My mother had spent the last 12 years of her life battling Breast cancer, and the last 2 years battling angiosarcoma as well as the after effects of a sub-arachnoid aneurysm.  She went through I can't tell you how many rounds of chemo as well as radiation.  She was a fighter, someone who told me that "cancer was her adventure" she never complained, she just went with whatever was going on.  She was strong enough to admit to me when she was scared, and my Dad and I were always there, letting her know that she wasn't alone. 

  The first round was a piece of cake, her words not mine, and she was cancer-free until right before her 10 yr. point.  Then a spot on the mammogram, and then these weird looking blood blisters. After all the testing, x-rays and blood work, we found out her cancer was back, same type, same breast, and this time it brought along a friend.  The way it was explained to us is it is a rare cancer that is triggered by radiation treatments for breast cancer. So, the routine began again, the difference being this time she had the breast removed to get rid of the sarcoma, and the breast cancer.  Her oncologist has only had 2 other patients with her scenario. She laughed and told him to make sure he spelled her name right if her wrote any papers on her.  Her sense of humor never left, not even at the end.  She went through a whole lot more between the mastectomy and her passing, but right now I can only handle writing it out in small chunks.

  My wonderful mother; Judith Estelle Robinson passed while I was alone at home with her on the 29th of last month.  She had celebrated her 72nd birthday on 18 November, it was a good day for her, she had put on makeup, the CNA had washed her hair, and she wasn't confused at all, the sun was out and it was a very good day.

  She was my heroine, she was my best friend who I could go to and talk with about relationship problems, she was my mom and I miss her very much, and I can't put into words the depth, the width of the sorrow that I am experiencing.  My brother and my father are grieving as well, our family was never the one that sat around and discussed our feelings about things, at least now we aren't.  My mom was the one that was able to do that with each of us, just not as a group. ( Never said we were apple pie perfect)

  So the three of us sit apart, in our homes, dad and I talk on the phone once a day, a routine I got into when Mom was alive, to see how she was and what time he wanted me to come over.  See, since September of this year, Dad and I were always with her, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.  She was afraid of being left alone, and so for 4-7 hours we would sit in her hospital room with her, talking or watching her sleep or watching TV.  When they sent her home with Hospice care this last time, I would go over around noon, and stay with her until 3-4.  Holding her hand, rubbing her feet, running my fingers through her hair (she used to do this when I was a child and didn't feel good or was upset) and talking about whatever came to her mind at the moment.

It's odd, I want to stop writing, and yet, it feels like I would be leaving her again, crazy I know.....