For Everything There is a Season

"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Page 24 of 45

Why I Am No Longer Freaking Out Over Our Wedding

March 22, 2013 / / 8 Comments

Fifty-seven days until I marry the love of my life. No small feat considering over four years ago I said I was never getting married again. Ever. I would consider “living in sin”, having casual sex (sorry, mom), and/or parenting with another human being but I was never getting married again. Period.

I wonder if that is what everyone says when they divorce someone they cannot stand?

Anyways, I have written about the love of my life, aka my fiancé Chuck, in the past but a brief refresher for those of you who missed it:

Girl goes to church every week. Boy returns to church after a few years off. He goes every week. Girl and boy start getting to know each other at church events and become church buddies. After an entire summer of after church service conversations, boy and girl finally get their act together and go out just the two of them. Girl realizes that day that she never wants a life without him and apparently boy does not either. Much to the shock of half of western Massachusetts, girl moves in with boy after dating for only four months. An engagement follows one year later.

And here I am, engagement ring, venue deposits, first pre-marital meeting with the minister and all.

But here is the secret. We struggled with getting to the point of actually having a wedding day. Why? Because I wasn’t sure I wanted a wedding. Don’t get me wrong, I was all for marrying my fiancé. Him and I making a commitment forever? Perfect. Even the possibility of one single day without him in my life was intolerable. However I was very conflicted about a wedding and my idea was to elope, preferably with our minister in tow. He wanted a big wedding. I was all for celebrating our marriage and our love with our family and friends but I had serious concerns. To start with, the actual act of marrying him was something that I did not want marred by the pomp and circumstance of the wedding industry or by all the “stuff” that can come with a wedding. I wanted the focus to be on our vows, the exchanging of our rings, and our love rather than worrying about the flowers matching the groomsman’s tux or the photographer getting the right pictures.

I did not want the stress of planning a wedding. I have done it before and now I have an autoimmune illness that can be seriously exacerbated by stress. The fact that I am a perfectionist at times does not help. I did not want to spend the following year to year and a half planning every detail of a day when I could be enjoying those days doing something else or spending time with him and my other loved ones. I was also afraid that we would plan this whole special day and then my illness would flare up and I would not enjoy the day or maybe not even be there.

But here is the problem with all of my concerns. They were all about me, not him. Not only what I wanted, but what I could handle. I wasn’t considering what he could handle and what we could handle together. But we wanted two very different things, or so I thought. The reality was that what I thought I wanted was motivated by fear, not by my heart and he knows me well enough to know that. Despite my protests, he knew that celebrating with our family and friends and being married in our church, a place so dear to both of us, was more important to me than I was acknowledging. He knows my fears. He knows my heart.

After many conversations, we agreed on a compromise of a ceremony in our church and a casual BBQ wedding reception (also known as the “party”) on a different day. The separate days was Chuck’s idea as he thought it would make it more enjoyable and easier for me because of my health issues. He made me understand that the responsibility of planning this wedding would not be all on me. He wanted to be a part of every step of the process. He said it was something that we could enjoy doing together.

We set two different dates for the ceremony and the reception. A few months later, which was August, one of my worse fears came true. Due to a misunderstanding, there was a huge interpersonal conflict regarding the wedding (not between Chuck and I) and I was ready to call the whole thing off. I didn’t want something that was supposed to be so special causing hard feelings between me, Chuck and any of our friends or family. There was too many sleepless nights because of it. I was starting to feel the stress of planning the wedding and it was still nine months away. I would never make it.

We talked and talked. We even argued a bit which is a rare event. I was letting a conflict with someone else get in the way of our wedding. I was freaking out and worrying about details that were still months away. There was a point that Chuck even asked me if I was sure that I wanted to marry him because of how resistant I was to the actual wedding. I was heartbroken. Of course I wanted to marry him. This was a big turning point for me. I realized that there was no way we were going to make it to May unless I either called off the wedding (not the marriage) or made some serious changes. We made the changes.

The changes included mostly an attitude change on my part. I decided from that point on, that I was not going to let anything distract me from having this celebration that we both deserved. It was important to him and I knew that if I could get out of my own way, I would start looking forward to it as well. We made some simple changes to the day to make the planning easier. I developed the attitude that I didn’t care what happened. That may seem callous to many people but for someone who is a perfectionist like me, taking an “I don’t care attitude” brings me back to a average person’s level of caring. I have the focus that it is the day he will become my husband. Nothing else matters. We decided that our focus was going to be on the ceremony, our love, and the people celebrating with us. We would plan other things that we wanted for the ceremony and the party, but I wouldn’t obsess about the details. I would go with the flow. Something that I have learned from Chuck. Something that eventually may add years to my life.

And I have gone with the flow since then and here we are, fifty-seven days away. I will admit, it has been a bit hectic lately finalizing details and such but I can sit here and honestly say that I am extremely excited about May 18th. We have been through a lot since my meltdown in August. I did get very physically sick and ended up hospitalized and Chuck’s mom passed away, fourteen weeks before our wedding date. For me, both events have made me see the importance of sharing this marriage with those in our life. Life is short and full of bad times. We have to take advantage of celebrating all that is good in this world, especially love.

Really good things have happened in that time too. You learn a lot about person when you are planning a wedding with them. We have mastered the art of compromise. I have learned more about what makes him happy. Most importantly though, I have learned that I can put my faith in him and that he will always come through for me. My biggest fear and concern was how I was going to physically handle the planning but the fact is, I don’t have to handle all the planning. I don’t always need to be in control. We have strengthened our roles as partners. For me, the planning of this wedding has been a labor of love, faith, and trust.

I have also learned things about myself during this process and the experience has done a lot to change some aspects of my personality that could use some work. Such as my perfectionism and my tendency to worry about everything. I have been forced to change some of my ways in order to make room for better things. I know the big day is still fifty-seven days away but I am in a good place. My health cannot afford the luxury of worry or stress. That is not what the day is about and our love deserves better than that.

We had our first pre-marital meeting with our minister last week and while we were talking to him, I glanced over at my soon-to-be husband. I am not exaggerating when I say he was radiating with love. The way he looked at me reminded me of why I am so willing to compromise in the first place. The way he looked at me reminded me that I would go to the ends of the earth for him. And now that compromise is two days that I cannot wait to experience with him. His love for me and my love for him is what our wedding day is about and I cannot wait to share that with those in our lives who are so important to us.

The Smell of the Sheets

March 20, 2013 / / 10 Comments

I went to lie down on a stretcher this morning and as I got comfortable on my back and waited for the radiology technician to come back in the room, I was struck by a smell. A familiar smell. One that prompted my brain to flash various images through my head, one right after the other. Images of different procedures, some painful and some not. Images of myself sitting in a hospital bed in various rooms throughout this particular hospital where I was having my test done. Images of  emergency rooms where I have sat.

What was this smell? I finally realized, while laying on the stretcher this morning, that it was the smell of the hospital sheet covering the stretcher. All of a sudden, I realized that the smell of the hospital sheet is as commonplace to me as the smell of fresh baked cookies or bread to someone else. It is very distinct. The smell was representative of all the stretchers I have laid upon in the past several years. There are too many to count. The sheets have laid below or on top of my struggling body as I have tossed and turned in the middle of the night in my hospital room, while I have vomited on an emergency room stretcher, and while a tube has been put down my airway and into my lungs during a procedure. The smell of the sheets symbolizes my life as a patient.

I realized as I was laying there this morning that I had not smelled the sheets in exactly three months, which is when I had my last procedure or test done, excluding laboratory tests. This particular test on this morning was an ultrasound of my kidneys and bladder and was painless, as well as easy for me. Basically a walk in the park. No needles, no gagging, no fear of the unknown, as I have encountered with so many other tests and procedures throughout the past few years. But the smell of the sheets reminds me of those times and the struggles I have had.

Last fall I made a very thought out decision to see a therapist/counselor who has a specialty in seeing people with chronic illness. I was at the point where I felt like I needed some help in learning how to cope with my illness and the multitude of issues surrounding being forty-one years old and disabled. I did not like the fact that my illness seemed to consume most of my conversations with my fiancé, friends, and family. I was finding it harder and harder to discuss anything else besides my symptoms, treatments, fears, and anxiety. I wanted more out of my relationships than that. Easier said than done when you have an illness that you are physically aware of almost every minute of the day. It wasn’t that I did not want to learn more about Sjogren’s, continue my book about it, or socialize with other Sjogren’s sufferers, but rather I wanted to find a way to have Sjogren’s be a part of my life instead of the focus of it.

I was also starting to struggle with significant anxiety in relation to upcoming procedures and I was having nightmares about them as well. Not surprising considering what I have gone through in the past couple of years and even before that with my lymphoma diagnosis, both in regards to procedures and medical experiences in general. I have had incisions made in the tops of my feet and had thin wires threaded up along the lymph vessels of my legs. I have woken up during a bronchoscopy because I was not properly sedated. I have had scary experiences with my heart in the emergency room and honestly thought I was going to die. The list goes on and on.

So I have been working diligently with this therapist. I have not mentioned, previous to this posting, this fact to many people. Actually only my fiancé, parents, and minister have known. I have not kept it to myself because I am embarrassed about seeing a therapist, but I guess I did not want people to know exactly how much I do emotionally struggle with having this illness. I want to be viewed and known as a warrior; a person who can handle all this illness business without much difficulty.

Yeah, I know. That’s crap. It’s the people who know they need help that are the warriors.

I have realized recently how much working with this therapist has helped me. Many times when people have trauma issues of any type, there are certain triggers that can bring back memories and feelings surrounding the traumatic event. For me, sometimes it is the smell of the sheets. The smell that brings back those images and reminds me of the pain, fear, and uncertainty that surrounds each difficult medical event. But this morning was much different when I recognized the smell of the sheets. When the smell prompted me to play back some of the difficult procedures and medical experiences I have had, mostly over the past year, I did not have the anxiety. Rather, I remembered them just as events that took place. Events that are a part of my journey. Were the events unpleasant? Yes. But the memories no longer haunt me while I sleep.

Therapy has also made a difference in my interpersonal relationships. Sjogren’s is still a part of my conversations at times. It needs to be as it is part of who I am. However I have recently found myself able to consistently focus on other aspects of my life in conversations and dealings with others. Because despite my continued physical struggles, I no longer think of myself primarily as a sick person. Instead, I think of myself as a person who has an illness. There is a huge difference. That difference actually made me realize something about one night last week. I had attended a social event with my fiancé and five friends that lasted about four hours. Not once in that time of conversing and socializing did the topic of my health come up. That is a very good thing. Not because I don’t ever want to talk about it or have people ask how I am doing but because it means that I have been able to have a life outside of Sjogren’s.

The smell of the sheets this morning transported me back in time to my struggles, but not to my anxiety and fear. This time the smell was a strong reminder to me of my strength and my ability to endure. It reminded me that yes, I am a patient. But that is not all I am. And so I have chosen to share this experience with you. To remind you that you don’t always have to be brave and you don’t always have to be strong. It is OK to ask for help. It is OK to be human.

Low Dose Naltrexone Update

February 23, 2013 / / 11 Comments

It’s Saturday morning and a perfect time for blogging. Life has settled down quite a bit here over the past few days. Life has been nothing but complete chaos and stress since about November and despite the fact that I think I have handled the stress fairly well, I am praying for no more crises for at least the next few months. The rest of the year would be nice too!

I have been playing catch up this past week with a lot of things I have neglected as of late, namely wedding planning, housework, and agent hunting for my book. More importantly, I have been trying to catch up with those friends and family that I have been neglecting and I am slowly but surely accomplishing that. I also have a list of health related blog topics in my head that I really want to write about as there has been so much going on and I think that the experiences I have been having might be useful for people to read about.

I think today I am going to start with an update about how I am doing with taking low dose naltrexone (LDN). I have been getting e-mails from people asking me if the LDN is working, if I am having any side effects, etc. The first post I wrote about LDN you can find here: Low Dose Naltrexone. If you have an autoimmune disorder, I think the post is worth a read. LDN is also being used for other illnesses other than autoimmune diseases but I try to write about what I know based on my experience and that experience is with taking LDN for Sjogren’s syndrome.

When I wrote the first blog entry about LDN, I was five weeks into taking it. Now I am about ten weeks into it. Since the five week point, I have been able to completely finish weaning off of prednisone. This was no small feat mind you. I had been taking prednisone for about fifteen continuous months, with the exception of one month where I had weaned off and had to go back on it. I did have some difficulty coming off the prednisone and the withdrawal symptoms were tough for the first two weeks or so, but my body seems to be slowly adjusting.

Before I came off the prednisone, and while on LDN, there was a period of about three weeks where I was feeling amazing. I mean, AMAZING! I went into my rheumatologist’s office for a routine appointment and told her that I had not felt that way since before all this autoimmune fiasco began, which was five years ago. Can you imagine feeling like yourself for the first time in five years?!? It was incredible.

However of course that did change when I stopped the prednisone but I am trying to be patient and give my body the time it needs to adjust. Part of thinks that it would have been nice to not have messed with the prednisone and enjoyed feeling good for a while longer. However the other part of me felt stronger that I did not want to be dealing with prednisone withdrawals and possible flare up issues closer to my wedding, which is three months away. This weekend it will be one month I am off the prednisone and that is usually my tipping point for things to go awry so I am crossing my fingers. Speaking of awry, at this point I am only having two issues, severe itching and hair loss. I thought the issues were related to coming off prednisone or perhaps even related to an autoimmune flare starting, but it appears this is probably not the case. I will hold off on the details of that situation for now until I have more information.

Overall, I think the LDN has had a positive effect on my autoimmune symptoms. When I came off the prednisone, my migraines initially got worse but are improving with the help of a supplement I was given by my integrative medicine doctor called petadolex. I have begun to have some minimal joint pain in the mornings that quickly goes away but other than that, I seem to be holding steady in regards to my pain levels. I have managed to wean off my steroid inhaler and currently take no medications for my autoimmune related asthma. That is a big deal. I am off my prescription migraine medication, another autoimmune medication called Plaquenil, and a medication that was being used to stimulate saliva called pilocarpine. I have noticed a small improvement in my dryness symptoms. My use of pain medication and Motrin has decreased.

I am able to do short periods exercise on a regular basis and am having less painful after-effects of the exercise as compared to before LDN. With the exception of the time period after I stopped prednisone, I have noticed an improvement in my mood and anxiety levels. I have not noticed any improvement in my esophagus/swallowing issues since starting the LDN. I had a few meals where I forgot to take my Procardia, which enables me to swallow more easily, and I immediately regretted not taking the medication. The LDN also has not made a difference in my reflux issues. The debilitating fatigue that I experience improved initially but I have been struggling with my energy levels since coming off the prednisone.

The only side effect I have noticed from LDN is insomnia. It has improved over the past month to the point that I am willing to continue riding out the side effect because the benefit is worth it right now. I am experimenting with some different natural solutions to this problem and it is also worth noting that I was having some insomnia issues prior to starting LDN.

So that is the scoop. I do have to mention that in addition to starting LDN, I have also begun going for allergy shots every week and have drastically changed my diet to an autoimmune protocol of the Paleo diet. However I did not start either of these treatments until after I had that three weeks of feeling great so I do strongly believe that the LDN has been a contributing factor in some of the improvements I have experienced. I am still on 3mg and am holding off on going up to 4.5mg until my insomnia is more under control as lack of sleep is a huge trigger for autoimmune symptoms.

Am I still skeptical? Sure. The improvements I have had could be a fluke but I don’t think so. I do think it is a situation where time will tell for sure. My goal is for LDN to keep me off the steroids. If that is the only benefit I get, it will be worth it’s weight in gold.

Ushering Them To The Other Side

February 19, 2013 / / 2 Comments

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Mary Frye (1932)


One of my biggest fears is dying. It always has been. To be honest, I am not sure if my excessive fear is typical because nobody ever talks about it, at least not in my social circle. I hear all these stories of how people have made their peace with the fact that they are dying or going to die and I cannot wrap my head around that. I do admire and respect these people because to me, it seems like they have a strong faith; one that gives them the courage to face what may come next. I wish I had that courage when it comes to death and dying.

It’s not like I have lived this sheltered life of perfect health and harmony. I have had experiences that have had the potential of ending up on the other side: a cancer diagnosis, a car accident where my life flashed before my eyes as my car slammed into a guardrail several times on the highway, a heart procedure that came with all the usual risks. There have been occasions where I have considered the possibility of ending my own life. Seems ironic that I would consider that idea considering my fear of death, but people think all kinds of crazy things when they are in desperate situations.

I think my fear has to do with the unknown of life after death. Despite my Christian beliefs, I do not feel one hundred percent assured that there is this eternal life after we leave our body. Or maybe a better way to put it is that I don’t know what this eternal life truly looks like. What does it feel like after you die? Do we feel anything? Do we have internal thoughts like we have now? Are there bright lights and angels singing when our soul ascends into heaven? What if there really isn’t a heaven? Too many unknowns for me. Maybe not enough faith.

I had the opportunity recently to be with someone as they died. I had never experienced that before. I have had people close to me die, but I was never present when the actual event took place. For weeks, I have been trying to gather my thoughts and words together to describe how being present with someone you love, as they leave this life, can change a person but the words would not come through the wall of emotional grief that still sits in my heart and my mind. Hence why this entry feels so disjointed to me. But I know that some of the words have to be written because until I get them down, I will not be able to write about anything else.

People talk all the time about the wonders of being born. The miracle of life. A new baby signifies joy and happiness. People gather around the new baby and usher him or her into this world with love and devotion. My experience of being present with my mother-in-law as she died was that the process of dying and death itself deserves just as much love and devotion as the process of being born. However I am not sure that most of our culture recognizes that fact. Maybe because to most of us, it is such a sad event. Maybe because we are already mourning our own loss. But it’s not just about us and our own loss. It’s about the person who is dying. Their needs. We are not alone when we are born. I think we should not be alone when we die. Unfortunately, we do not get to choose how or when we die so oftentimes, dying alone is inevitable.

I watched my fiancé and one of his sisters keep vigil at their mother’s bedside for well over twelve hours before she left us. One of them on one side and one on the other, always touching her in some way. I watched, while stroking her head, my mother-in-law take her last breath. A moment that is permanently etched in my memory. A memory that often comes back to me in my dreams, or even sometimes as a nightmare. But as difficult of a process as it was to be involved with, I saw during those twelve plus hours that it wasn’t just the sadness that filled that room, but the love. The love between a son and his mother. The love between a daughter and her mom. The comfort and love that was unfailingly given to my mother-in-law during her last hours was just as important, probably even more important, than the love she received the day she was born.

I have come to recognize that being with a person as they prepare to leave this earth is a privilege and one of the greatest things that we can do for another human being. Is it gut wrenching and one of the most difficult things one might ever do? Absolutely. But it is an opportunity that many people do not get. An opportunity to remind your loved one how much they are loved because I truly believe that your words are heard. It’s an opportunity to say goodbye. It’s an opportunity to gracefully usher a person to their final destination.

To be honest, it has taken me some time to get to this perspective. The visual images of my mother-in-law in her last hours still weigh heavy in my mind when I least expect them to. However when I consciously and intentionally think back to that day, it is not the memories of her physical state that jump to my mind first. No, not at all. It is the other things. Hearing the quiet whispers of reminiscing between my fiancé and his sister at 3am as I nodded off in the empty bed beside them. The loving words spoken by my fiancé to his mother. The image of my sister-in law holding her mom’s hand. The movement of my mother-in-law’s hand indicating that she could hear us. The grace and strength that my fiancé demonstrated. My own strength. The moment that she did not take another breath after hearing her breathe for twelve hours; the sign that she was finally at peace.

I pray for my mother-in-law that she is in a much better place, wherever that may be. A place where she experiences no pain, disappointment, sadness, or loss. A place where she can rest and be filled with all of the happiness and joy that she so richly deserves. A place where love constantly surrounds and cradles her. A place that perhaps may be called, heaven.

Mother By Chance…Mother Through Love

January 21, 2013 / / 4 Comments

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother. ” ~ Oprah Winfrey

Before I met my fiance, Chuck, I was married once before and engaged once before that. This gave me one past mother-in-law and one past mother-in-law to be. Neither of which I was close to. I got along fine with both of them, but the mother-in-law to be moved to Tennessee about a month after my ex-fiance and I started dating. I saw her maybe once during the entire course of our three year relationship. She and my ex-fiance were not particularly close so there was not a lot of effort on either side to visit.

My ex-mother-in-law (hopefully you are still following this) and I got to know each other a bit but then she went kind of crazy and just stopped talking to us right after our wedding. She wouldn’t return phone calls, letters, nothing. At first I thought it was me, but after a confrontation with her where I showed up alone on her doorstep demanding some answers as to why she cut her son and I out of her life, I realized it had nothing to do with me. According to her, my ex-husband had secretly severed ties with her and was lying to me about it. It was him that was the issue. I did not believe her at the time and down the road I did found out that my ex-husband was a pathological liar so to this day, I don’t know who was telling the truth; although I suspect that maybe she was all along. You can all see why that marriage ended.

Do you know that when you Google search quotes about mother-in-laws, there is not one positive quote to be found?

When I started dating Chuck, his mom, known to me as both “Nana J” and “Mom”, was living with Chuck’s brother, sister-in-law and their three boys in a town approximately two hours from where we live. I remember being nervous as hell the first time I met her and I remember exactly why: because she was so important to Chuck. But the first visit went well, as did every other visit after that.

We would go visit her every other month or so and typically there would be a house full of people during our visits and Mom didn’t talk too much during these visits when everybody else was around. Rather, she would mostly sit and listen to everyone else conversing. Because of her physical limitations and her desire to stay put at home, she never wanted us to take her out anywhere so all of our visits would take place in the comfort of her home.

Things changed though one Saturday when Chuck and I went to visit. His brother and his family went away for the afternoon and it was just Chuck’s mom and his sister-in-law’s mother, Lu, at the house. Chuck’s mom was not feeling well and resting in bed that day but one of us needed to keep an eye on Lu, who was in the living room. We took turns doing this so it gave me the opportunity to sit and chat for quite a while with Mom alone; without Chuck and without interruption. To me, this was definitely the turning point in our relationship.

What I realized during that visit was that I truly liked Chuck’s mom. Not just because she was his mother, but because of the person she is. Of course I had always liked her but now I was getting to really know her. She is a straight shooter and you never have to guess what she is thinking. She has a heart of gold and a quick wit to match. At a time where I am still trying to find my way amongst Chuck’s family, she takes a genuine interest in getting to know me as a person and not just as her son’s fiancee. She makes me feel like I matter.

About two weeks after that visit, Mom was hospitalized, which was the first of several hospitalizations in the next few months. We started visiting her with increasing frequency and each of those visits brought Mom and I closer. I don’t know if it was because it was usually just the three of us visiting together at the hospital or because of the circumstances with her being ill. Maybe both. But those visits became so precious to me. She would tell me story after story about Chuck and his siblings growing up. I learned more about his deceased father. We talked about a lot of different issues facing the world today. I had the opportunity to tell her bits and pieces about my own family and upbringing. We laughed like crazy. We established a bond. She was no longer Chuck’s mom, but a part of my family as well.

On the long drive home from one of our visits with Mom at the hospital, I burst into tears. And I don’t mean the gentle roll down your cheek kind of tears. These were the chest rising, sobbing kind. Because I knew. Even though a doctor had not said so yet at this point, I knew something was terribly wrong with Mom. The weight loss over the past year, the decline in her physical abilities, the bone pain, the mysterious things showing up on her lung CT scans, her history as a smoker, her lack of appetite, all of it.

But…
We were just getting to the good, part her and I.
And now there was not going to be enough time.

We finally got the official news approximately two weeks before this past Christmas that Mom was terminal. A failing heart and a mass in her lungs She did not want to pursue any further testing or treatment and Chuck and I support her in that decision. Chuck was devastated by the news and my first priority was, and will continue to be, to support him through this process. This is after all, his mother. The one that gave him life and raised him to be the incredible man that he is today. They have had fifty-five years together. I am so grateful to her for making sure that someone like him exists in this world.

I was struck hard by the news of her limited time left with us. Not to say that I was surprised by the news, but I began to feel an enormous sense of loss. At first, I felt like I didn’t have a right to feel like that. This was not about me after all. This was Chuck’s mother who was dying. At least that is what I told myself. But what I began to realize was that yes, I was very sad for Chuck and his loss but because of the time in which we have been able to connect and bond so much, I realized something more.

I love her.
It was going to be my loss as well.
Certainly not on the same level as Chuck’s, but a great loss all the same.

Mom has since moved to a rehab facility and is waiting for nursing home placement. We continue our visits; oftentimes Chuck and I go together and sometimes I go alone. I treasure every single moment that I am in her presence and I don’t take one minute of it for granted. We still continue to bond although because of her physical state, our visits are much shorter. My only regret, or rather wish, is that I had met Chuck sooner so that I would have had the blessing of spending the time with her that others in his family have had the privilege of having.

I will admit, it is difficult to watch someone you love deteriorate from week to week. It is even harder to watch your partner slowly lose his mother. My marriage to Chuck may still be four months away but I do not have the luxury of time. It is not on my side. I do not have the piece of paper that signifies that I am officially her daughter-in-law. But she will now and forever be to me, my second mother. The one given to me by chance and through love.

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