co/mwlaeGGK
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

I asked my mom to write my name (Misha). She wrote "MMISHHHAAA" but super sloppy. Her mind's going. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

It seems like every single day my mom deteriorates a little more. #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

I've decided that the next time someone asks me how my mom's doing, I'm going to be honest. "Well she's dying. So not great." #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

Class in Human Development starts tomorrow. 1st assignment is "End Of Life". I have to write my own obituary. You have got to be kidding me.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

Begging for financial aid. $30K+ out of pocket med expenses in past 18 montths doesn't leave $ for college. No matter what FAFSA says! #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

Explaining to financial aid officer that parents income decreased because my mom's not working. She's dying. Couldn't hold back tears. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 2, 2012

My mom has been super tired today :( #mphc #btsm #chemo #cancersucks
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 4, 2012

My sister and I did my momm's makeup yesterday! Notice how my sister has to hold my mom's head up straight... #btsm pic.twitter.com/TpdfcyD2
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 5, 2012

My mom tried to draw the arc de triomphe. #btsm pic.twitter.com/vEtL0Cqy
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 5, 2012

My mom usually wakes up at 7am and gets up by 8am. Today its 10am and she's still asleep. #btsm #cancersucks
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

Yesterday the only thing my mom said was in response to my dad asking her how she was doing. She said "I'm fine. Why do you ask?" #btsm#mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

As my mom is degrading in cognitive abilities, I'm watching as she becomes mentally younger. 2 weeks ago we were doing 2nd grade math #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

Last week we were doing preschool level matching games and simple paint by numbers worksheets.#btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

Today her visual coordination/comprehension is starting to fail. Drawing is very difficult for her now. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

But se loves touching & fiddling with things. Like my belly button. She unbuttoned/rebuttoned my sweater. That's like infant level. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

Almost want to buy some of those toys for infants. The ones that are just funny textures & make noises. Anything to stimulate her mind #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

Spending the day watching my baby videos. It seems like I figured out how to do something new everyday. Totally opposite of my mom now #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 8, 2012

My mom got tired of drawing on paper, so she drew on a plum. Then she cried. And then she tried to eat the plum! #btsm http://t.co/Ezl2NJOd
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 9, 2012

Oh wait. I turned around to tweet that picture, and she ate the plum! :( #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 9, 2012

My mom looks so much more alive today than yesterday! Must be the stimulants my dad gave her. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 10, 2012

My mom is beautiful.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 10, 2012

We did some drawing today! At the bottom, she signed & dated it. Then she wrote "What a great day!" #btsm#mphc pic.twitter.com/OB3pT4L2
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 10, 2012

She's not talking anymore, but her mind is still very enthusiastic! #mphc #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 10, 2012

My mom's MRI is on Friday. Nuero-onncologist is expecting bad news. Trying to stay hopeful. #mphc #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 10, 2012

My mom barely says more than 10 words a day anymore. Why is speaking such a challenge for her now? #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 10, 2012

The Happy Memories book I made is supposed to arrive tomorrow! I'm so excited to show my mom!!!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 11, 2012

My mom's talking today!!! But first thing she said to me was "You're not going to like this, but you're getting fat." #ThanksMom #mphc #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 11, 2012

The Happy Memories book arrived!!!!! It looks beautiful! But when I showed it to my mom, she fell asleep! #mphc #btsm pic.twitter.com/Z6VFgdbA
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 11, 2012

We read through the whole book! I think she loved it! #btsm pic.twitter.com/wXPd9vCf
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

My mom is so lively today! The liveliest I've seen her in almost two weeks! Maybe she's getting better? #hope #btsm #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

My mom seems to really enjoy symmetry worksheets. She got really into this one. #btsm pic.twitter.com/lHlJwrjj
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

Another symmetry worksheet :) #btsm pic.twitter.com/5OVJ0C5F
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

To my sister: "My (something), Be good to yourself. Be good to the world! Love, Mommy" #btsm #mphc pic.twitter.com/28txQ9oy
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

My mom's MRI is tomorrow. The oncoogist thinks MRI will show that it's time to start hospice. Please pray for her. #BrainTumorThursday #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

Yesterday my mom was talking! Never thought I'd cherish the days that my mom is speaking. Brain tumors cause such harm. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 12, 2012

Someone asked me today if my mom's afraid of dying. You know what, I don't think she is. She's really the bravest person I know. #mphc #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 13, 2012

Pre-MRI and my mom seems like she's deep in thought. Not zoned out, but actually really thinking. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 13, 2012

MRI had no good news. The tumor has spread like wildfire. None of the 3 chemos have worked. Each lobe of the cerebrum has some tumor. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 13, 2012

Radiologist thinks some spots on MRI might be blood. Oncologist said it could be swelling, tumor, or even infection. None are good. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

Only parts of brain that haven't been affected are the cerebellum and the brain stem. Also some growth in gap between brain and skull. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

Brain cancer happens and you have no control over it. I'm just grateful to have the time I have left with my mom.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

Oh and the idea that you can beat cancer with hope and positive energy is bullshit.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

Nuero-oncologost showed us MRI. Everyone started crying except my mom. All she said was "Take me to the cemetary. I want to choose a plot."
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

Theres gap between your brain & skull. Didnt know a tumor could even grow there. Doc thinks it could be tumor, bleeding, or infection. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

I don't want to say goodbye to my mom.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 14, 2012

I had a dream last night that my mom could move her left hand. I was so happy. #cancersucks
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 15, 2012

My sister & I are looking at black dresses to wear at my mom's funeral when she dies. My sister is insisting "I need a cute dress." #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 17, 2012

Mommy away at work on more drawings :) #btsm pic.twitter.com/eZr7UYBy
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 17, 2012

The money jars are getting pretty full! There's been a lot of crying & laughing!She's saving up for her "After Party". pic.twitter.com/yKye7Z9D
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 17, 2012

I know it's silly, but I feel guilty that I will have got to spend 5 more years with my mom than my sister will get to have. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 17, 2012

Neuro-oncologist met with neuro-surgeon & radiologist. Changed expected time left for my mom from a few months to a few weeks. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 18, 2012

Thank you to @RedTapeLass for giving me the idea of giving my mom Lego's! My mom's an architect too :) #btsm pic.twitter.com/OD6rcNYu
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 19, 2012

I LOVE this doodle! - Happy Memories :D See the resemblance to the book I made? #btsm #mphc pic.twitter.com/Qqj6RdBA
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 19, 2012

My mom is sleeps like a baby. Literally. She sleeps abour 16-18 hours a day. #BrainTumorThursday
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 19, 2012

My mom hasn't eaten a single or said a single word thing all day. She's been taking a nap for 5 hours. I think my mom's really dying.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 20, 2012

Tomorrow's July 20th. Do you think my mom was just a month off when she said she'll die on August 20th?
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 20, 2012

Went to the cemetery and chose a spot for my mom. She'll be next to her mom when she passes. I hope that's what she wants.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 20, 2012

Mom has been saying that she wants to go to the cemetery to choose her own plot for weeks. We never took her & now she can't get out of bed.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 20, 2012

My cousin and her one-year-old son came to visit today. My cousin said "Look, Auntie is night night." Baby boy responded "Nuh-Uh."
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 20, 2012

My mom has eaten anything or said anything or even opened her eyes in almost 48 hours. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 20, 2012

My mom hasn't eaten all day. It's the first day of Ramadan. Maybe she's just fasting?
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 21, 2012

My mom's temperature is 101.2F and her heart rate is 162. I don't think those are good signs. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 21, 2012

I'm going to be a fucking mess when she dies.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 21, 2012

In my dream my mom was asleep and just stopped breathing. But then gasped for air just to say "Help me get dressed so we can go out to eat."
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 21, 2012

My sister & I chose to sleep on the floor last night at the foot of my mom's bed. Tried to pretend it was a slumber party.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 21, 2012

My mom's basically in a coma, and I get an awful stomach ache. I wish my mommy could make me feel better. That's all I want.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 21, 2012

My friends went skydiving today. Guess what I did? I slept next to my mom. I was nauseous and she's basically in a coma. #Summer2012 #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 22, 2012

Day four of this sleep/coma thing. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 22, 2012

I put earrings on her :) pic.twitter.com/f3eUlDa3
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 22, 2012

I think my cousin's 18-month-old son knows more than we think he does. I asked him "Is Aunt Noushin night-night?" He shook his head no.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 22, 2012

My dad's been playing this song for my mom on repeat - 'My Sweet Lady' by John Denver http://t.co/hGDcyT3e
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 23, 2012

My sister just took my mom's nail polish off to do a different color. Her nails are a brownish blue color. Not a good sign.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 23, 2012

Her eyes have glazed over and the whites of her eyes are starting to turn yellow.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 23, 2012

Off to the funeral home to make arrangements.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 23, 2012

What is the fucking point of cancer? It's winning the battle with my mom, but what does it get out of it? The cancer dies too! #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 23, 2012

i had my second dream this week about my mom dying. This time I wasn't there for it. I started wailing and sobbing in public. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 24, 2012

We'll be donating Mom's brain to @UCSF Brain Tumor Research Center when she passes. They will compare the actual brain with her MRI. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 24, 2012

So when neuro-oncologists look at MRIs, they will hopefully have a better idea which parts are tumor & which parts are just swelling. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 24, 2012

Today is Day 6 of my mom being in this deep sleep/coma-like state. It almost feels like the new normal. But I know it won't last long. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 24, 2012

My mom hasn't eaten or drunken anything in 6 days. How much longer can a body survive like this? #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 24, 2012

Mom's developed a weird bump on her forehead. Its squishy and its in the spot that the MRI showed tumor in between the brain & skull. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 24, 2012

Mom's face is turning blue...
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

I don't want my mom to go anywhere. I just want her to wake up. I just want her to wake up. I just want her to wake up. Please wake up.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

My Barney is my favorite childhood stuffed animal. I use him as a pillow at night. So does my mom :) pic.twitter.com/ftwb4VTV
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

I don't understand how/why my mom's face keeps changing colors so fast. From pink to pale white to tan brown to blue to pink again.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

My crying will only come out in short spurts. I just want it all to come out so I can get it over with.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

My sister and I got black dresses today. #Preparation #Acceptance
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

I don't want my mom to die. I'm afraid of grieving. I'm afraid I'll never be happy again.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

Day 7 with no food or water. No IV fluids either. My mom is so incredibly strong.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

I'm so anxious and scared. I hate this feeling.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

UCSF nurse suggests we stop giving my mom steroids. She said they might be keeping her alive. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

My mom's eyelids twitch occasionally. My heart starts pounding. Then I think that she may open her eyes! But she never does. #mphc
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

I just start sobbing at very random times throughout the day. It'll come out of nowhere. And only last for about 10 second.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

My heart still wants my mom to live, even if that means staying in this coma. But I know that's not what she wants.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 25, 2012

I feel like we're all just waiting around for my mom to die, but I don't mind. I like just sitting next to her. I could do this forever.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 26, 2012

I cry. I beg my mom for a hug. But she can't give me one. I try to hug her anyways. It just makes me cry more.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 26, 2012

This is what people must mean when they say someone is on their death bed. I always imagined the person to look more in pain or in distress.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 26, 2012

I'm grateful that my mom looks so incredibly peaceful. She has nothing to worry about. We're all going to take care of each other.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 26, 2012

Day 8. No food. No water. No IV fluids. No feeding tube. Nothing. Just sleep. Amazing that she's still here. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 26, 2012

Well I won't be sleeping tonight.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Tonight might be the night. It's not August 20th, she's fought as hard as she could. #btsm
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Everyone else has gone to sleep, but I'm too afraid.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

I don't want to wake up and find my mom dead.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Day 9. Damn she's a fighter.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Her breathing went back to normal, so I got a few hours of sleep.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

We don't know why she's still holding on. What could she possibly be waiting for? Her mom comes everyday. We finished the book. What else?
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Dad has decided that he's going to tell her that today's August 20th. We don't want her holding on until August 20th.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Social worker said maybe we're giving her so much love that she doesn't want to leave us, no matter how excited she is to see her dad again.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

I keep forgetting that my dad's going to be a widow.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

My mom is only taking 7 breaths per minute. She was taking 12 per minute just a few hours ago.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 27, 2012

Breaks between my mom's breaths are lasting up to 10 seconds...
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

The pauses between her breaths are getting longer. I counted one pause that was 18 seconds.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

But her hands and feet are still very warm, but her face is turning blue again.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

I feel guilty feeling this way, but after 9 days of sitting by my mom while she's in a coma, I'm starting to get kind of bored.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

Why is she dragging this out so much? I think it makes things harder.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

Good morning. Mom is still alive. Day 10 of no food or water. Just sleep.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

Everyone's looking at my mom and crying. Not me. I look at her and smile. She's so beautiful!
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 28, 2012

I think tonight might really he the night. I hate that I'm having such a hard time staying awake.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 29, 2012

My mom's.... gone.
— ComingHomeToCancer (@CHTCancer) July 29, 2012

Still Waiting for the Grief

2013-04-27T17:15:00.001-07:00

Today, my dad sent me of picture of my mom's finished gravestone (it only took nine months to finish it!) and it's made me miss her a lot.

I mean, I miss her everyday, but some days are harder than others.

I grateful though, I haven't gone through a difficult grief process. Most of the time I don't really think about it. I mean, I think about my mom all the time. And I think about how she's not here any more. But what I don't think about it the sense of loss. That's the tough stuff. And I guess I'm avoiding it.

Maybe it was because I thought about it so much while she was sick. Everyday I said to myself, "My mom's going to die pretty soon. I need to be prepared."

And then after she died, I expected to feel deep sadness. I even pretended to be deeply saddened because I knew it was expected of me, but I didn't feel sad. I don't know. I mean, of course I felt sad. I wasn't happy that my mom died. But mostly I just felt numb.

But I'm not in denial, so that can't be it. I know she's dead. And I knew she was going to die for awhile before it happened. But it's been nine months since she died and I still can't get past this numb feeling.

But I guess this numbness didn't start when she died, it started when she was diagnosed. That's when my life didn't feel like my life anymore. So I guess this whole experience has felt like a dream and I just keep waiting to wake up. I'll wake up in bed in my old room and my mom will be in her bedroom and I'll say good morning to her and things would be normal again.

But that's not reality anymore. That was three years ago for goodness sakes! And yet, the reality I've been living for the past three years still doesn't feel real. Every day feels like a dream.

When will the grief set in? I've spent hours researching grief. I even wrote a research paper on grief in college students. And yet I'm still waiting. Waiting for my life to feel real again.

The Artwork Survives

2013-02-23T17:31:00.001-08:00

Just thought I'd share some of my mom's artwork from over the years. She'd always been an artist and grew up to be an architect. The brain cancer really affected her artistic ability.

Pre-cancer:

"My ugly shoe on the BART train"

Post-diagnosis (roughly chronological):

I drew the bridge, and she embellished.

A portrait of my aunt.

Portrait of my sister.

A portrait of me!

Not really, artwork. Just an exercise I was trying to get her to do. She was unsuccessful.

Me, Halloween 1995 :)

We worked on symmetry exercises.

More symmetry exercises.

The last art piece she drew. Drawn on the night before she fell into the coma.

New Years Eve 2012

2012-12-31T22:47:00.000-08:00

I'm very ready for 2012 to be over. I'm not excited exactly, but I'm ready.

Looking back, I can decidedly say that 2011 and 2012 tie as the worst years of my life (but I'm only 20 so I'm not counting out any terrible years in the future). Either way, the passed 2 years have not been wonderful. Don't get me wrong, I spent some beautiful moments with my mom this year that I will cherish forever. But I wouldn't say I've had much fun that past 2 years. Not much fun at all really.

I've been keeping an Emotions Diary for the past few months, and let me tell you, my level of happiness/fun (on a scale from 0-10) never gets above 2. That's not very much positive emotion. I honestly can't remember the last time I actually had a care-free, fun moment. It probably was over 2 years ago.

I remember New Years Eve 2011. I had just finished my first semester at the Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. I was home for the break and I went to a party at my friend's house that night. My mom helped me get ready for the party and she let me wear her dress from the 80s (complete with shoulder pads of course!) My friends and I spent the night eating delicious food and telling stories about our fresh college experiences.

Making a silly face on New Years Eve 2011

On New Years Day 2012, I flew back to Chicago to start my second semester. What I didn't know was that in less than two weeks, I would be flying back home because my mom had needed an immediate brain surgery. I had no idea that that New Years Eve partying would be the end of my care-free college life.

It's been a rough two years. It has not been fun. But I have learned a lot. I'm not exactly sure what I've learned, but I do feel like I've matured faster in the past two years than most 18-20 year old do. Which is kind of cool, but sometimes I feel like no one my age understands what I've been through and what I'm going through.

I didn't go to any party last New Years and I'm staying home tonight too. I just can't seem to let go and have fun anymore. I can't feel care-free anymore.

So here's to 2013. Here's so a new year, hopefully full of happy memories (just like my mom would want) and free of anxiety.

Meaning and Posttraumatic Growth During Bereavement

2012-12-27T14:07:00.000-08:00

Last semester, I took a course on Positive Psychology. We were told to write a 10-page research paper on any topic regarding Positive Psychology. I chose to write about positive outcomes of grief, in hopes of finding some beneficial information. Here is the paper I turned in for class. Perhaps it may help some of you who are also grieving. I also included the academic artciles that I used as references, if you are interested in the original research. I enjoyed learning about this topic, but I can see that, as of now, not much research has been focused on the topic of the positive outcomes of grief.

Meaning and Posttraumatic Growth During Bereavement:

A Focus on College Students

Following the death of a loved one, it is possible that the most positive outcome of bereavement would be to develop a sense of meaning about the loss and to foster posttraumatic growth. This personal growth can manifest itself in several different ways, including heightened maturity and self-esteem; enhanced tolerance, compassion, spirituality, and emotional strength; and a greater appreciation of life.

Bereavement is the condition caused by the death of a loved one. Following the loss, individuals often feel sad, depressed, anxious, angry, and alone. No matter how they may react to the death, the feelings they experience are considered grief. After losing someone close, people have no control over whether they experience bereavement, but they can control how they grieve. For example, some people may choose to cope by either ignoring the reality of the loss, but others may directly confront the truth.

Dr. Kübler-Ross revolutionized the study of death and dying in her 1969 book appropriately titled On Death and Dying. She developed five stages of grief that were first applied to terminally ill patients dealing with their own mortality, but were later expanded to include all types of loss. In no particular sequential order, the five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Though Kübler-Ross’ concept of the five stages of grief is commonly accepted and referred to in popular culture, its validity has been brought into question by others in the field, including philosopher Dr. Attig.

In his book, How We Grieve: Relearning the World (1996), Attig rejects the concept of stages of grief and that bereaved individuals can “recover” from a loss. Instead, he asserts that people develop ways to live with the loss, from loving the deceased in the present to loving the deceased in their absence.

Following in this vein, the Developmental Psychology textbook Human Development: A Life Span View by Kail and Cavanaugh (2010) states that during bereavement, “we must reorganize our lives, establish new patterns of behavior, and redefine relationships with family and friends” (p. 613). Kail and Cavanaugh maintain that a bereaved person must complete the following during the grief process: “acknowledge the reality of the loss, work through the emotional turmoil, adjust to the environment where the deceased is absent, and loosen the ties to the deceased” (p. 613-614).

Balk (2008) built upon the frameworks of leading grief researchers, such as Attig, to develop a “holistic template” which identifies six areas of a bereaved person’s life which may be affected by grief (p.8). These particular areas are the physical, behavioral, interpersonal, cognitive, emotional, and spiritual aspects of an individual’s life. Examples of the effects of grief on each aspect of a person’s life include difficulty sleeping (physical), difficulty staying organized and meeting deadlines (behavioral), difficulty maintaining friendships with non-bereaved people (interpersonal), difficulty concentrating and remembering (cognitive), difficulty controlling sudden bursts of sadness (emotional), and difficulty understanding the existential question “Why?” (spiritual) (Balk 2008).

This period of grief could potentially last for many years, but most people eventually learn how to cope with the loss and move forward with their lives. Research has shown that the emotions of losing a loved one never truly go away, but the intensity of grief usually peaks within the first six months of bereavement (Kail & Cavanaugh 2010, p. 616).

While most are able to cope with the grief, approximately 10 to 15 percent of individuals experience what is known as Prolonged Grief Disorder, also referred to as “complicated grief” (Bonanno, 2004). Prolonged Grief Disorder is a psychological condition that is being considered for inclusion in the next edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Symptoms of this disorder include daily yearnings for the deceased for months, difficulty accepting the death, impaired functioning in daily life, and loss of purpose in life (Neimeyer, et. al. 2008). Prolonged Grief Disorder has been associated with psychological issues including generalized anxiety and depression, and physical issues including stress-related diseases of the immune and cardiovascular systems (Neiymeyer, et.al. 2008). Gerrish, et. al. (2009) theorize that the bereaved people who experience Prolonged Grief Disorder, or possibly even Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, after the loss of a loved one are psychologically predisposed to treat the experience as traumatic. For example, they may have this predisposition because of negative attachment experiences during childhood.

Although only 10 to 15 percent of bereaved people can be categorized as experiencing Prolong Grief Disorder, this pathologically dramatic reaction to bereavement has been the focal point of most research on the topics of loss and trauma (Bonanno 2005). The study of normal or even positive experiences of bereavement is rare in comparison to the body of work regarding Prolong Grief Disorder. This perspective on bereavement is explored by the Positive Psychology movement, which believes that the discipline of Psychology has focused too much on psychological pathology and not enough on how people flourish (Seligman & Csikszentmihalyi 2000).

Gerrish et. al. (2009) explain the positive outcome of bereavement in which the person is “left in a better psychological state as a result of the adversity” (p. 226). They further explain this “positive change”:

Positive change has been defined as personal transformation, posttraumatic growth, thriving, resilience, benefit-finding, positive life change, stress-related growth, and meaning reconstruction. Persons who have experienced positive change may be more compassionate; live life more fully; be wiser and more accepting of life’s paradoxes; be more mature and have enhanced self-esteem; be more patient, tolerant, empathetic, and courageous; be more spiritual and religious; and have heightened existential awareness. (p. 227)

There is research focusing on each of these definitions of “positive change” mentioned above, though not all of the factors correlate with each other.

Bonanno (2005) explores the positive outcomes of bereavement and found intriguing results. His research has found that 10 to 30 percent of people were severely affected over a two year period following a loss. These individuals could be categorized as experiencing Prolong Grief Disorder. 5 to 10 percent of people experienced a delayed grief response, usually beginning to react to the loss around 1½ years after the event. 15 to 35 percent of people experienced moderate to severe psychological symptoms initially after the event, but the symptoms gradually lessened over the course of two years, finally returning to pre-loss levels. This experience is known as “recovery”. Surprisingly, the largest group, 35 to 55 percent, experienced “resilience”, meaning they initially experienced a brief increase of distress directly following the loss, but returned quickly to relatively normal functioning. These resilient people would experience brief and sporadic moments of anguish, but overall maintained a psychological balance.

Resilience is one of the “positive changes” mentioned by Gerrish et. al. (2009). However, Bonanno (2005) did not believe that a connection between resilience and personal growth after a loss existed. Though he did not study the connection between resilience and posttraumatic personal growth specifically, he felt that bereaved people who experienced recovery during bereavement were more likely to sense a personal growth than those who were resilient.

The connection between resilience and posttraumatic growth is not definitive. Some researchers including Bonanno (2005) argue that the bereaved person needs to experience substantial amounts of distress in order to grow from the experience. Others disagree, stating that resilient people are more likely to recognize the positive aspects of bereavement (Aldwin & Levenson 2004). This hypothesis forms connections between people who have high levels of resilience/hardiness and view the experience of a loss with high levels of optimism/hope, and therefore are more likely to experience posttraumatic growth. This connection has been studied by Mathews & Servanty-Seib (2006) and Michael & Snyder (2005), both of whom focused their studies on college students.

College students present a unique set of issues to those studying bereavement. Most undergraduate college students are between the ages 18 and 23, transitioning from adolescence to young adulthood and beginning to develop a sense of self (Kail and Cavanaugh 2010).

It has been estimated that between 22 to 30 percent of undergraduate college students are in the first 12 months of bereavement (Balk 2008 and Hardison, Neimeyer, & Lichstein 2005). Knox (2007) claims that 40 to 70 percent of undergraduate college students will experience the death of someone close while are in college. “Bereavement may be a silent epidemic on [college] campuses” (Neimeyer, et. al. 2008, p. 36), yet “institutions of higher education are not settings conductive to the exploration and expression of grief” (Mathews & Servanty-Seib 2006, p. 187).

Throughout the bereavement process, college students face many hindrances, including “constant academic pressure, an environment that emphasizes having fun, peers who are unable or unwilling to provide support, and distance from their families and home communities” (Mathews & Servanty-Seib 2006, p. 187). Balk (1997) states that many college students feel that their unaffected peers do not understand the intensity and duration of grief. The bereaved college students themselves rarely avoid thinking about the death, but their unaffected peers prefer to avoid talking about the grief. Bereaved college students stated that they felt that talking about the grief was helpful, but that their unaffected peers seemed uninterested or uncomfortable whenever the topic of grief or death was mentioned. Balk asserts that “bereaved college students find few, if any, persons in the university willing to discuss the death, to acknowledge the importance of this event in the student’s life, or to recognize the significance for the griever of the person who died” (Balk 1997, p. 218). Balk (2008) encourages colleges and universities to offer more resources for the grieving. He argues that this would not only help the student emotionally and academically, but it would also help the university because it “may ultimately affect a school’s retention and graduation rates” (p. 12).

Having experienced a traumatic loss in my own life, the death of my mother in the past 12 months, I can attest to feeling that unaffected peers were avoiding or felt uncomfortable about the topic of grief. I have experienced a friend of mine say to me, “I try not to talk about my mom around you because you don’t have one.” This statement made it clear that my friend did not understand what it felt like to grieve. I certainly do not feel like I “don’t have” a mom. To the contrary in certain regards, I have gained a greater connection with my mother as a result of this experience.

Some of my other friends seem to only want to “hang out” and don’t understand why I can’t “have fun” like I used to. I am under the impression that most of my friends feel as though avoiding the topic of my mother and her death is what’s best for me. However, I feel that talking about her death more often would be beneficial to my mental health, instead of reflecting on the grief internally.

Michael & Snyder (2005) investigated the role of reflection, hope and optimism, and finding meaning in bereaved college students. They and other researchers (Boyraz, et. al.2010) consider reflection to be divided into two subtypes: rumination and cognitive processing. Rumination is defined as repetitive thoughts on the negative emotions of grief without reaching a solution to lessen these emotions. Rumination is intrusive to daily life and is a maladaptive coping strategy (Michael & Snyder 2005). Defined this way, rumination can be categorized as a symptom of Prolonged Grief Disorder.

Cognitive processing also manifests itself in repetitive thought, but these thoughts are focused on productively finding a resolution to the “discrepancies between cognitive models of the world pre-death and new information from the experience of the death” (Michael & Snyder 2005, p. 437). After a traumatic loss, one’s assumptive world — “where much that the individual has counted on as being reliable, predictable, and even controllable” — has been shattered (Caserta, et. al. 2009, p.463). In order to cope with the grief effectively, the bereaved must relearn the world, as explained by Attig’s (1996) theories, mentioned earlier.

A critical result of cognitive processing when related to bereavement is the ability to find meaning in the loss. The type of meaning found may also be divided into two categories: sense-making and benefit-finding (Michael & Snyder 2005, and Neimeyer et. al. 2008), which are listed in the Gerrish, et. al. (2009) description of “positive change” after a loss, mentioned earlier.

Similar to Michael & Snyder (2005), research done by Neimeyer, et. al. (2008) also focuses on bereaved college students, and both studies compare or contrast the role of sense-making and benefit-finding in finding meaning in the death.

Sense-making is more likely to occur in the first year after the death and is associated with less rumination during bereavement (Michael & Snyder 2005, and Neimeyer et. al. 2008). It is suggested that people who ruminate about the death do so because they have been unable to make sense of the loss (Michael & Snyder 2005). Sense-making is also associated with a positive well-being after the bereavement process.

Benefit-finding is more likely to occur after the first 12 months post-loss and includes finding any aspect of the loss to be beneficial for the bereaved person or others in their life. This includes experiencing posttraumatic growth (individual) or feeling grateful that the death ended their loved one’s suffering (others). As mentioned earlier, I have found some benefits to my own personal bereavement: I feel that my experience strengthened my relationship with my mother. As my bereavement process continues, I may find other benefits of the experience. Benefit-finding is a strong predictor of positive well-being during the early phases of bereavement. But benefit-finding after the first 12 months post-loss is linked to poor-wellbeing.

It is hypothesized that bereaved people attempt to make sense of the loss, and if they are successful, they experience positive well-being. If they are unsuccessful in making sense of the death, then they attempt to search for benefits of the loss. This usually begins around 12 months after the death. At this time, benefit-finding becomes “an inadequate strategy in an attempt to cope with ongoing intrusive rumination and the attending distress” (Michael & Snyder 2005, p. 453).

Research by Neimeyer, et. al. (2008) states that college students who displayed the most symptoms of Prolonged Grief Disorder were those who neither made sense nor found benefits of the loss. The students who adjusted best to the grief were those who reported high degrees of sense-making but low degrees of benefit-finding from the death, possibly because sense-making is a finite process, but benefit-finding is ongoing. Research from Michael & Snyder (2005) suggests that the ongoing process of benefit-finding “is not so beneficial. It appears that it is more adaptive to find benefits early and then move on with life” (p. 454).

Michael & Snyder (2005) studied how hope and optimism are related to finding meaning after a loss in bereaved college students. Optimists have shown to use “active and adaptive coping strategies” that guide the person to positive adjustment during an adverse situation such as a traumatic loss (Michael & Snyder 2005, p. 439). They define hope as a “goal-directed thought processes” (p. 439). Research has shown a strong correlation between finding meaning in life and being hopeful. Michael & Snyder (2005) found that because hopeful people are by definition more goal-oriented, they will focus on recovering from grief quickly and are less likely to be bogged down by ruminations. Hope was also found to predict positive well-being in bereaved individuals and help them redefine and restructure their lives so that they may live effectively. However, hope was not found to be helpful in finding meaning within the loss. Instead, hope is associated with a general sense of meaning in life, which may or may not help the individual to make sense or find benefits in the loss.

The topic of resilience and hardiness in bereaved college students was studied by Mathews and Servanty-Seib (2006). Their research found that hardiness was inversely correlated to bereavement-related distress, and was an excellent predictor of the intensity of grief to be felt by bereaved individuals. However, Mathews and Servanty-Seib (2006) found no relationship between hardiness/resilience and posttraumatic growth, suggesting that the hypothesis presented by Bonanno (2005) may be correct: posttraumatic growth would be found in people who experienced recovery from a loss, instead of resilience.

This hypothesis is supported by Caserta et. al. (2009), who state that people who struggle with grief but learn to rebuild their lives may develop posttraumatic growth. They define posttraumatic growth as a stress-related growth expressed by a personal transformation that is more than simply bereavement-related adaptation. The individual develops a “new-found sense of strength, a renewed appreciation for relationships with others, and a reassessment of priorities” (p. 463). Research by Caserta, et. al. (2009) suggests posttraumatic growth and bereavement-related distress are not correlated, and in fact can coexist without affecting each other.

Other research has shown that bereavement-related distress and positive affect can also coexist, however the correlation is unknown (Boyraz, et.al. 2009). Positive affectivity may also aid the bereaved in using cognitive processing as a way to cope as opposed to ruminating. The broaden and build theory proposed by Fredrickson (2001) proposes that positive affect expands a person’s cognitive and behavioral coping strategies during stressful life events, such as the death of a loved one, and fosters the development of mental resources. Positive affect also fosters creative and flexible thinking and self-reflection. The study by Boyraz, et.al. (2009) supported Fredrickson’s broaden and build theory, showing that bereaved people who were predisposed to positive affectivity were more likely to use self-reflection as a coping strategy, and were therefore more likely to find meaning in the loss.

Finding meaning in a loss is a positive outcome of the bereavement process. It may come easily for some, but could be quite difficult for others to achieve. But if the bereaved person is able to find meaning in the loss and they are able to incorporate the meaning into their personal life story, the death can promote posttraumatic growth (Neimeyer, et. al. 2008). In this case, the individual would be “left in a better psychological state as a result of the adversity” (Gerrish et. al. 2009, p. 226). This could potentially mean discovering new emotional strength or developing greater compassion, maturity, or appreciation for life.

References

Aldwin, C.M., & Levenson, M.R. (2004). Posttraumatic growth: A developmental perspective. Psychological Inquiry, 15, 9-22.

Attig, T. (1996). How We Grieve: Relearning the World. Oxford, United Kingdom: Oxford University Press, USA.

Balk, D.E. (1997). Death, bereavement and college students: a descriptive analysis. Mortality, 2, 207-220.

Balk, D.E. (2008). Grieving: 22 to 30 Percent of All College Students. New Directions for Student Services, 121. Wiley Periodicals. doi: 10.1002/ss.262

Bonanno, G.A. (2004). Loss, trauma, and human resilience: Have we underestimated the human capacity to thrive after extremely aversive events. American Psychologist, 59, 20-28.

Bonanno, G.A. (2005). Resilience in the Face of Potential Trauma. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 14, 135-138.

Boyraz, G., Horne, S.G., & Sayger, T.V. (2010). Finding positive meaning after loss: The mediating role of reflection for bereaved individuals. Journal of Loss and Trauma, 15, 242-258.

Caserta, M., Lund, D., Utz, R., & deVries, B. (2009). Stress-related growth among the recently bereaved. Aging & Mental Health, 13, 463-476.

Fredrickson, B.L. (2001). The role of positive emotions in positive psychology: The broaden and build theory of positive emotions. American Psychologist, 56, 218-226.

Gerrish, N., Dyck, M.J., & Marsh, A. (2009). Post-traumatic growth and bereavement. Mortality, 14, 226-244.

Hardison, H.G., Neimeyer, R.A., & Lichstein, K.L. (2005). Insomnia and Complicated Grief Symptoms in Bereaved College Students. Behavioral Sleep Medicine, 3, 99-111.

Kail, R.V. & Cavanaugh, J.C. (2010). Human Development: A Life Span View. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, Cengage Learning.

Knox, D. (2007). Counseling students who are grieving: Finding meaning in loss. In J.A. Lippincott & R.B. Lippincott (Eds.), Special populations in college counseling: A handbook for mental health professionals (pp.187-199). Alexandria, VA: American Counseling Association.

Kübler-Ross, E. (1969). On Death and Dying. New York, NY: Macmillan.

Mathews, L.T., & Servanty-Seib, H.L. (2007). Hardiness and grief in a sample of bereaved college students. Death Studies, 31, 183-204.

Michael, S.T. & Snyder, C.R. (2005). Getting Unstuck: the roles of hope, finding meaning, and rumination in the adjustment to bereaved among college students. Death Studies, 29,435-458.

Neimeyer, R.A., Laurie, A., Mehta, T., Hardison, H., & Currier, J.M. (2008). Lessons of Loss: Meaning-Making in Bereaved College Students. New Directions for Student Services, 121. Wiley Periodicals. doi: 10.1002/ss.264

Seligman, M.E.P. & Csikszentmihalyi, M. (2000). Positive Psychology: An Introduction. American Psychologist,55, 5-14.

Visiting Her Grave: Is This What Grief Is About?

2012-12-14T11:43:00.003-08:00

I went to the cemetery the other day. That may not seem like a big deal, but I hadn't visited the cemetery in about 2 months. (It's a bit a drive from where I live.)

I've been feeling pretty depressed and alone lately. Not exactly sad, more like apathetic and empty. I thought that maybe I'd been avoiding feeling the sadness by avoiding the cemetery. So I thought going to visit her grave would bring out the sadness and help me feel a little more.

I guess you shouldn't make assumptions about how you'll feel about something before you do it, because boy was I wrong!

When I arrived at the cemetery, I just sat in the car for about 5 minutes. I felt scared and paralyzed. I didn't want to face it. I finally got the courage to get out of the car and I found that people had left a beautiful wreath and peocock feather on her grave. (We don't have a gravestone yet, but I thought this was still beautiful.)

But within 2 minutes, I rushed back to the car. I just sat there for a few minutes. I felt scared and alone.

Eventually I convinced myself to get out of the car and sit by her grave. But I didn't feel sadness. I felt panic and scared and alone. I'm not angry that she left me, like I've heard some people feel. All I wish with my whole heart that I could talk to her and again and she could respond. I know she wasn't able to respond well even before she died. But now that she's actually gone, it's really over.

It's hard because she doesn't really feel gone. I don't feel like my mom died and now I don't have a mom. I still feel her motherly presence in my life. But the effort to make her better is over. And while at first, it felt kind of relieving. I didn't have this constant weight of anxiety. Now I'm left with just a constant empty feeling. Oh and the anxiety hasn't gone away, it's just not directed at anything specific anymore.

So I sat there at her grave for about an hour. But I didn't feel like I was with her. I felt the same as if I were anywhere else.

I had flashbacks to the day of the funeral, but I have those flashbacks all the time. Being at the cemetery didn't make them stronger. It didn't bring up any emotions that I hadn't already been feeling.

So I guess I want in any sort of denial. I guess grief just isn't about feeling sad like I thought it was. It's about feeling alone and learning to cope with it.

You'd think that since it's been over 4 months since my mom died, that things would have gotten easier by now, but they're actually gotten harder. Right after she died, I felt strong and ready. I had mentally prepared myself for her death, with what it would be like to plan the funeral and her After Party. But now it's been 4 months and I don't feel nearly as strong as I did then. I feel weak and empty and I'm ready to have my Mommy back now. Please.

Holding On

2012-11-23T11:59:00.002-08:00

I had another dream about my mom last night.

I was at home and walked into the kitchen. And there she was! Just washing dishes. She looked just like I remember her from about 3 years ago.

I was so so happy to see her. We were both smiling. I ran over to her and hugged her. We holding each other and I didn't want to let go.

So I didn't.

My mom and I walked around the house hugging each other. It must have seemed pretty comical. Then one by one, people in my life tried to convince me that I couldn't hold on to my mom forever. It just wasn't practical. What if I needed to drive somewhere? I'd have to let go of her then.

But I refused to let go. I just kept saying, "But you don't understand. She's my mom!"

She Visits Me In My Dreams

2012-11-08T15:34:00.002-08:00

I've been meaning to write about this for about a week now but I'm just getting to it. Sorry about the delay.

About a week ago, I had a dream that felt so incredibly real.

I was starting my first day of school at a new university and everything was going wrong. Absolutely everything. I won't go into all the details, but it was going so horribly that I somehow missed every single class I was supposed to attend. I was freaking out that my professors would drop my from the classes because I didn't show up on the first day of class. I was very nervous and scared.

That evening I was supposed meet my extended family at a fancy restaurant for dinner. I got there and just started crying from the stress of the horrible day. My aunts tried to console me, but it did no good.

Then I overhead my dad tell my grandpa "She hasn't said a word all day. I made her laugh about 4 hours ago but nothing since then." I looked up, and there was my mom sitting at the end of the other table in her wheelchair. (She looked like she did about back in May/June) Her back was to me, so I couldn't see her face. I got up and ran to her and sat in her lap and hugged her. She held me as I cried. We cried together. I said "It's going to be okay, Mommy."

I'll never forget this moment in the dream. I was curled up in her lap with my head on her chest and her arms around me. And she said in a voice as clear as day "It'll be alright, baby."

It sounded exactly like her. EXACTLY like her. Just like she used to say it to me when I was sad.

I started sobbing so hard. And then I started sobbing in real life. It was an absolutely terrifying feeling. I don't know if any of you have woken yourself up by crying in your sleep, but it's a pretty scary feeling. And I wasn't just crying, I was really sobbing. I was whimpering and going "waaahhhhh!". That's how I woke up in the middle of the night.

But after the initial terror passed, I just felt her with me. It felt like it was really her. She was really telling that she's looking after me and that "It'll be alright, baby."

Analysis of Two Corresponding Major Life Events

2012-11-02T17:30:00.006-07:00

I had to write an essay for my Health Psychology class about a current streesor in my life. As you could have guessed, I wrote about my mom's death and her diagnosis almost 2 years ago as corresponding major life events. I got the grade back for the essay today. I got 100%! I thought I'd share it with you:

Analysis of Two Corresponding Major Life Events

I am currently going through the most stressful times of my life. This is not because I’m a full-time college student at a challenging school majoring in Psychology and double minoring in Mathematics and Ethnic Studies. This is the most stressful period of my life because my mom died less than three months ago.

Since her brain cancer diagnosis in January of 2011, I have been felt the weight of chronic stress. Not only has the death of my mother been a major life event, but so was her initial diagnosis. The Social Readjustment Rating Scale rates “major change in health or behavior of a family member” as #11, whereas “death of a close family member” is ranked #5. I’ve experienced both in less than two years.

However, I would rank what I’ve been through higher than #5. For a daughter to lose her mom at the young age of 20 is especially stressful. It has required me to greatly readjust my life. Based on the stress I’ve felt over the last 21 months, I believe my event of losing a parent after a difficult battle with a terminal illness should be ranked #1 on the Social Readjustment Rating Scale, tied with “death of spouse”. However, I’ve never been married so I cannot even begin to imagine what losing a spouse feels like for my dad and others like him.

My mom’s initial diagnosis was extremely unexpected; it had very low predictability. I was at home with my mom for 6 weeks during winter break prior to the diagnosis. Only one week after I returned to school, I got the phone call that my mom was in the hospital for a brain tumor. She had none of the normal symptoms of a brain tumor like a seizure or prolonged headaches.

As you can imagine, I had very little control during this entire experience. The 18 months from the diagnosis to her death seemed to revolve entirely around her. Even when I researched clinical trials that could possibly slow down the cancer cells, my opinion was not respected. I wanted so badly for my mom to beat this cancer, but I felt like my efforts to help her were ignored. The only decision I had control over was whether or not to move back home from school. I was attending a college 2,000 away from home and during the frantic period right after the diagnosis, I made the decision to leave the college I was attending and find a school closer to home.

I also categorize my experience with my mom’s initial diagnosis of stage four brain cancer as a novel experience for me. I had never even known anyone with stage four cancer. Finding out that my own mom had advanced cancer was unlike anything I had ever coped with before.

Following the Transactional Model of Stress, my primary appraisal of my mom’s diagnosis was obviously negative. The event was both a harm and a threat. As a harm, my mom’s diagnosis uprooted my college experience. I was no longer living 2,000 miles away from home. I could no longer hang out with friends. I was always working, studying, or spending valuable time with my mom. As a threat, my mom’s diagnosis threatened her life, and as a result it threatened our family life.

My secondary appraisal during this first event was that I was not prepared. I did not have many internal coping strategies ready for an event like this and my external resources at the time were minimal.

After an 18 month battle with brain cancer, my mom died this past July. This event felt very different than the initial diagnosis a year and a half earlier. But in fact the only difference was that it was expected and not a surprise. I had predicted that she was going to die relatively soon. I had been telling myself for months that my mom was probably going to die. I didn’t want to give myself false hope and then feel shocked all over again, like I was with the diagnosis. However, the anticipation of her death for months before it actually happened was also very stressful. I wanted to prepare myself in the best way I could, but I didn’t know how. I felt like I didn’t have any control.

In fact, I felt like I had even less control than when she was first diagnosed because I could no longer search for clinical trials and treatment options that might fix the situation. In order to maintain some sense of control, I took on the responsibility of planning things like the obituary and the funeral. This helped me feel a sense of control and purpose.

My mom’s death was also a novel experience for me. I had never seen a dead body before. I had never experienced a death of a close family member before either.

My primary appraisal was also obviously negative. I viewed it as a harm, like the original diagnosis. But instead of also viewing her death as a threat, this time I also viewed it as a challenge. I lost my mom. That is a harm I will have to cope with for the rest of my life. But the challenge is the important part, the challenge of incorporating this entire experience into my life perspective and honoring my mother’s life in the process.

This is part of my secondary appraisal. Since my mom’s diagnosis, I have developed a strength that I did not know I was capable of. This is my new internal resource. I feel prepared and I can use this newly developed strength to cope with any future stressor. Another part of my secondary appraisal is my new external resources. Over the 18 months of her battle with brain cancer, I met many people who were experiencing or had experienced very similar situations to the one I am in. I am able to talk with them and get the perspective on how to handle difference situations and emotions.

However, I am also going through a difficult grief process. The sadness and sense of loss I feel presents itself in the form of stress. I am much more easily stressed over daily hassles. Studying for a test sometimes feels like an impossible task. This is because stressors are additive. A daily task of studying for a class on top of the stress of losing my mom makes me reach overload and exhaustion very quickly. I feel exhausted a lot. I have felt exhausted many times for the past year, just as Hans Selye predicted in his model of the General Adaptation Syndrome. I hope in time, as I find a way to cope with my mother’s death, I will no longer feel mentally exhausted as often as I do now. I will overcome this major stressor in my life.

Money is the Root of all Evil

2012-10-13T13:46:00.000-07:00

I think I've talked about money issues on my blog before, but I really just need a place to rant right now.

My dad has long been pestering me about money. He constantly tells me to get a job. He tells me to fight with my school to get as much financial aid as I possibly can. He's even tried to use my student discounts to buy things for himself.

And yet, time and time again, he spends money on things that no one would normally consider buying when you are low on cash. Earlier this year, he bought my mom a brand new laptop. What in the world would my mom do with a laptop? She had the cognitive mind of about an 8 year old when he bought it. Guess what happened. She barely used it. What a surprise.

He also bought her a Kindle Fire. Again what would she do with this? After losing motion on the left side of her body, my mom developed hemispatial neglect. This meant she couldn't read the words on the left side of the page.

This is a picture my mom drew of her sister.
You can see that a lot more detail is drawn on the right side.
She forgot the left arm entirely because of her hemispatial neglect.

We ended up mostly using the Kindle Fire to play her music after she had fallen into a coma-like state. Not exactly a worth-while purchase.

And now that my dad has received my mom's life insurance money, he isn't spending it any better.

While he still pesters me to get a job and made me take out thousands of dollars in student loans, he's bought another laptop, a new ipod (when he has a fancy Android), has planned several vacations to places like Hawaii and Los Angeles, and has decided to get a $1500 dog from a breeder. (I think getting a dog is a horrible idea altogether because both my dad and my sister are so busy, they don't have time to take care of a dog. Plus our house is filled with my mom's Persian rugs. Imagine what a puppy would do to white silk Persian rugs? But if he really wants to get one, why not get one from the local shelter?)

He's also donated thousands of dollars to the UCSF Neurosurgery Department. I don't have a problem with this, except that he made me take out the same amount of money in student loans. Isn't the point of life insurance money to help pay for things like college as if my mom were still alive? I can already tell that next year when I'm applying for financial aid again, my school is going to say "You seem to have received a lot of untaxed income this year. Why are you claiming you can't pay the full tuition price?" Because all the money will be already spent and I will have to take out more loans in my own name. And my dad will complain to me that we're not getting the same amount of scholarships as we did last year.

In 2 years my sister will be going off to college. I worry for her. My dad should use the money for our education. That's what my mom would do. There's a reason why she was in charge of our family's finances. She was so much more pragmatic about it.

Also, she'd never ever ever get a pet dog. She hated pets. But I guess my dad and sister always wanted one, and now that Mom's dead they can finally get their dog.

The Last Text My Mom Ever Sent Me...

2012-10-05T10:03:00.002-07:00

The last text my mom ever sent me was from May 10, over two months before she died. Her mind was too much like a child's to work a cellphone after that.

The text she sent me reads "I love you & miss you very much."

I love you too Mommy. And I miss you so so much.

Just Another Day in Calculus Class

2012-10-03T20:43:00.001-07:00

My Calculus professor is a cheery man who likes to chat with his students. Today , right before class, he looked at me and said, "How is your day going?"

I responded, "It's going okay."

"Just okay? It's a beautiful day! What could be troubling you?"

I said to him, "You really want to know?"

Mind you, this is in front of the entire class. This was not a private conversation.

"Sure! What's bothering you?"

So I said, "Okay... Well I'm kind of grieving right now. My mom just died 2 months ago" (at this exact instance, every single person snapped their head to look at me. It was just like a scene in a movie) "so I haven't had a good day in awhile."

Suddenly his face dropped. His eyes actually teared up. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Was she young?"

"She was only 52."

"That's so young... Cancer?"

"Yeah. Brain cancer."

Then there was silence. After about 30 seconds, he said "There have been so many medical breakthroughs, but there's still a long way to go."

And with that, he started his lecture.

At first, my eyes were teary. My bottom lip wouldn't stop shaking. But after a couple minutes, I felt empowered. I was raising my hand more than I ever have. I felt confident and capable. I want to make my mom proud and show everyone that I'm just as strong as she was. I'm her daughter. She taught me how to be strong. My strength comes from her.

The Psychology of Health

2012-09-22T12:46:00.002-07:00

I'm taking a course this semester called Health Psychology. I thought it would be about the psychological impact of being diagnosed with a severe illness. We might get to that topic at some point, but for now, this class is not at all as I expected. (I checked the syllabus and looks like we'll spend just the last day of class on cancer. Just one day.) So far we've disgusted the health benefits of making good health choices. This doesn't sound too bad, but I don't think I've ever gotten more frustrated taking a class than taking this one.

The textbook for my Health Psychology class.

First day of Health Psychology, my professor asks us to fill out a one-question survey. She asked each of use to rank how much we value our health, on a scale from 0 - 7. I decided to be honest and I wrote 3.

I've never been that healthy. My mom made us eat healthy foods growing up. She made us eat a serving of broccoli and a glass of milk every single night until I was in college. I absolutely hated it. She would beg me to work out with her (she exercised every night), but I'd always refuse. "Exercising is boring," I'd say. She wanted to me to exercise so bad, that she actually gave me roommate at DePaul University $20 for taking me to the gym one time! My mom really cared about her health. She never smoked and very rarely drank (and when she did, it was usually a margarita!). She ate a health diet and took daily vitamins.

Even before my mom got sick, I obviously didn't value my health very much. Probably because I was young and ignorant. And like my mom always told me, "you think you're healthy because you're not overweight, but that's not what being healthy means."

But when my mom got sick, I was in total shock. My mom always talked about how my dad didn't take care of his health and that it'll catch up with him one day. And that she didn't want me to grow up like him. But to watch her to struggle and then lose her life to cancer, why should I value good health? Good health can't prevent cancer. It can't prevent death. My mom was one of the healthiest people I knew, and she died of cancer.

My professor read though all the responses out loud, and most people wrote 6. There were some 7s and 5s. But when she got to mine, she said "Huh. Well 3 is kind of low." Yes, I know I should value good health more. My mom would want me to. But after everything I seen in the passed 2 years, it's hard to believe that having good health habits will really help me in the long run.

My professor told us that 75% of all deaths caused by cancer are attributed to lifestyle choices and health behaviors of the individual. [35% attributed to poor diet, 30% attributed to tobacco use, 7% attributed to sexual behavior, and 3% attributed to over-consumption of alcohol]

I realize that 75% is quite a high percentage and I understand why our professor is trying to convince everyone to be healthy, but I can't help but get so unbelievably frustrated during this class.

She told us about a study from 1965 to 1990 that found that healthy women who did 7 good health behaviors [didn't smoke, rarely drank alcohol, ate a balanced diet, exercised, got 7-9 hours of sleep every night, ate breakfast everyday, and didn't eat between meals] had a 43% lower mortality rate that women who didn't do any of these good health behaviors.

My mom did all of those things. She was healthy. Then why is she dead? It's not like she was killed in an accident. She died of a health problem. She died of cancer.

I don't know the exact reason for this, but as my mom's got sicker and sicker she stopped caring about her daily vitamins or a good diet. There were times when she ate two ice cream cones a day. She didn't seem to care. I'm not sure if the brain tumor had affected her reasoning so much that she just wanted to eat whatever she wanted. Or if she decided that she was going to die anyways, so what was the point in taking multivitamins? Or maybe she was so incredibly frustrated that decades of healthy diets and exercise and doing everything right didn't count for shit. That's what frustrates me the most at least. And that's why I wrote 3 on that survey.

Update:
Right after I wrote this blog post, I decided to go to the gym. I probably haven't gone to the gym8 months or so. Maybe I actually am learning from this class. Or maybe I exercised because I know my mom always wanted me to.

New School (Year), New Friends

2012-08-24T12:08:00.000-07:00

I had only been in college for 11 weeks when I found out that my mom had brain cancer and I moved home. I only had one quarter of college under my belt. You can never choose the timing of a thing like your mom begin diagnosed with terminal cancer, but I have to say it was pretty bad timing for me. (I hope that didn't come off as being selfish)

All of my high school friends had left for college too. When I got back to my hometown, they weren't there. They were doing what I had been doing. They were building new lives for themselves. They were building new friendships. I don't blame them for that.

Well I spent one semester at a local (shitty) community college. I made one friend there. He quickly became my boyfriend. He essentially saved me. I was so incredibly lonely when I first moved back home from Chicago (I'm from/live in the San Francisco Bay Area). I had moved back home to be with my mom, but no one in my family seemed to appreciate or care that I had given up on my theater conservatory education. It seemed to me that my mom wanted to spend more time with her friends than with me. Let's just say, I got very extremely depressed. On top of dealing with my moms recent terminal illness diagnosis, I felt like I had nobody. I thank my boyfriend for helping through that time. He was the only person who paid any attention to me.

In the fall of 2011, I transferred to a 4-year college in the Bay Area, and that's where I go now. Mills College is an all-women's school. I never saw myself as someone who'd want to got o a school without boys. But do you know what it's like to be in an environment that if only women, where you feel so comforted and supported and encouraged. To not have any bitchy girls gossipping or creating bullshit drama.It's a place where everyone genuinely wants to help each other. As someone who's dealing with their mother's long illness and death, I certainly did not want to be in a place that was more about partying than education. Mills College is perfect for me at this stage in my life.

But while I say that, I have yet to make any close friends there. I've gone there one year, but I spent the whole year constantly anxious about how I should be home with my mom. I didn't join any sports or clubs because I wanted to spend my time with my mom. I turned down invitations to hang out and I didn't go to any school dances or gatherings. To some people I must have seemed like an outcast. But to the people I told about my mom, I hope the tried to understand what I was going through and understood that I just needed my space.

But now my mom's gone, and I feel like still the only person I have is my boyfriend. Not to say he isn't enough, but sometimes a girl wants other girl friends to talk to. And you'd think at an all-women's school I wouldn't have any difficulty making girl friends. Well that's my goal for this year.

Up until my mom got sick, I was the kind of person who was involved in tons of extracurriculars. And I've felt so empty not filling my time with tons of activities. I've felt like for the passed 18 months, all I've wanted to do is spend time with my mom. And do you know what that meant for about 13 months of that time before she got really ill? It meant sitting with her and feeling uncomfortable. Like "okay, we both know you're sick and are probably dying. Everyone keeps telling us I should make this time with my mom count. But what the hell does that mean? What should I be doing?" It was usually pretty awkward. I was so worried about making my time with her count, that I was too anxious to enjoy myself.

It feels weird to say it, but once my mom got really sick, around March 2012, I actually started enjoying our time together more. I felt useful. I could help her and take care of her. It felt good to do something in return for my mom who had taken care of me for the past 20 years.

Sorry, I got a little off track. But anyway, so I haven't really been able to make friends at school. And I'm hoping things will change this semester. Classes start in less than a week and I'm so so excited. I think keeping busy is the best way to keep me sane right now. If I'm bored, I get depressed.

The only thing I'm not really looking forward to is that I know people will ask me "How was your summer?" And what am I supposed to say to that? "Oh it kind of sucked actually." "Why? What happened?" "Oh, um, my mom died." How many times will I have to play through that conversation? Do I want to? One thing is for sure, I'm so grateful that I'm not in like 2nd grade when on the first day of school the teacher would always say "Okay let's go around the room and say one thing we'll always remember about this summer." That would be horrifying.

Let The Grief Begin

2012-08-23T12:57:00.003-07:00

It's been over 3 weeks since my mom died. And it didn't really hit me until yesterday. Yesterday was August 20th. August 20th was a very important day to my mom, though we don't know why. All she told me was "August 20th is Arbitrary". It was the day she had chosen for herself to die. She told me that she just needed a day to work towards.

Well she didn't make it to August 20th. She didn't even make it to August.

She also said she wanted her "After Party" on August 20th. Well since yesterday was a Monday, we threw the After Party on the 19th. It was such a wonderful celebration of her life. About 200 people attended - from family to childhood friends to college classmates to her previous bosses and coworkers, to her meditation group. We had some of her paintings displayed in the room and had the slide show I made projected on the wall.

Watercolor by Noushin Sharif-Murphy - 1987

It was definitely a party, just like my mom asked for. We had tons of my mom's favorite foods like watermelon, tiramisu, and margaritas. We made sure it was a potluck event just like she wanted it to be. And we forced one of her employees to be in charge of the music. For some reason, that was the most important thing to her. She insisted over and over again that this employee be the dj. I'm no sure why. I don't think he has any experience as a dj. But she made me pinky promise that he would dj, and he did. Mostly importantly, there was lots of dancing. My mom LOVED to dance. Overall, I think it was a great party and I think my mom would have approved. She was pretty hard to please and she was so worried that we wouldn't do everything just like she asked. Well expect for throwing one day early, I think we did pretty good!

So as I said earlier, my mom's death didn't really hit me until yesterday. Until after the After Party. I spent the day very depressed and in tears. The phrase "I miss my mom" was playing over and over and over in my head. That's the worst day I've had so far.

Until August 20th, it just hadn't hit me. I knew my mom was dead, but I didn't really miss her yet. I still felt like she was here. Like things were still the same. I wanted to miss her. I wanted to cry. But the tears would never come out. The tears still have a hard time coming out. Sometimes I just with my eyes would cry already!

There's a song that was one of my mom's absolute favorites. It's in Farsi and it's by a singer named Dariush. She LOVED Dariush ever since she was in high school. She actually kept a poster of him on the back of her door in her office. This song in particular was her favorite. It's called Cheshme Man (My Eyes). Every time it came on, she would just stop talking and listen. I never really knew what it was about until a few months ago, my mom was listening to it and my aunt came in and said "Why are you letting her listen to this song? It's so sad!" Since then, every one of my mom's Iranian friends said "Don't let her listen to Dariush! He's too sad!"

Well turns out Cheshme Man is about a man who's brother has passed away. And he can't understand why his eyes aren't crying. He's begging to God to let his eyes cry. Sounds a lot like what I'm feeling right now.

These are the lyrics translated to English:

My Eyes

My eyes, please come help me,
My cheeks are dry, please do something,
Is there anything that can be done except crying?
We are hopeless, please weep
The one who is now gone will never come back
My heart wants to cry forever.
All the seas God has on earth with all the clouds in the sky
I wish he had given all of that to my eyes
So they could cry for me
The one who is now gone will never come back
My heart wants to cry forever.
The happy tales of my past
Has ended so fast like a dream
Now I must put my head on my knees and forever shed the tears of regret,
Nobody’s heart has as much sadness as mine
Nor nostalgia and sorrow like mine
Now that crying is the cure for my pain,
Why are my eyes lacking in tears.
They have stolen our bright sun
And drawn dark clouds underneath
Everywhere dark color of sadness
Our staying time is near its end
The one who is now gone will never come back
My heart wants to cry forever.
Destiny has gone blind and cannot see
The scar of its blade will stay in the heart
Sealed lips, chest stained with blood
That is the story of the one who stays behind

The one who is now gone will never come back
My heart wants to cry forever.

"Now that crying is the cure for my pain, why are my eyes lacking in tears?" That is the question I ask myself everyday. I know everyone grieves differently. But I feel sad, I just want my eyes to show it. I want the grief to begin.

"Someone Reads The Eulogy"

2012-08-16T11:57:00.001-07:00

I mentioned this in an earlier post ("The End Is Near"), but I wanted to talk about it in further detail.

One day, about a month before my mom passed away, I was encouraging her to draw in her notebook like I did every time I came to visit. When all of a sudden, she turned the page and started writing. This is pretty unusual. By this time, she was having difficulty writing, so I was pretty shocked.

I was looking through her notebook yesterday when I found that page that she wrote almost 2 months ago:

It took me awhile to decipher it, but I'm pretty sure it says

1. Guests arrive
2. Someone reads the eulogy
This isn't about mourning, this is about celebrating her life.
After the burial, please gather at the

At this point, I remember her looking up at me and I asked her what she was writing. She didn't say anything, she just kept looking at me. I read the first two lines and got too scared to read the rest.

But now looking back on it, I can see how amazingly brave she was. At this point in her life, she couldn't walk or move her left arm. She had trouble eating, talking, and writing. She couldn't do very simple math problems anymore. Sometimes it seemed like she had the mental capacity of a 5 year old.

But then, out of nowhere, she would write things like this. And this would remind me that she was still the same person on the inside. She wasn't totally gone. She's still the most courageous person I have ever known. And I hate brain cancer for doing this to her.

"To My Dearest Misha"

2012-08-15T21:07:00.001-07:00

My dad was reading through my mom's journal from the past year and he found this note that my mom wrote to me on my birthday this year: (click on the picture to view it larger)

If you can't read it, she wrote:

"The connection that we experience is very close. I am glad I got to be a part of it. Keep on bringing joy to everyone's life you touch with your bright smile."

I miss her so much.

She Just Let Go

2012-08-08T14:42:00.004-07:00

I think it's about time I stop putting off this blog post.

For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook, my mom passed away on Sunday.

We were all expecting it to happen. Honestly, I am so incredibly amazed and impressed with my mom for staying alive as long as she did. She fell into a very deep sleep on July 19th and never woke up. She went 10 days without any food or water. And as she requested, no feeding tubes or IV fluids either. I didn't know that was even humanly possible! How does someone survive 10 days without food or water? I know I couldn't do that.

We don't know why she was holding on for so long. After a week, my dad starting telling her that it was okay to let go. But she just didn't seem to want to leave us. We all told her over and over again that we would be okay and that we love her very much. But she kept hanging on.

On Saturday, I decided that we should watch my mom's favorite movie. It's an Italian film called Cinema Paradiso. She absolutely loved that movie. I knew she couldn't see it, because she was asleep. And I know she couldn't she couldn't understand what they were saying because it's in Italian. But I know she loved the music from the movie so I moved a tv into her bedroom and played the movie for her. Here's the trailer for the film:

It was a women's movie afternoon. It was me, my mom, my sister, both my grandmas, both my aunts, and my friend's mom. I really enjoyed it and I think my mom did too because her breathing slowed down.

That night, I wanted to stay awake with her, but I was so exhausted, I just couldn't. My aunt and I slept in my parents' bed, which was next next to the hospital bed. And my dad and my sister slept in sleeping bags on the floor.

My dad says he got up at 2:30am to give her a half dose of morphine. (He was so worried that she was in pain, even though every nurse said she looked peaceful and pain free.) He sat with her as her breathing became slower and slower. Sometime just before 4:00am, he must have started dosing off because just at 4:02am, both my aunt and I woke up. I'm not sure what woke us up, but I opened my eyes and was listening. I knew not to get too worried when I didn't hear any breathing because my mom had been taking up to 20 second pauses between breaths. As I was laying there counting the seconds, my aunt jumped up and yelled at my dad "She's not breathing anymore." She was right. My mom slipped away just when no one was watching.

We woke my sister up, which is always very difficult - she's a really deep sleeper. She later told me it felt like a dream. I told her it did for me too. And she said "No. Like it REALLY felt like a dream. I wasn't really awake."

My sister and I sat with my mom while my dad and aunt called hospice and the funeral home and all the family. She and I sat next to her and my sister said "Look! Isn't she smiling?" And she was. I couldn't help but take a picture of it. It was just so beautiful. I compared that picture to several pictures from when she was in the coma thing. That was the only picture she was smiling in. She was happy to finally go to a better place. She didn't have to fight anymore. She just let go.

We talked to her. I told her "I know you probably think this is really stupid. We know that you're looking down on us now, and what do you see? Your two girls talking to a dead body that isn't you anymore. I know you're always with us now."

Of course I broke down crying once or twice too. We all did. But after an hour of that, I just wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to dream of something happier. But unfortunately, my dad is that kind of person that just babbles when he's uncomfortable or doesn't know what to say. He wouldn't let me sleep. After about an hour, I was finally dozing off when the hospice nurse arrived. She was way too cheery to be dealing with a death at 5:00 in the morning.

We chatted with her. Too much small talk in my opinion. After she left, the men came to take her body away.

I was terrified of that moment, but it didn't seem to bother me as much as I thought it would. I sat in the living room alone as I watched the men carry her out of her bedroom and out the front door in a black bag.

It was about 7:00am when they took her body away. My sister and I just sat on the couch. We really didn't know what to do with ourselves. We turned the TV on and it happened to be the start of the Olympics. We watched the Olympics all day. I think it was the perfect distraction.We left the Olympics on the TV for several days. I think I'll always associate the London Olympics with my mom's death. But not in a sad way. In a way that the Olympics has really helped with through this time. It's given us something to focus on that wasn't about death. And it's something that everyone can relate to and talk about. So thank you to the London Olympics.

For the next few days, I felt like we were all just waiting around the house for people to come and bring us flowers or food and give their condolences. It was awful. Staying inside all day because people expected us to be there. I don't think my dad left that house for over a week.

We were able to transport my mom's body to UCSF so that her brain could be donated to research, just as she requested. It was her dying wish and I'm so glad that we were able to make it come true. UCSF did an MRI of her brain and then took her into surgery and removed the brain. They will compared the MRI results to the actual brain so that they will hopefully be able to better read MRI scans. I hope my mom's brain will benefit other brain tumor patients. I remember about a year ago when my mom had an MRI and her oncologist said, "There is something growing, but it's probably just swelling, not tumor growth." Then 4 weeks later, another MRI and the oncologist said "It's still growing so I'm guessing that it's no swelling, but actually tumor growth." The next week they took my mom into surgery, and what did they find? It was just swelling. But because we had to stop the chemo for the surgery, the tumor cells that were there had developed a resistance to the chemo that was working. I was so mad. I couldn't believe that scientists and doctors could know so little. Give me the MRI scans, and I could tell you just about as much as the oncologist did.

I know it's not the oncologists fault though. There just isn't the research to know more. I really hope my mom's brain will be able to solve this horrible problem. I don't want anyone else to have to go through that.

The Wednesday after my mom's passing, we had the funeral. We all drove to the funeral home where my mom was being kept and two older Iranian women arrived to wash my mom's body, as is Muslim tradition. All female friends and family were invited to participate in the washing, but I chose not to do it. I was too scared at the time. Even my aunt didn't do it. Only two of my mom's very best friends went in to help. I spoke with them after, and they said that it was very spiritually cleansing. Like this was the final thing that they could do for her. They cleaned her body and prepared her and made her look nice. Looking back, I kind of wish I had participated, but I think my mom understands that I just didn't feel comfortable at the time.

As my aunt had insisted, a Muslim man came to recite the prayers and oversee the Muslim burial. I understood most of what her said, and trust me, he rambled on for about 15-20 minutes longer than he had too. It was so hot that day and I swear I almost fainted standing in the sun while he was just babbling. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that he volunteered his time to lead the prayers. I just don't think my mom gave a shit. I sure didn't.

After he finished speaking, several people each read things in front of everyone who was there. I read the excerpt from the Richard Bach book There's No Such Place As Far Away that I included in one of my previous posts Now Death Is Really Near.

You have no birthday because you have always lived.You were never born, and you will never die. You are not the child of the people you call mother and father, but their fellow adventurer on a bright journey to understand that things that are. Fly free and happy beyond forever, and we'll meet now and then when we wish, in the midst of the one celebration that can never end.

My mom's friend read a poem that we actually found saved onto my mom's computer. It's called She Let Go

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming
around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go... She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.

While preparing things for the funeral, I remember that years ago my mom had emailed me a worksheet that she had done at a workshop about finding your "primary aim" in life. She encouraged me to also fill out the worksheet, but I never did. I should probably do it now. I searched through my old emails, and found it. She listed these five things as the most important things she wanted in her life:

1. I want a life full of new learnings everyday. I want my life to be filled with personal growth and understanding.

2. I want my mom to accept me for who I am not who she wants me to be. I want us to relate to each other.

3. I want my children to be independent, intelligent and capable to make decisions in their lives that best suits them.

4. I want to surround myself with people that I love, respect and trust. I want to live in an environment free of hatred where people could accept and respect each other's differences.

5. I want to grow old gracefully, with dignity and self-respect. I want to die while I am still healthy and active.

I can't explain the feeling of reading this list of things most important to my mom the day after she died. She wrote this list over 5 years ago.

I will do my very best to make my mom proud and fulfill her #3. I'm sad to report that I don't think my grandma ever fulfilled #2. She such stubborn lady, just like my mom was. Like mother, like daughter. My mom worked so hard to make sure she developed good relationships with her daughters.

#5. I wish #5 were true. My mom was never able to grow old. She was not able to die will she was still healthy and active. Brain cancer took that away from her.

The last assignment of this worksheet is to write your on eulogy. We also read this eulogy at the funeral. This is what my mom wrote about herself:

Throughout her life, through hard work and persistence, Noushin managed to grow from a fearful follower to a fearless leader! She enriched our lives with her sense of restless conviction to her beliefs and values. She was a creative visionary who saw beyond appearances through the depths of the people around her and was able to bring out the best in them. She had the strength to pursue her dreams despite insurmountable barriers and limitations surrounding her. Her highest sense of truth was her commitment to her friends and family. The gift she left behind is the beauty of her character that touched us all.

This is my mom. This is her.

I also made a slide show of my mom:

Her Dad's Waiting For Her

2012-07-28T13:37:00.003-07:00

My mom's childhood best friend had a dream last night that she was in a meadow. My late grandfather was there (my mom's dad, he passed away 10 years ago). He was wearing a crisp navy blue suit.

She asked him how she can help my mom during her journey. He said raise your hands in the air and asked God to forgive her and to take care of her. He told her that God can hear all prayers, no matter what religion.

My dad's Catholic family is here. They're praying quietly. My mom's family is reciting Muslim prayers.

I know my mom never really got along with her dad, but I know she's missed him. I know he's waiting for her.

A Smooth Transition

2012-07-28T09:36:00.002-07:00

Two years ago, I was preparing to attend DePaul University. I was preparing both physically and mentally. I was packing everything that I needed (but mostly just wanted) to take with me to college. Mentally, I was getting ready to move away from home. I was leaving my home of 15 years to go to a school that was over 2,000 miles away. Perhaps I wanted to go so far away, even though my mom wanted me to stay in state, because my mom moved far away when she went to college too. But she moved much farther than I did. She moved from Tehran, Iran to San Francisco. And also unlike my mom's transition to college (she traveled by herself to the US), I asked my mom to come with me to Chicago to help me move in and get settled.

Looking back on it, the two weeks before college started were a very close time for me and my mom. The week I was supposed to leave for Chicago, I somehow got shingles. I know all the doctors and commercials say it's a disease that only affects old people. But I got it. And it was painful. And on top of the shingles, I also had the stomach flu! That was a horribly painful and uncomfortable week for me. Sleeping was almost impossible. But I quickly figured out that my parent's mattress was much more comfortable than mine. Laying their bed was the only chance of sleep I was going to get. So I convinced my dad to spend the nights in my room so I could sleep in his bed. For the next week, my mom and I laid in her bed and chatted before falling asleep. (Though most of the time she wanted me to stop talking so she could get some rest!) That's a memory I'll never forget.

As I started feeling better, my mom and I got ready to leave for Chicago. She helped me pack everything up. We headed to Illinois, but instead of staying in Chicago, we drove to the suburbs where one of my old friends from preschool (yes, you read that correctly) lives. She had actually already left for college when my mom and I got there, so we slept in her bedroom. She had a very comfy queen-size bed that my mom and I shared for a few days while my friend's mom took us out shopping for dorm stuff. (this is the same friend's mom who staying with us right now)

After a few days in the suburbs, it was time to move into the dorms. My mom and I drove into Chicago and started moving everything into my dorm room. My roommate wouldn't be moving in for a few days, so my mom decided to spend two nights with me in my dorm.

At the time, I remember thinking "Okay... When is she going to leave? I'm in college now." It kind of felt like she was one of those mom's who stuck around at their kid's preschool to make sure everything was okay. I remember feeling so free when she finally left.

I tell this story because I feel like it really relates to what my mom's doing now. My mom and I spent a week together in Illinois as a transition. She wanted my transition to college life to be a smooth one. Perhaps because hers was not smooth at all. (On her way to San Francisco from Iran, she had to change planes in New York. There, some stupid airlines person told her that her connecting flight was not at JFK airport, but at LaGuardia airport. My mom rushed to LaGuardia only to realize that the airlines person was very wrong. She missed her flight and had to spend the night at JFK airport, sleeping in an empty gate. That was my mom's 'Welcome to America!' Did I mention she was only 18 years old? She's so incredible.)

So here we are. My mom has been in this coma-like state for ten days. Just wrap your mind around that. She has not had anything to eat or drink in 10 whole days. But she's still breathing. Not as steadily as a few days ago, but still breathing. I always knew my mom was courageous and brave and certainly hard-headed, but I had no idea that she was this strong! I don't think I could possibly last more than 3 days without food or water, even without brain cancer!

So I have this idea that my mom trying to make a smooth transition for us, just like she did when she was taking me to Chicago. She didn't want to be awake one day, drawing and eating with friends, and to be gone the next day. She's been asleep for 10 days. At first I was a complete mess, sobbing when I was alone with my mom. I was kind of angry at my dad for telling her that it was okay for her to die. But now it's been 10 days, and I'm not sure how much longer I can just sit in this house waiting for my mom to die. Everyone who's been coming to visit are always to sad and it almost feels like this is the house of death. I try desperately to lighten the mood. I joke with my mom. But everyone else doesn't seem to think that's appropriate.

In a way, this smooth transition thing has kind of worked. I feel more prepared for her death. Now that I've had 10 days to get used to her not being awake to react to what I'm saying or to take care of her (like making sure she cuts her food into small bites). There's not doubt that I'm going to miss her and that I'm going to grieve her death. But I'm seeing this long coma as a way of he preparing us for her departure. She wants us to have a smooth transition.

Now Death Is Really Near

2012-07-23T08:04:00.000-07:00

Sorry is this post doesn't seem very coherent. My thoughts are jumping all over the place.

On Wednesday, five of my mom's high school friends from Iran came to visit her. They weren't all supposed to come on the same day, but it worked out that they each traveled from different parts of the US and arrived at our house all within an hour of each other. Soon our house was filled with what I call "The Noisy Persians". Their chatter woke my mom up from her nap and we could tell that she wanted to be with her friends. So we got her out of bed and into a wheelchair. Though she didn't say anything, I knew she was happy to see them.

We all spent several hours having a good time. I found my mom's old vinyl records from Iran and she and her friends reminisced about the songs being played at their school dances. I also pulled out the lego set that I had bought for her that morning (Thank you to Tashi from Learning To Hope for giving me the idea). I think she had fun with the legos:

She had been eating throughout the day with relative ease. Sometimes you just had to remind her that there was food next to her, and then she would reach for it. She ate a whole plate of watermelon (her absolute favorite thing to eat) and then reached for the plate of cookies with the same fork. She knocked a few of the cookies off the table that way, but it was nice to see that she wanted to eat. That was in the afternoon. By the evening she was having a little more trouble. She didn't seem to want to eat her dinner. The only think she was interested in was watermelon. But she would bring the fork with watermelon up to her mouth and just pushed it against her lips. It was as if she was trying to get the watermelon into her mouth, but she couldn't remember that you have to open your mouth first.

We all just figured she was really tired. She had had an extra short nap that day because her friends got here. So we put her to bed and let her sleep.

But she hasn't woken up. That was on Wednesday and that was the last day I saw my mom eat. It was the last day I saw my mom's eyes open.

It's now Monday and each day things seem to be getting worse and worse. At first she could definitely still hear us. I would ask, "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." And she would! But then that stopped. Then she would occasionally tense up her shoulder. I told it was because she could hear me, but the nurse seemed to think it was a sign of distress or pain. Well now her right side is just as limp as her left side has been for so many weeks.

I'm sitting in my parents' bed right now. My mom's in the hospital bed next to me. She seems to be sleeping peacefully. I know everyone says that hearing is your that sense to go, so everyone's been talking to her. I try to be funny when I can because I'm sure she's tired of this depressing stuff. I told her "You know Mommy, you stopped eating on the first day of Ramadan. I know your secret. I know you're just doing an excellent job at fasting. No hiding the truth from me!" My dad doesn't seem to think that's appropriate, but think it's better than what he does - just crying everytime he looks at her.

Her body seems to be slowly letting go. My sister was removing my mom's nail polish to do a different color when she noticed that her nails are turning dark brownish blue. Also, my mom's body isn't swollen anymore. You can actually see her veins and joints now. My sister also noticed that the whites of my mom's eyes are turning yellow. And now this morning, her face looks really really pale. We all know what these signs mean. We all know that they're pointing to death nearing.

Most of the time I feel like I can't think about it. But what seems like the most random times, I just begin to sob. I need my mom.

I found an email my mom sent to me last year. It's dated November 10, 2011.

My dear lovely Misha daughter,

I got off the phone with you last night saddened by your grief about my situation. Then it came to me that there is no such thing as death, there is no such thing as dyingJ! Remember Richard Bach’s book called “There's no such place as far away”? As long as you have me in your heart, I will never be far away. I will never die because I will live in you. We have had 19 very nice years together and I am thankful for having you with me all along. I am glad I got to hold an active role in your life and I am glad that you were receptive to my input. You are my lovely dokhtary (daughter in Farsi) and always will be. Don’t fear that because you can’t see me and talk to me that I will be gone for good. Death does not separate us from our loved ones, it only brings us closer. Trust that I will always be with you and I will. Remember that you will forever be surrounded by love…

My unconditional love to you,

Mommy

My mom has always loved Richard Bach. He's an author. I think my mom owns everything single one of his books. She keeps them all in her nightstand right next her bed. She was always reading at least one of his books. I think she must have reread some of those books at least 20 times. The book There's No Such Place As Far Away is a short book. It's written like it's a children's book.

It's about an unnamed person who's on their way to their friend's birthday party. The concepts of growing up and birthday parties and traveling long distances are all questioned in this book. My mom and I read this book several times together. The end has always been my favorite part. It ends with:

You have no birthday because you have always lived.You were never born, and you will never die. You are not the child of the people you call mother and father, but their fellow adventurer on a bright journey to understand that things that are. Fly free and happy beyond forever, and we'll meet now and then when we wish, in the midst of the one celebration that can never end.

I think this quote captures my mom so perfectly and everything she's always believed in. This is my mom.

I know I'm going to miss her, but I know she'll always be with me. I just know she will.

I want to thank everyone who's been thinking about me and my mom. It's really help me feel supported. And I tell my mom that she has people she doesn't even know praying for her. I really want to thank Rochelle Bugg for writing such a wonderful post dedicated to me mom. (http://thisisabuggslife.wordpress.com/2012/07/22/reflected-grief/) It means so much to me.

I'm just trying to spend as much time as I can with my mom. I talk to her and play her music.

My dad talked to the nurse yesterday, and she said that my mom would probably die within 72 hours. It's not what I want to hear, but it's what I expected.

I've been so anxious the past few days. I've been so nauseous. I haven't really been able to eat anything. I get especially anxious when I'm alone with my mom. I hate the feeling so much.

It's kind of weird, but focusing on planning the funeral really helps me. I feel like it's the only thing we have any control over. And it helps me not feel so helpless.

My sister still hasn't cried, but I think everyone's glad that she didn't go to camp.

Again, sorry for the jumbled post. Welcome to my mind right now.

What do I have to look forward to?

2012-07-13T20:39:00.001-07:00

I found out last week that my 15-year-old sister is going away to camp for two weeks (July 23 - August 3rd). This has upset me on several levels.

1) OUR MOMMY IS DYING. How can she not understand that? I'm not sure if someone has actually said those words to her yet. Your mom is dying. But I thought it was pretty clear when my dad told us "If this next MRI doesn't show improvement, we will stop treatment. It might be time for hospice", it was pretty clear. I don't know. Maybe she doesn't know what that means.

(We had that MRI today and the results were pretty bad. The tumor has spread a lot. None of the three chemos we were trying have seemed to have worked. The original tumor in the right frontal lobe has spread to the other right lobes and even on the left side. There are also small tumors now growing in the back of her brain. Every lobe of her Cerebrum now has some tumor growing in it. The only parts of her brain that don't have any tumor are the cerebellum and the brain stem. There is a spot near the right frontal lobe that looks like the tumor is now growing in the gap between the brain and the skull. I didn't even know the tumor could do that. Also, the neuro-oncologist thinks that some of the spots on the MRI may not be tumor, but might be swelling, bleeding, or infection. None of those options are good. So the neuro-oncologist thinks it's time for palliative care.)

How could my sister go away for TWO WEEKS will our mom is DYING? I dropped out of school when I first learned that my mom had cancer. I would NEVER leave even for a few days! I told my sister this and she said "Why wouldn't I go to camp? I love that camp!" I responded by saying "Because our mom is sick?" She didn't have much to say to that.

I understand that she's in denial and that's one way of coping with everything, but should my dad or somebody tell her "I don't think you should go to camp this year." Would that be the responsible thing to do as the parent? But no. All he says is "We need to let her have a normal teenage life." I don't understand.

2) She's not allowed to bring her cell phone with her. So if something does happen to our mom, there really won't be an easy way to reach her. This just sounds like a horrible horrible horrible idea to me. How will my sister feel if my mom dies while she's at a stupid camp? In 30 years, how will she feel? Now maybe she hasn't thought about this, but again, shouldn't my dad have thought about this?!

3) The camp costs $2000. And I know for a fact that our family does not have the money to spend $2000 on a stupid camp. I'm so outrageously tired of watching my dad spend the tiny amount of money we have on stupid shit like a Kindle for my mom, a brand new laptop for my mom, a leased car for my mom. None of which she's every actually used!!!! And now this camp. I'm over here worried that there won't be enough money for me to even graduate college, and he's off spending it willy nilly. And then complains to me when I ask for money for some shoes! (Read about that here.) I still haven't saved any money for new shoes. I've been wearing the same 3-year-old sandals for months now. I have to go beg my college for more financial aid (again) next week, and I kind of feel uncomfortable telling them that my family can't afford this school, even though I now that we could if my dad didn't spend the way he does.

So I've been thinking about all this for the past week. I haven't been understanding my sister at all. But then today I was at Trader Joe's grocery store and the cashier asked me how I was doing. I was honest and said I wasn't having a very good day. He was very cheery (as most Trader Joe's employees usually are) and said "Well at least it's Friday! Everyone always looks forward to the weekend!"

That made me think. At first I thought "I don't have anything I'm looking forward to this weekend. Just a midterm in my summer psychology class." Then I thought "Do I have anything in my life that I'm looking forward too?" and I realized that I really don't. I mean I really really enjoy spending time with my mom, but I don't really have anything that I'm actually looking forward to. And you know what? My sister does. She's really thrilled about going to this camp. She really loves it. And who am I to take that away from her?

Okay. Well now I'm thoroughly confused. Should I try to stop my sister from going to her camp? Is it my place to do something like that? Will she hate me for it in the future? Or will she be grateful?

One thing's for sure. I really care about my sister. Sometimes I'm not sure so she cares about me though...

UPDATE: My sister has decided not to go to camp!

KEEEEP IT UP IT UP!!!!

2012-07-09T21:18:00.000-07:00

I spent the afternoon shopping with my sister while my mom was at the hospital for an Avastin infusion. It was unusual to hang out with my sister. We don't usually send much time together. We haven't always gotten along.

When my mom got home, I told her that my sister and I had had a good time shopping. And she just stared at me (she hasn't been talking much), but I could tell from her eyes that she had something to say. So I offered her a pen and paper and told her to write what she was thinking. This is what she wrote:

I know it's hard to read. It took me awhile to figure out what it said. So I'll type it out word for word (more like letter for letter):

"1. I am gladlalad that yu 2 2 hhadh a a gooood timtimartatime!
2. Keeeep it uppp it up! Keeeepit up!!!!!!it!!!!up!!!!????!!!!!"

Translation: I am glad that you two had a good time! Keep it up!

I'm so glad that she's writing. And that I can kind of read what she's writing. Now if only anyone could figure out what the Farsi says!!!