Mere Intention

be vulnerable

Month: January, 2015

Granny Love

This woman is everywhere. I can’t shake her. She’s been gone for two years.

On the drive to Oklahoma to visit Dad before the brain surgery, I made a few phone calls to some friends. I really, really just wanted to call my Granny and talk to her about the horrible, terrible fucking situation. I knew she would listen and have real, true sympathy and empathy for me and for him and just listen and get it. She never spoke ill of my father to me. Never ever. She often asked me to tell him hello for her. Granny is my dad’s ex-mother-in-law, my mother’s mom. She and Dad hadn’t seen or spoken to one another in a number of years before she passed.

In the hospital, the day before the surgery, I could not for the life of me shake the sense that Granny was there. Anytime I would walk out of his room to go grab another cup of coffee or to explore the hospital for a little bit, her presence was strong. When I was in his room, it’s like she was sitting quietly on the couch with us. This made me feel good – but strange.

The day Dad had surgery, I almost went crazy with how real I could feel Granny. I didn’t say anything to anyone.

A week or so ago, I finally got the courage to ask Dad if he felt her or saw her while at the hospital or during surgery. He thought about it for a minute and said, “No, I don’t recall anything like that. Why?” So I told him about what I had felt while at the hospital. How whenever I left his room it was like she was walking down the hall just behind me, over my shoulder. I actually giggled out loud a couple of times as I would peek over my shoulder.

This was the same hospital that Granny had had radiation treatments and where her doctors were.

I was not in Oklahoma when Granny died. I didn’t feel it necessary to be. I didn’t experience what the rest of my family did in the situation. I don’t know the last time she was at the hospital before she passed from this world, but I can tell you this:
Granny left a huge part of herself at the hospital. A good part of her healthy self. The part that was ready to take care of me and was waiting for me. To perfectly hang out with me. To sit with me. I wasn’t alone even when I was walking the halls by myself.


Cancer – Radiation Treatments – Stuart Scott – Life

Monday will be the tenth of thirty treatments of radiation for my dad. One third of the way through this piece of the journey. He’ll probably have another MRI this week to get a look at the tumor…and whatever else is going on.

No side effects from the treatments – the radiation and a chemo pill that he’s taking every day. The anti-nausia pill before the chemo pill helps the one-in-two people not get sick…he doesn’t want to know which of the one-in-two he is.

He’s working every day on his new building, getting panels installed on the walls and my step-mom is right there by his side lifting and painting…and supervising. They installed a nice pellet stove and are enjoying the challenge of regulating the temp in the building while they work.

Over the holiday break I took few days off from work and have slept in – finally. It’s been well over a year since I’ve been able to do this successfully. Dad being diagnosed shook up my system internally and externally. The things that have dominated my brain and given me chest pains and a burning throat don’t seem to really matter any more.  And on the mornings I’ve been able to lay in my bed a few extra minutes, I’ve been thinking about my kids and husband and my dad.

This life gig is short. Too short for many.

I look forward to the changes that Philip and I will make in the coming months to get our family calibrated in a direction to enjoying the life we do have as best we can and do so in a manner that is fulfilling to each of us.

When you die, it does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.

~Stuart Scott, ESPN anchor, died today at age 49 after a seven year battle with cancer