Terminal is the New Manageable

My mother retired around the same time I quit working. My transition home wasn't easy but at least I had her as my sounding board. My husband reminded me daily that our nanny kept the house neater than me and I had difficulty juggling our daughter, dog and my new homemaker responsibilities. For some reason, it was more difficult getting dinner on the table now that my schedule wasn't standard. Who knew not having a paid job could be so challenging? I reminded myself that our nanny had at least twenty-five years experience juggling the constant mess clean-up, tantrums and meal making and that our job descriptions weren't similar. She worked 40 hours per week, I worked over 100 depending on sleep schedules. I napped at least three days out of each week because the job was so physical and mentally demanding--the rules could change on me hourly. It was worse than working for the manic depressive alcoholic I'd worked for years earlier. I still had help but was handed a number of side projects because we all thought my time was endless.

One of the first projects I immersed myself in was learning more about my mother's disease, myelofibrosis, a blood disorder where your body doesn't make enough white blood cells and can eventually lead to leukemia. My mother kept telling me, "I don't believe this is how I'm going to die." Each time I'd ask her how she was feeling, she grew angry. Knowing more about her illness brought me peace and prevented me from crying at the mention of her name. The internet gave her four years to live and called it blood cancer but I knew I needed more and that didn't match her message to me. She is my mother, but she is also a social worker and honesty is a virtue in our family. We shared the same doctor and knowing about HIPAA and the fact that we have different last names, I casually mentioned my mother's illness to her at an annual checkup, just to find out her "doctor" thoughts. The volume of her voice dropped low and she looked at me gravely and apologized for my loss. Then I found MPNResearchFoundation which studies the disease and researched more about radical remission concepts.

So, I got my mother to join my gym and we started yoga and water aerobics together. She eats well, but I like to remind her about the ills of such things like sugar and the importance of flow. When I shared with her I was going to write a book on my foster brother, her foster son, Mitch, she wanted to join the project. I was excited to have a partner. The two of us are strengthening our relationship, minds and family as we encourage each other, share and critique ideas, and from time to time unknowingly hurt one another's feelings. The terminal concept forced me to put my life into perspective and made me realize how important my days are while my kids are young and how I want to make sure I have my own purpose and that I allow myself the time to process and plan for the physical aspect of departure. Mitch and I had a conversation the other day about how from 20 to 60 years you focus on how you want to leave your mark on the world and then when you hit 60, you start planning what you want to leave behind. Mom is reminding us how to enjoy life no matter what your situation is.