Living and Dying with A Year To Live

One of the blessings of hosting A Year to Live is that many of the participants share intimate details of their experience with me. Laura sent me this email describing how her year has been since she first became aware of A Year to Live, and has allowed me to share it with you. She beautifully describes the very intent of this experiment, and the larger goals of Bcelebrated.

In November I received a call that my mother's cancer had spread and that she had been given three months to live. I settled things here and drove up north to visit. I intended to stay a week, I instead stayed 4 months.

My mother had been on chemo for 6-1/2 years for reoccurring breast cancer. She had initially been diagnosed in her 50s was treated, in remission. Seven years ago, the cancer returned.

In the kindest of moves, mom's doctor suggested hospice, and once my sister and I arrived, my mom signed on. And then we lived. Daily. With my mom fading a little bit each day. I'd like to say we were better people, I'd like to say that my mom was able to enjoy those last few months. But I don't know if any of that is true. We talked, we laughed, we got irritated, we got over it.

I have never been more aware of mortality, of my mother's ability to fight, of her love, and of her final acceptance of death.

My mother had a "good death," she faded away, never complaining of pain though her body was ravaged by cancer. She never needed the morphine the hospice workers provided, and though a slip of a thing, until two days before her passing she got up daily, dressed and came to the table for meals and to be with the family.

Because life is never about just one thing, and is instead a series of threads running in and out, in December my father fell and cracked his hip, and just about the entire time I was staying there, my doctor's were running tests to determine if I might have cancer as well. So, during the time of my mother's dying, a time of some peace actually, there were other dramas afoot as well.

Mom died in mid-January, just six days short of her 74th birthday. We held a memorial at the end of the month. In February I had surgery and it was finally determined that I did not have cancer. We scattered mom's ashes at the end of the month and I headed home once I'd fully recovered from surgery in March.

Coming home has been odd, unsettling. Though my boyfriend made it possible for me to be away, he was angry that I hadn't been here for him and he wanted me to be able to pick up where I left off, but that's not possible when you've lost someone, it changes who you are and you can't explain that to someone else.

Throughout, I have been keenly aware that life is fleeting, that we have no guarantees of a sunny tomorrow, that we need to wring all the life out of each day that we can. It isn't easy in these busy days — but we have to remember and make time for that — it is important.

We run from place to place always aware that there is much more to do before we sleep. Then not sleeping well for there is too much we need do still and we cannot quiet our minds.

I am trying to take a break every day to just be, to marvel at the world around us. To not take the people and places I love for granted. To make a practice of giving love and respect in every conversation of honoring the people who come into my life.

~ Laura Q.