Author: moniquewritesall

I always steel myself when I take my mom to the oncologist to hear results of another round of scans.

I hope for the best, but before each visit, I also do extensive mental work to be prepared for potentially hard news.

My aging parents do not need me to go falling apart in the doctor’s office, after all. I need to be there, writing down information, advocating. Asking questions. Reminding the doctors of my mom’s history. Her previous responses to treatment. Her wishes.

Usually, I over-steel myself for these visits.

News after each round of radiation treatments seems to be mixed.

Something shrinks a bit – and I rejoice mightily in these small victories, hoping that they will buy us some time. But while one concerning spot shrinks, another might pop up. There is an alarming new wheezing sound. A mystery pain. Clouds on the scan may be inflammation but also might be another cancer spot.

 It is a mixed bag. Always.

I am consistently calm when the doctor is with us. I ask questions in a way that probably sounds overly clinical. I write things down, circle back to previous notes that I have made about different spots that have been seen on prior scans.

After we finish with the doctor, I get my mom settled in for her immunotherapy – something she is still choosing to do every three weeks, in part because it probably can’t hurt and in part because she really finds it empowering to think of her own cells being revved up, equipped to fight this cancerous invasion on her behalf.

“Natural is always the best way,” she tells me with certainty. “Your cells know things.”

Somehow, I consistently remain calm as I make my way out of the office and to the elevator. I smile bravely at cancer patients and their families as they make their way to radiology or oncology. We are in this awful mess together, and there is no need to go openly losing our minds.

 I go downstairs and sit on a bench outside. If the weather is nice, I take a minute to think about the mercy in that. The sky is falling, but the sun still shines brightly! (What is that? HOW is that?)

Then,  I pull my phone out, review my notes from the latest visit one more time.

And every time – every single time – this is when I briefly fall apart.

My right hand trembles predictably, as I start to text the people closest to me – people who have said, “Yes. Please let me know how your mom is doing. Please continue to take me on this journey with you. I am here for you and I want to know, whatever the news is.”

I confess I usually send the same copy and pasted message to most of them. But it’s still personal – these people who are on this journey with me.

Some are extended family. Others are current or former co-workers. Friends from church. High school and college classmates. Neighbors from old neighborhoods and my current one. However the relationship started, they are all friends now – people who choose to keep me in their life, beyond just a sense of obligation.

As the messages start to be returned, I cry just a bit. These are tears, often, of sadness, but there is comfort mixed in, too. I have people who notice my pain and are willing to ride this emotional rollercoaster with me.

Soon, my original messages start being returned. People call – and even though I send them to voicemail because I can’t talk just yet, I appreciate the calls.

In it all, I hear God whispering, quietly. This is hard but you are not alone.

And in that, there is great mercy. The sky is falling, yes, but the sun also shines. What a mystery.

A few weeks ago, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. About a week later, her doctor called to tell me an MRI detected a sizeable mass in her brain.

The doctor gave me a choice – did I want to tell her at her home, or did we want to come together again at the doctor’s office for the conversation? We decided that receiving such news would be more comfortable for her at home, with her husband and her dog, her recliner, her coffee and her snacks.

This – all of it – is without a doubt one of the hardest things I have done in my life. And because my mom is 87, I will confess that this surprises me, somehow. I’ve been slowly preparing for this ending for a while now. But as it turns out, all that mental preparation does not make it easier.

And yet, in pain, we find growth – learning. Here are some things that I have learned so far – through tears and clenched fists, through screaming in my car and through sobbing randomly, grieving the loss that is to come and so much that has already been lost along the way, too.

Here are some things I have learned – in no particular order.

1. I’ve been guilty of not showing up for others the way I should. And yet, mercifully, people have shown up for me. Some have shown up boldly, calling to check on me when they knew I was in the middle of driving 90 minutes, sobbing, to share really difficult news with my parents. These people didn’t stop to weigh our relationship or to try to second-guess whether I was up for their call. They just did it – and I will never forget their bravery. I’ve learned something from it and I’m a different person because of their courage.

Others showed up in different but still important ways. Some took me to dinner and gave me space to fuss and gripe and second-guess. There was nothing I could say that made them love me less, and I will forever love them for it. Some sent heartfelt texts, insisting they were willing to talk any time, day or night. Others recognized their role was to distract – with a funny story or a meme or even just a dumb moment they had and were willing to share. Their distractions were a gift and made me more sane, somehow. Still others have walked this road before and were generous in their advice. I treasure it. I appreciate everyone who has shown up, no matter the way, and I hope to do a better job of showing up myself, now that I’ve seen what a powerful difference it can make and how desperately it can be needed.

2. “Normal” life has a place when you believe you are running a marathon more than a sprint. Work has kept me sane(ish). So has service. And so have my kids and husband. Staggeringly, sometimes we just sit and watch TV or talk about the dogs’ foolishness. It all has a place, somehow. Not every moment can be life and death, even when it is.

3. Lays chips and French onion dip are holy sacraments. This is doubly true when they are purchased for you by a shaggy-haired, 16-year-old hulk of a boy, who quietly drove to Kroger to buy them for you and sat with you, quietly crunching. Listening. Reminding you that all will be ok, somehow. Because in the end, this is what life is – life, death, snacks, love, God, mystery, faith, mercy.

4. Life doesn’t stop because one really hard thing is happening. This week, Matt’s dad, who claims a massive chunk of our hearts, is having a surgery that makes us nervous. We will pray really, really hard. Matt will go and I will hold things down here. We will get up. Drink coffee. Do the next right thing. It’s all we have, really.

5. Strangers can somehow sustain you, too. The woman at the hotel tonight kindly gave me an upgraded room. I didn’t say anything, but I think she sensed a quiet tension in me. I love her dearly for it. Strangers holding the door or ushering you ahead in the checkout line can somehow make a day OK. I will take it and be thankful and return the favor the instant I can.

6. Walking and sunlight can be downright holy. Wearing dark, oversized sunglasses and crying quietly while listening to Rich Mullins sing about longing for heaven helps, too.

7. There are more lessons to be learned. They hurt, but they are necessary. What are you learning these days?

Don’t worry so much about what you will DO.

Worry about who you will BE.

This wisdom was shared with me, according to my rather fuzzy recollection, by a professor in my doctorate program. But it was a classmate of mine who really reminded me of the words regularly.

In my early thirties, my professional path was unclear. Because I had an opportunity to earn a master’s while working at a university, I had a good bit of education, but very little actual experience in public education. My experience as a journalist had been important and eye-opening to me, but I worried that it was somehow “lost time” now that I had switched fields. I felt like I owed others an explanation for why my path to education wasn’t more direct.

Then, I had the chance to earn a doctorate – while I was working part-time and staying home with my two children, who were toddlers at the time. I worried a LOT about what going part-time might mean and whether I would really be able to transition back to the career I wanted. (I could, in case you were wondering. The worrying was unnecessary. Worrying tends to work that way, it seems.)

I also spent an absurd amount of time trying to make my doctorate make sense – to justify it in my mind, even though no one in my life was really demanding an explanation at all. I wanted it to make financial sense, and I worried about what it might look like if I never “reached the full potential” the degree and accompanying title represented.

My friend and doctoral classmate – a passionate, quirky middle school teacher with no aspirations of ever “moving up” into administration, reminded me of this advice often, and his reminders resonated with me.

Unfortunately, that friend died suddenly a few days ago. And tonight, we had a simple online memorial service to honor his life. A small group of us (there were only 18 in our cohort) shared what Bill meant to us. We talked about his passion for teaching, for learning and for life. We found ourselves smiling as we recalled how much he enjoyed cooking and snazzy hats. And coffee shops. And asking questions just for the sake of finding answers – of seeking truth.

As we talked, I realized anew how far I have come in the last 15 years or so, thanks in part to the advice of both my friend and my professor.

These days, I am honestly not worried about what title I hold. I don’t feel any need to justify anything – my degrees, my professional path, the ways I have and have not “reached my full potential.” Instead, I see clearly who I want to BE – a person who inspires and challenges others – a person who MATTERS, not because of a title but because of how I treat other people. I want to use my talents to make a difference.

I want to be a person who leaves my community better than I found it. A person who does a better and better job of showing up for others when they need me. As cliche as it sounds, this is what I want – to love well and to live well. I want to be a person who takes the time to really listen, and who helps others to be their best possible version of themselves.

I especially want to be there for those who need me most – my husband, my children, my friends, my colleagues. I also want to be a person who remembers those who I have lost and does all I can to honor their memories. To me, this is an increasingly important part of life, and one I take seriously. Remembering the people who are important to us is essential to our humanity, somehow – even in a pandemic, where the remembering and rituals can feel difficult.

I once felt strongly about what I wanted people to call me.

A leading keynote speaker.

A best-selling author and journalist.

A superintendent.

I still have professional dreams, of course. And I plan to keep right on chasing them, in whatever form that takes. But now I care most about who I AM – not what I DO.

Thanks for all the reminders, Bill. You managed to BE one of the very best.

My 17-year-old daughter stood in our kitchen a few weeks ago, clad in her favorite fuzzy blue pajamas, searching my face.

“One thing about you, Mom, is that you have a lot of hobbies,” she said, reflectively, as she took a break from packing up her room for college. “You have a lot of things you enjoy – like books and writing and different people. You also like movies and just being at home, cleaning. You really like spending time with Dad. And you like your job. It’s really good that you like your job.”

I smiled bravely, nodding.

I knew exactly what my big-hearted daughter was doing – because I had sized up my mother’s life the very same way at about her age, when I was headed off to college – and a new world where my mom would no longer be quite as central a figure.

The truth is, my teenaged daughter loves me madly – just like I loved my mom, and like most daughters love their mothers – whether they want to at the time or not. And while she was so incredibly excited to be going to college – a year and a half early, in her case – she also wanted to know I would be OK.

She absolutely hated the idea of leaving a gaping hole in my life when she left to chase her own dreams.

And as I inventoried my life, I was, indeed, thankful.

Parenthood has been absolutely consuming to me in many ways. I am a kinder, better, more engaged human today because I have been a parent. And, I truly have enjoyed parenting more than anything else I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t think another experience will ever rival it.

When the kids were pre-school aged, I was lucky to be able to work part-time, focusing on the early demands of parenthood. But once the kids were in elementary school, I shifted to working at their school, cultivating my education career while also continuing to do the journalism work I did in my twenties on a part-time basis. As they grew older, work took on a bigger role in my life. I started working summers and traveling some for work – an admittedly difficult choice. Yet, I knew that I wanted to ramp up in preparation for their departure – and also knew it made financial sense, as they both became more expensive people. (Don’t even ask me about my grocery bills!)

The past few years, I have found myself increasingly involved in the world beyond home, while still making sure to keep the needs of the kids in clear view. I started engaging at my church more, and also serving some in the community. I invested more in my career, developing new talents and trying my hand at new things. I also started a second side business and am writing more.

I will confess that if there is an area that has been lacking the past few years, it has been making time for friendships. I regret that in some ways, but also recognize that many of my friends have been just like me – struggling to find the time to work and support their kids, emotionally and otherwise.

I have been thankful for the friends who have allowed me to pick right back up with them recently, while understanding those who have not. I’m thankful, too, for the new friends of all ages who have come alongside me in the past year – even in the middle of a pandemic, where so much of our connection had to happen on Zoom. I am eager for the new friends that are around the corner, as I explore some other interests, including (finally!) starting a book club and picking up a tennis racquet again for the first time in 15 years.

My mother struggled mightily when I left home – because there was little she could find to fill the gaping hole left by my departure. This sometimes made it difficult for me to enjoy my late teens and early twenties, as I worried about my mom and how she was coping with my absence. In some ways, her unhappiness made me feel guilty, and it hurt our relationship. I did not want that for my own children.

We do not have an empty nest at our house just yet. But we know that when our son turns 16 in a few weeks and gets his license, we will likely see him less. He is set to graduate early – just like his sister – and will soon be heading off to college himself. He will chase dreams, too.

While I will soon miss both of the kids like crazy, I am thankful for the many interests, people and ideas that can enrich my life. I have plenty of dreams to chase and exploration to do.

And honestly? I can’t wait to tell my kids more about it – after they are done telling me about their dream chasing fun, of course!

My 17-year-old daughter stood in our kitchen a few weeks ago, clad in her favorite fuzzy blue pajamas, searching my face.

“One thing about you, Mom, is that you have a lot of hobbies,” she said, reflectively, as she took a break from packing up her room for college. “You have a lot of things you enjoy – like books and writing and different people. You also like movies and just being at home, cleaning. You really like spending time with Dad. And you like your job. It’s really good that you like your job.”

I smiled bravely, nodding.

I knew exactly what my big-hearted daughter was doing – because I had sized up my mother’s life the very same way at about her age, when I was headed off to college – and a new world where my mom would no longer be quite as central a figure.

The truth is, my teenaged daughter loves me madly – just like I loved my mom, and like most daughters love their mothers – whether they want to at the time or not. And while she was so incredibly excited to be going to college – a year and a half early, in her case – she also wanted to know I would be OK.

She absolutely hated the idea of leaving a gaping hole in my life when she left to chase her own dreams.

And as I inventoried my life, I was, indeed, thankful.

Parenthood has been absolutely consuming to me in many ways. I am a kinder, better, more engaged human today because I have been a parent. And, I truly have enjoyed parenting more than anything else I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t think another experience will ever rival it.

When the kids were pre-school aged, I was lucky to be able to work part-time, focusing on the early demands of parenthood. But once the kids were in elementary school, I shifted to working at their school, cultivating my education career while also continuing to do the journalism work I did in my twenties on a part-time basis. As they grew older, work took on a bigger role in my life. I started working summers and traveling some for work – an admittedly difficult choice. Yet, I knew that I wanted to ramp up in preparation for their departure – and also knew it made financial sense, as they both became more expensive people. (Don’t even ask me about my grocery bills!)

The past few years, I have found myself increasingly involved in the world beyond home, while still making sure to keep the needs of the kids in clear view. I started engaging at my church more, and also serving some in the community. I invested more in my career, developing new talents and trying my hand at new things. I also started a second side business and am writing more.

I will confess that if there is an area that has been lacking the past few years, it has been making time for friendships. I regret that in some ways, but also recognize that many of my friends have been just like me – struggling to find the time to work and support their kids, emotionally and otherwise.

I have been thankful for the friends who have allowed me to pick right back up with them recently, while understanding those who have not. I’m thankful, too, for the new friends of all ages who have come alongside me in the past year – even in the middle of a pandemic, where so much of our connection had to happen on Zoom. I am eager for the new friends that are around the corner, as I explore some other interests, including (finally!) starting a book club and picking up a tennis racquet again for the first time in 15 years.

My mother struggled mightily when I left home – because there was little she could find to fill the gaping hole left by my departure. This sometimes made it difficult for me to enjoy my late teens and early twenties, as I worried about my mom and how she was coping with my absence. In some ways, her unhappiness made me feel guilty, and it hurt our relationship. I did not want that for my own children.

We do not have an empty nest at our house just yet. But we know that when our son turns 16 in a few weeks and gets his license, we will likely see him less. He is set to graduate early – just like his sister – and will soon be heading off to college himself. He will chase dreams, too.

While I will soon miss both of the kids like crazy, I am thankful for the many interests, people and ideas that can enrich my life. I have plenty of dreams to chase and exploration to do.

And honestly? I can’t wait to tell my kids more about it – after they are done telling me about their dream chasing fun, of course!