December 3, 2022

This year we went home for Thanksgiving to be with my family.  We saw friends that we haven’t seen in years.  We saw family we haven’t seen in years, and we spent time together with each other.  This year, for many reasons, was different than family gatherings in the past.  It was richer, and more tangible, at least for me.  I experienced different emotions this year than I have in past years.  I have spent a week since we’ve returned reflecting on why I was experiencing the feelings that I had and what did they mean?  It’s hard to put into words the emotions that I’ve felt and the thoughts that I’ve had but I’m going to try and share them with you.

In the year of my diagnosis, we had booked trips for the holidays.  Mano and I had planned to spend Thanksgiving in Sedona, Arizona with our friends Tabitha and Bob, and then Christmas at home with my family but as we now know, Cancer had other plans for my holidays that year.  So instead of enjoying the beautiful scenery in Sedona and instead of enjoying the holidays with the family, we were home, where I was resting on the couch and in bed early most nights sleeping as my body was processing the chemotherapy treatments that I had begun.  I enjoyed seeing photos that Tabitha shared with me of the Sedona scenery and FaceTiming my family on Christmas joining their festivities from my couch.  Those moments, although isolating, were also moments of courage, strength, dedication, and persistence.  Reflecting on that time, I realize that I was not just “resting” on that couch, I was HEALING on that couch.  Healing my body, removing my cancer, and gathering my strength for the steps that would come next. 

During our visit home this year, we rented a room at a local pizza place and gathered with our friends and family members who we haven’t seen in years.  Mano and I were humbled by the number of people who came to see us and to touch us and know that we are very much still here.  Honestly, we can’t thank you all enough for coming out but more importantly for the love and support that you provided to us as we walked through the past 18 months of this journey. I have known it, but I must say that it emphasized to me just how BLESSED we are.  As I looked around that room, I realized that there were others who should have been there with us but weren’t because for whatever reason God chose to call them home sooner than we were willing to let them go.  Silently, I prayed for those who were happy to see us, but silently suffering in their own grief and pain for the loss(es) they had endured and selfishly I also thanked God for the blessing of still being here.  Still being alive, still being able to hug those I haven’t seen in forever, to cry with some of you, and to look around that room and know that (almost) everyone who was there had been a part of our lives for more than half our lives.  Who else can say that?  Once again, the emotions overwhelm me with how BLESSED we are.

The remainder of our time home was spent with my family.  This trip home was different in so many ways from previous trips home.  For those that don’t know, my parents live in the same home for the past 50 years.  In fact, my sister, Nicky, was brought home from the hospital to that home.  Not many people can say that their parents still live in their childhood home.  Landing in Tampa always feels like “home” to me.  In fact, Mano and I talked about it on the plane as we were landing and for him, it feels different.  Even though we are both from the Tampa Bay area and have so many different connections to the area, for Mano, it no longer feels like home.  For me, it always will be my “first” home.  Customarily when I/we go home, I stay with my parents, sleeping in the rooms that Nicky and I occupied as kids, walking through the hallways of my youth, surrounded by familiar photos, sounds, and smells that remind me of the past gone by.  This year, we chose to stay with my sister, Nicky, and her family. 

You see, my father, Larry, has dementia and is fading away rapidly.  My father becomes easily agitated when there are too many people around.  He is no longer able to follow conversations, as he could previously.  He is no longer comfortable outside of his home environment, making it challenging to take him out to eat, or even for him to come to Nicky’s home and just hang out.  My dad tells a story about his childhood friend, Carl, joining the Marines and how he thought his recruiter was the nicest guy until he lowered his right hand after swearing in and then he became the meanest SOB that Carl had ever met.  Sadly, that story has become the way our family gages the time.  We exchange banter that goes something like this: “It was a good day, Dad only told the Carl story three times when I was there” or “I’ve been here long enough to hear the Carl story three times” or even “It was amazing today, Dad didn’t share the Carl story once”.  Please know that we are not making fun of my father, in fact, the reality of dementia is that we all know we are on the countdown to a day when my father won’t remember who we are or possibly even who he is.  During this trip home, I spent almost two full days with my father, visiting their home, having breakfast with them, going to church, having lunch, and eating dinner, and yet, the next day, when my mother told my dad that Mano and I were coming over he asks when we had arrived in town, not recalling the days before where we had been together.  For many of you who have experienced this disease with your family members, you understand the struggle and know how hard it is to see someone you love fade away.  For those of you who don’t, I pray that you will never have to experience this disease.  It is truly heartbreaking to watch.  Since I live so far away, and especially with the past 18 months that I’ve had, I notice the changes in my father as drastic changes.  For my family who is there, the changes seem more gradual in some ways and yet drastic in others.  My father’s world is becoming smaller and smaller each day and because his world is shrinking away, my mother’s world is becoming smaller and smaller as well.  

Thankfully, currently, my father is not a danger to himself.  He no longer drives, and he no longer cooks, in fact, if you have seen my dad lately, he’s a shell of his former self.  He’s shrinking in size and in mental capacity.  He rarely watches tv anymore, he can’t concentrate enough to read, and enjoys the simple pleasures of checking his calendar many times a day, rearranging his pills in his pill case, and sitting on the back porch looking over the backyard.  My mother has shared that there are times in these moments when he is reflective.  Reflecting back on how blessed they have been to have lived in the same home for the past 50+ years and blessed to still be there.  I pray that he has many more reflective moments in the next year, and I pray that these moments give him comfort and peace as I know the other moments when he feels lost and disoriented are scary for him.  I have promised my mother that I will come home more this year, in fact, I’ve already booked another trip home in February.  This way, I can lay eyes on dad and give mom some time and space to see a girlfriend, go to a movie, or do whatever she wants to do, while I spend time with dad.  Trust me, I KNOW how precious each moment is.

In therapy this week, I explained the emotions that I had been feeling since visiting home for the holidays and I realized that I was slowly starting to allow myself to really acknowledge and feel the sadness and pain that I had pushed aside when I was in FIGHT mode this past year.  I mean, I may always live a little bit in FIGHT mode, but now I am able to reflect and allow myself to feel the sadness and acknowledge the fear that I pushed down when I was diagnosed.  I can now face the reality of what is happening at home with my father.  My therapist asked me if I felt guilty that I was in Texas and unable to help with what was happening at home and in some ways, I thought to myself, maybe I do, but in other ways, I don’t.  Nicky and I were raised to be strong and independent women, to live our lives, and to not feel obligated to take care of my parents and we are blessed that my parents have prepared well and are able to take care of themselves in these years.  I must admit, I have felt guilty that I am not there sometimes for my mother or my sister, but I know that God has a place for me here.  I also know that at any moment, if needed, I am willing and able to jump on a plane and be home to help.  I recall in the early days of my diagnosis praying to God and asking him to let me live long enough to do all the things I still need to do, such as see Christian graduate high school, see Nick and Christian get married and have children.  I also asked to be alive and bury my parents, not have my parents bury me.  To be allowed to follow the circle of life.  I believed then, as I do now, that God has that plan for me, as well as many other wonderful blessings.

This holiday season I am going to spend some time myself reflecting on the BLESSINGS that I’ve experienced in the past year.  I am going to feel the emotions, experience the sadness, embrace the love, enjoy the laughter, and look forward to my future.  I have decided that it’s not about the stuff, the gifts, but more about the moments and the memories, the experiences.  I encourage all of you to do the same.  I believe that you will be surprised at what you find within yourself. It may be an emotion you didn’t expect.  A memory that you cherish.  A new beginning that you are ready to take.  Whatever it is for you – embrace it, feel it, experience it, breathe it in, and absorb it.  If it honors you cherish it, if it’s dragging you down, recognize it and then let it go.  We are approaching a new year, don’t keep carrying that which isn’t serving you into the new year.  Acknowledge it and let it go.  Recognize your blessings.  Cherish those. 

Xo,

Tracy