For Everything There is a Season

"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Category: family (Page 1 of 2)

Life’s Challenges

December 12, 2016 / / 4 Comments

I promised myself I would not go through another day without blogging. I noticed this past weekend that it has been almost three months since I posted anything. I have done some writing since my last blog post, but it was writing done just for me. That is one of my biggest challenges with having a blog; being an authentic writer while still not doing damage to other people in my life.

A LOT has happened since August. It’s funny because I kept telling myself, “Oh this would make a great blog post” or “I should write about this.” But sometimes I get like that: I just want to experience life without feeling obligated to write about it all the time.

In August, my husband and I took a dream trip to Ireland. It was a trip we had been talking about since we started dating over six years ago. We had the money saved but I kept stalling on planning it due to my health issues and my fears about being in another country with said health issues. I finally got over that and we had this amazing eleven day adventure (with prednisone on board to get me through the adventure) of Northern Ireland, Co. Donegal, Co. Mayo, Co. Galway, Co. Offaly and one of the Aran Islands. That is a topic I will still probably blog about at some point in the future!

About a week after we got home, we got SLAMMED with one crisis after another, some major, some annoying. We had some large, unexpected expenses, an unwell family member, a major family relationship conflict, and then our fifteen year old dog, Molly, ended up in the E.R. and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. We had to make a decision and we decided to go ahead and bring her to a cardiologist for treatment. She is doing better in regards to her heart, but the side effects of the medications have made life much more challenging for my husband and I. And if you’ve ever had an elderly dog, you know the expense that comes with keeping them comfortable.

Molly has also had some challenges just in terms of getting old. It would appear that she has very little, if any, hearing and this past weekend we noticed that maybe her eyesight is becoming an issue. We did decide that we will likely not go any further in pursuing treatment when the next medical crisis for her comes along. We were hoping for her to get through this Christmas and with less than two weeks to go, that possibility looks very likely.

That was all in September. In October, we got news that one of my closest friends, Steve, who had been living with Stage 4 colon cancer for over two years, was getting sicker. We are an hour and a half away from him and his family, so a lot of October was spent traveling back and forth and spending as much time with him as possible.

On November 5th, my friend lost his brave battle.

That experience with him was life changing for me and it was one that requires and deserves so much more than what I am going to write here today.

A story for another time.

Then on November 24th (Thanksgiving Day), my sister-in-law, Stacie, passed away very unexpectedly. This was made more difficult by the fact that we live fourteen hours away from where she lived. She was the first person my husband ever told me about when we started dating. I knew her death was going to be earth shattering for him.

I just realized this afternoon that I still have not fully processed her death.

As I am writing this, I think it is hitting me that I have been in survival mode since August, even with the vacation. One day at a time.

Get things done.
Be present.
Just get through the next hour.
You can do it.
You can survive this.

And I did. Of course the stress contributed to a major autoimmune flare for which I am currently on a three week run of prednisone for…one of my tougher prednisone runs, that is for sure. And, I have been having some issues with anxiety which has not been a major issue for years. But, I have people helping me with that and more importantly, I know how to help myself through that.

My attitude right now is to go into Christmas taking care of myself as much as possible. This has meant making some changes to our routine and traditions this year. It has meant a lot of tolerance and understanding from my husband towards me and from me towards my husband. The past few months have reminded me of how important it is to choose well when it comes to a life partner.  It has also reminded me of how very important it is to choose well when it comes to the people we surround ourselves with.

Isn’t that mostly what life is about though? Going through life with people? In the past few months I have learned so much about myself, my husband, and who is going to be there at times when the phone rings at 8am and your friend of thirty years tells you he has about two weeks to live and you are in the car headed out of town less than an hour later, not sure of when you will be back and what your life will look like when you do get back home.

Those are the moments that define you.
And the people who loved me through it are the ones that remind me of how rich my life is.

Go love your people.
Tell them.
Show them
Put your phones away and be with them.

Graveyard Adventures

September 8, 2016 / / 0 Comments
Photos Courtesy of Myers Creative Photography

About fifteen or sixteen years ago, I started doing genealogy research on my dad’s side of the family, surnames Molloy and Menkalis. I was mostly interested in the Molloy genealogy because I had this borderline obsession over all things Irish and wanted more than anything in the world to someday go to Ireland.

I really got into the whole genealogy research thing for a few months there. I never researched my mom’s French-Canadian roots because well, my very meticulous grandmother had already done that. I had a whole packet of genealogy lines tracing all the way back to 1651 in France. I appreciated my grandmother’s efforts and all the information that was passed down to to my generation, but for me, the fun part of genealogy was the process of discovering all these ancestors and relevant facts about them. I wanted to be part of that process.

After a while, I got stuck in my genealogy research. I found some information, but I couldn’t get any further back. However on a website called Ancestry.com, I had actually located a woman living in California (I live in Massachusetts) whom I was related to. Her grandmother and my grandfather (Molloys) were siblings. It was pretty exciting at the time! We were able to exchange information, but as time went on, we lost touch.

Fast forward to this past summer. I was getting ready to finally make my dream trip to Ireland and I pulled out all those genealogy notes from fifteen years ago. I did a little poking here and there online. I knew that the Molloy surname originated in County Offaly, Ireland. When we went to Ireland, we did go to Co. Offaly and visited the genealogy research center there. I was able to purchase two books that mention the Molloy surname and I got some information on how to follow up with a researcher there who may be able to help me more in my genealogy quest.

A few days ago, I came across some information on the free version of Ancestry.com and I decided that it would be worth my while to purchase a membership on Ancestry.com. However, life has been a little hectic since we came home and I decided to wait a little longer so that I could maximize my investment for when I had more hours to spend on the website.

During that evening of searching, I was getting confused about my great-grandfather Molloy. I had some legal documents about him I had gotten back in 2001, but I realized that maybe it was for the wrong Joseph Molloy. It dawned on me that some of the documents I had may be for his son, my great uncle. The clue that tipped me off was that there was a different wife’s name than the gravestone I had gone to see in Millbury, MA in 2001.

So I decided that it was worth a trip back to Millbury to check out the stone again. Maybe I had written down the wrong date or maybe there would be other information on the stone that would help me. Maybe the document place had sent me the wrong information. When I went to Google search the address for the cemetery, I came across a website called “Find A Grave“. In my search for the Molloy name, I came across my grandmother’s (Menkalis) grave information. I have visited her grave many times, so I know where it is, the dates on it, etc., but the important part is that HER father’s name, Julian Menkalis, was listed with a link. I clicked on the link and it brought me to HIS grave page. I read it and was astounded…

My great grandfather, Julian Menkalis, was buried in a cemetery ONE TOWN OVER! Literally, about ten miles from my home. Now I had known that my grandmother was born and raised in this next town over, but I had never pursued it beyond that. Life got busy and my health needed tending to. I didn’t have much time for genealogy research.

But now that I had this newfound information, I just had to get myself to this cemetery. While there was a number assigned to his grave on the website, I had no clue where it was. But let me tell you, I was certainly determined to find it.

I unexpectedly had a few extra, unplanned hours this afternoon so I drove the ten or so miles to the town next door. It was pretty much an impulsive move. I had very little water with me and I was in heavy capri jeans because the temperature had been much cooler this morning. It was cloudy and overcast when I got there, so I figured I would be good to go.

The size of the cemetery was a bit daunting. I needed a plan. At first I thought I could scan the front of the gravestones four to five rows at a time. Shortly thereafter, I realized that there were a lot of grave markers that were cement plates in the ground. It became obvious to me that I would have to go row by row, grave by grave.

When I say that there were roughly a thousand grave sites, I am not even kidding. There were probably even more than that.

About ten minutes into my search, I panicked because there were a few older stones that were unmarked. And then I noticed that there were some that were so old, I could not read them. Since I had my phone with me, I went back to that grave website and checked the birth and death dates of Julian Menkalis. Then I checked the dates on some of the headstones. Nope, my great grandfather wouldn’t have a stone so old that I couldn’t read it. However since he died in his thirties, leaving a wife and three young kids, he might be in an unmarked grave.

Those unmarked graves made me sad. Just a little block of cement resting on a patch of grass. No name, no dates, nothing to mark the fact that someone, who once upon a time meant something to someone else, was actually buried there.

I didn’t let this stop me though. I continued on, grave by grave, at almost race walking speed, slowed down only by the rolling hills that seemed to characterize this particular cemetery.

Then the sun came out. I checked the temperature and it was now 85 degrees. And humid. I knew I was walking on thin ice. Because I have Sjogren’s syndrome, extreme heat and sun can make me sick  much faster than the average person. I went back to my car, mopped my head, drank the water I had left, and let the air conditioning of the car work its magic. I did consider going home and coming back another day. I also considered possibly calling the church to find out where exactly the grave was located.

So why didn’t I?

Well, that would have ruined the discovering process for me.

There’s no adventure in getting the information over the phone.

I decided I would press on, with the stipulation that I had to go back to my car every twenty minutes for some air conditioning time and I would drive from one section to the next as much as possible.

I continued my search for about an hour and a half. I was so determined to find this grave! I could feel the anticipation building up in me as I passed each grave marking that was not my Lithuanian great-grandfather. What a great feeling it was going to be when I finally come across the grave marking that read, “Menkalis.”

This is the part in the story where you guys are expecting me to wrap up my little adventure story with a tidy ending. Yay, she found the grave!

I did not find the grave.

As I walked by the last several headstones and ground plates, I could hardly believe it. I never expected to NOT find my great grandfather’s resting place. I thought I surely would, if for no other reason than because I had put so much effort into my search.

I drove home with heavy disappointment, but realized that the search was not over yet. I could still call the church. They must have the plot information for where he is buried and maybe they could point me in the right direction. I also could possibly find out more information once I registered on Ancestry.com. The important part as that I TRIED to do it myself and in the process, got a heck of a lot of exercise; never a bad thing for me!

A little while after I got home, my mom called and I told her of my afternoon adventure. I could hear her talking to my dad in the background, telling him how I spent all that time trying to find his grandfather’s grave. I had talked to my dad the other night on the phone about his Molloy relatives and my dad had told me that he didn’t know a lot of information about his extended family. Part of that was because my grandparents were a lot older than the norm when he was born and a lot of his relatives passed on when he was young. He also told me that they just didn’t really mingle much with his extended family.

So after my mom relayed today’s adventure to my dad, she also asked him some questions about his grandfather’s grave. Apparently, surprising to me, my dad HAD gone to that cemetery to visit his grandfather and also his grandmother, who was buried right next to Julian Menkalis. He said he wouldn’t remember now how to find it, but he DID remember that they had an unmarked grave in the very literal sense: no blank stone, no nothing. They had no money and were literally buried underneath the grass with no marking. My dad also said that it was the church who had directed them where to go to find the gravesite all those years ago.

So the good news is, I probably walked right over my grandparents. The bad news is, I spent a lot of time today looking for something I wasn’t going to find on my own.

I don’t feel that it was a waste though. It was still a small adventure for me and I have to be honest, minus the sun and heat, I find cemeteries very relaxing and peaceful; I always have. Now I know that my next step needs to be contacting the church and hopefully, I will find the graves of my great-grandmother and grandfather. But this time, I am going to bring something along with me. I’m not sure what yet.

But something.

Some type of item that marks the spots where their remains lie.

Something that states that somebody important lies beneath those spots.

Something that says, “these are my people”

My immigrant Polish and Lithuanian ancestors.

Our Wedding Ceremony

May 24, 2013 / / 12 Comments

“I promise to always be your best friend. The person you can count on to confide in and to lift you up when you are down. I will be the gentle hand in the middle of the night and your port in every storm. I promise to do my best to make the rest of our lives together full of joy and laughter. I will always honor our marriage and I will love you all the days of my life.” ~ Me
  
 
May 18, 2013

Until that day, I never believed that there was such a thing as a perfect day. I wasn’t looking for perfection. At some points in the seventeen months preceding that day, I was just looking to make it to the day in one piece.
 
Until that day, I never believed it was possible to live so fully in the moment that my mind could be free of any other thoughts.
 
Until that day, I never quite fully understood the magnitude of the love that surrounds my husband and I.
 
May 18, 2013 was our wedding day. For those of you who know me or follow my blog on a regular basis, you know that it was no small feat to get to this day. 2012-early 2013 plagued my husband Chuck and I with crisis after crisis; from me being almost paralyzed and then developing life threatening blood clots in my lungs to the illness and death of Chuck’s mother. There was also a lot of other bad stuff in between. Yet despite those events, we continued to plan our wedding day. We felt it was important to celebrate our love with those in our lives. We had made a decision to split up the ceremony and reception into two separate events to make it more manageable with my autoimmune illness. The reception is still to come on June 1st.
 
 
I have always been a big believer in the fact that it is the marriage, and not the wedding itself, that is the priority. Keeping that attitude in mind, I approached May 18th with a fierce determination to not allow myself, or us as a couple, to lose sight of the significance of what we were doing. And like all weddings, there were issues. Due to ending a friendship, I lost a bridesmaid two months before the wedding. There was a phone call less than 72 hours before the wedding that none of the flowers I had picked out for the groom and groomsmen were available. People I was expecting and hoping would attend were either unable to attend for various reasons or made a choice not to attend.  But when I woke up that morning at 5:30am, none of it mattered. What did matter was that by 1:45pm, this man whom I love with every fiber of my being, was going to be my husband.
 
 
I will admit, the day before was tough on me physically. Everything went very well; we got the church parish hall dining room set up like we wanted for the dessert and coffee hour we were having after the ceremony and the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner went off without a hitch. But the day was a busy one and we were both exhausted. Chuck spent that night at a hotel because he knew it was important to me that we not see each other before the ceremony the next morning. My friend Nicole, who was a bridesmaid, stayed overnight with me but unfortunately I was too exhausted when we got home at 9pm from the rehearsal dinner to even be social. Sorry Nicole!
 
 
The next morning found me spending three hours at a salon with Nicole and my maid-of-honor, Chuck’s daughter Stephanie. It was a beautiful day out. 73 degrees and sunny with a slight breeze. I was a bit nervous, probably more from anticipation than anything else. I truly enjoyed this time at the salon with them and their excitement was evident. They were amazing as they ensured that every single detail was attended to and I honestly felt that if something bad went down, it would be handled. By the time we got to the church, ten minutes before the start of the ceremony, my nervousness had dissipated and I was excited to see Chuck.
 

 I was having a small issue with my dress and we changed our plans and got to the church earlier than planned. Because it was not yet 1pm, we went to the parish hall to recheck my dress issue and wait. Our parish hall is across the parking lot from the church and I was standing in a room looking out the window to the church and parking lot. It was such a surreal experience to watch our guests come in. Everyone looked so happy. I mean, seriously happy. I stood there and wondered – how did I get so blessed?
 
Chuck and I had put in a lot of thought and effort into the ceremony itself. We wanted it to be personal and we wanted it to convey our love to those in attendance. The ceremony started off by Nicole and Stephanie going down the aisle, escorted by my brother Dennis and one of our friends, Lou. The song was Can You Feel The Love Tonight? by Elton John. Then came a moment we had kept secret from as many people as possible. Chuck played and sang Marry Me by Train as I came down the aisle. It was such a beautiful moment. The guitar chords can be a bit tricky and I know he had been working on the song for months. He did such a great job and I honestly don’t know how either one of us got through the song. It was amazing to see the faces of our loved ones as I walked down the aisle. It was amazing to see my stoic dad with tears in his eyes.



Smiles.
Tears.
Joy.


Since the ceremony, I have had several people mention one word to me and that is: radiant. People thought I looked radiant. The thing is, I felt radiant. At the risk of sounding arrogant I am going to mention that although we only have a small portion of our photos back, there is not a bad photo of me because so far, there is not one where I am not smiling. I just felt so content, so blessed, and so at peace. Funny how true love can do that.


We began to progress through our ceremony. We each had written our own vows. We had asked a couple that we are good friends with, and who have been married for 39 years, to speak about marriage during the ceremony. Our friend, Tom, sang You Raise Me Up during communion. Communion is not an event that many people in our faith incorporate into their wedding ceremony but it was important to us. We elected to present communion to our guests ourselves so I held the (gluten-free!) bread and Chuck held the wine (aka grape juice). Although I had cried before this point while I was saying my vows, it was communion that almost did me in. One of the first people to come up was my Auntie Helen and she was bawling. I could feel her love for us through her tears. And getting to see everyone as they came to the communion table was overwhelming because of the genuine joy and love on their faces.

The ceremony finished up and we exited the church to the sounds of our friend Dan playing We Are Family on the piano. We rang the church bell on the way out.  A receiving line followed and then down to the parish hall dining room to spend time with our loved ones. It was wonderful to be able to see family and friends that I had not seen in a while. We got home around 4pm and immediately finished packing to go away for a few days. Our Disney honeymoon isn’t until September but we wanted to get away and decompress for a few days. That blog will be in the near future hopefully!


If I could sum up the entire day in one sentence I would say this: it was the best day of my entire life. Shocking considering that initially, I really wanted to elope! And I have had some amazing days: the day I graduated from nursing school, the day that Chuck proposed, the day that I found out I was cancer-free, and even the day I was married the first time. But right now May 18th is the best day. The main reason is because of the fact that the day represents that I found and have been blessed with this great love. The man that I feel privileged to spend the rest of my life with. On that day we outwardly got to celebrate our love and the union of our two lives and of our families. The day represented our willingness to work through difficult times and issues in order to commit ourselves, before God, to each other.



It was the best day because of the people who surrounded us and the wedding represented all of the support we have received both individually and as a couple from family, our church family, and our friends. I have so many snapshots in my memory bank of people. I have often told Chuck that when I am in a bad situation with my health and I am feeling down and sick, I often play back positive images in my head of good times we have had together and it helps to relax me and helps me to refocus my energy. Typically it is a memory of Chuck and I on the beach in Maine or some other happy time where I felt loved and safe.


The people in our lives have given me a new image.
The one from our wedding ceremony.
The one where I see their faces and feel their love.
The one where I hear words of joy and sounds of laughter.
The one where I feel an abundance of love, hope, joy, and peace.



I am grateful for this incredible day that we had together. I am grateful for every moment that I chose to not give up on true love. Most importantly, I am grateful for my husband and the beginning of the next chapter of our lives together.


Photos Courtesy of Susan SB Photography: https://www.facebook.com/SusanSBPhotography/info

Ushering Them To The Other Side

February 19, 2013 / / 2 Comments

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Mary Frye (1932)


One of my biggest fears is dying. It always has been. To be honest, I am not sure if my excessive fear is typical because nobody ever talks about it, at least not in my social circle. I hear all these stories of how people have made their peace with the fact that they are dying or going to die and I cannot wrap my head around that. I do admire and respect these people because to me, it seems like they have a strong faith; one that gives them the courage to face what may come next. I wish I had that courage when it comes to death and dying.

It’s not like I have lived this sheltered life of perfect health and harmony. I have had experiences that have had the potential of ending up on the other side: a cancer diagnosis, a car accident where my life flashed before my eyes as my car slammed into a guardrail several times on the highway, a heart procedure that came with all the usual risks. There have been occasions where I have considered the possibility of ending my own life. Seems ironic that I would consider that idea considering my fear of death, but people think all kinds of crazy things when they are in desperate situations.

I think my fear has to do with the unknown of life after death. Despite my Christian beliefs, I do not feel one hundred percent assured that there is this eternal life after we leave our body. Or maybe a better way to put it is that I don’t know what this eternal life truly looks like. What does it feel like after you die? Do we feel anything? Do we have internal thoughts like we have now? Are there bright lights and angels singing when our soul ascends into heaven? What if there really isn’t a heaven? Too many unknowns for me. Maybe not enough faith.

I had the opportunity recently to be with someone as they died. I had never experienced that before. I have had people close to me die, but I was never present when the actual event took place. For weeks, I have been trying to gather my thoughts and words together to describe how being present with someone you love, as they leave this life, can change a person but the words would not come through the wall of emotional grief that still sits in my heart and my mind. Hence why this entry feels so disjointed to me. But I know that some of the words have to be written because until I get them down, I will not be able to write about anything else.

People talk all the time about the wonders of being born. The miracle of life. A new baby signifies joy and happiness. People gather around the new baby and usher him or her into this world with love and devotion. My experience of being present with my mother-in-law as she died was that the process of dying and death itself deserves just as much love and devotion as the process of being born. However I am not sure that most of our culture recognizes that fact. Maybe because to most of us, it is such a sad event. Maybe because we are already mourning our own loss. But it’s not just about us and our own loss. It’s about the person who is dying. Their needs. We are not alone when we are born. I think we should not be alone when we die. Unfortunately, we do not get to choose how or when we die so oftentimes, dying alone is inevitable.

I watched my fiancé and one of his sisters keep vigil at their mother’s bedside for well over twelve hours before she left us. One of them on one side and one on the other, always touching her in some way. I watched, while stroking her head, my mother-in-law take her last breath. A moment that is permanently etched in my memory. A memory that often comes back to me in my dreams, or even sometimes as a nightmare. But as difficult of a process as it was to be involved with, I saw during those twelve plus hours that it wasn’t just the sadness that filled that room, but the love. The love between a son and his mother. The love between a daughter and her mom. The comfort and love that was unfailingly given to my mother-in-law during her last hours was just as important, probably even more important, than the love she received the day she was born.

I have come to recognize that being with a person as they prepare to leave this earth is a privilege and one of the greatest things that we can do for another human being. Is it gut wrenching and one of the most difficult things one might ever do? Absolutely. But it is an opportunity that many people do not get. An opportunity to remind your loved one how much they are loved because I truly believe that your words are heard. It’s an opportunity to say goodbye. It’s an opportunity to gracefully usher a person to their final destination.

To be honest, it has taken me some time to get to this perspective. The visual images of my mother-in-law in her last hours still weigh heavy in my mind when I least expect them to. However when I consciously and intentionally think back to that day, it is not the memories of her physical state that jump to my mind first. No, not at all. It is the other things. Hearing the quiet whispers of reminiscing between my fiancé and his sister at 3am as I nodded off in the empty bed beside them. The loving words spoken by my fiancé to his mother. The image of my sister-in law holding her mom’s hand. The movement of my mother-in-law’s hand indicating that she could hear us. The grace and strength that my fiancé demonstrated. My own strength. The moment that she did not take another breath after hearing her breathe for twelve hours; the sign that she was finally at peace.

I pray for my mother-in-law that she is in a much better place, wherever that may be. A place where she experiences no pain, disappointment, sadness, or loss. A place where she can rest and be filled with all of the happiness and joy that she so richly deserves. A place where love constantly surrounds and cradles her. A place that perhaps may be called, heaven.

Mother By Chance…Mother Through Love

January 21, 2013 / / 4 Comments

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother. ” ~ Oprah Winfrey

Before I met my fiance, Chuck, I was married once before and engaged once before that. This gave me one past mother-in-law and one past mother-in-law to be. Neither of which I was close to. I got along fine with both of them, but the mother-in-law to be moved to Tennessee about a month after my ex-fiance and I started dating. I saw her maybe once during the entire course of our three year relationship. She and my ex-fiance were not particularly close so there was not a lot of effort on either side to visit.

My ex-mother-in-law (hopefully you are still following this) and I got to know each other a bit but then she went kind of crazy and just stopped talking to us right after our wedding. She wouldn’t return phone calls, letters, nothing. At first I thought it was me, but after a confrontation with her where I showed up alone on her doorstep demanding some answers as to why she cut her son and I out of her life, I realized it had nothing to do with me. According to her, my ex-husband had secretly severed ties with her and was lying to me about it. It was him that was the issue. I did not believe her at the time and down the road I did found out that my ex-husband was a pathological liar so to this day, I don’t know who was telling the truth; although I suspect that maybe she was all along. You can all see why that marriage ended.

Do you know that when you Google search quotes about mother-in-laws, there is not one positive quote to be found?

When I started dating Chuck, his mom, known to me as both “Nana J” and “Mom”, was living with Chuck’s brother, sister-in-law and their three boys in a town approximately two hours from where we live. I remember being nervous as hell the first time I met her and I remember exactly why: because she was so important to Chuck. But the first visit went well, as did every other visit after that.

We would go visit her every other month or so and typically there would be a house full of people during our visits and Mom didn’t talk too much during these visits when everybody else was around. Rather, she would mostly sit and listen to everyone else conversing. Because of her physical limitations and her desire to stay put at home, she never wanted us to take her out anywhere so all of our visits would take place in the comfort of her home.

Things changed though one Saturday when Chuck and I went to visit. His brother and his family went away for the afternoon and it was just Chuck’s mom and his sister-in-law’s mother, Lu, at the house. Chuck’s mom was not feeling well and resting in bed that day but one of us needed to keep an eye on Lu, who was in the living room. We took turns doing this so it gave me the opportunity to sit and chat for quite a while with Mom alone; without Chuck and without interruption. To me, this was definitely the turning point in our relationship.

What I realized during that visit was that I truly liked Chuck’s mom. Not just because she was his mother, but because of the person she is. Of course I had always liked her but now I was getting to really know her. She is a straight shooter and you never have to guess what she is thinking. She has a heart of gold and a quick wit to match. At a time where I am still trying to find my way amongst Chuck’s family, she takes a genuine interest in getting to know me as a person and not just as her son’s fiancee. She makes me feel like I matter.

About two weeks after that visit, Mom was hospitalized, which was the first of several hospitalizations in the next few months. We started visiting her with increasing frequency and each of those visits brought Mom and I closer. I don’t know if it was because it was usually just the three of us visiting together at the hospital or because of the circumstances with her being ill. Maybe both. But those visits became so precious to me. She would tell me story after story about Chuck and his siblings growing up. I learned more about his deceased father. We talked about a lot of different issues facing the world today. I had the opportunity to tell her bits and pieces about my own family and upbringing. We laughed like crazy. We established a bond. She was no longer Chuck’s mom, but a part of my family as well.

On the long drive home from one of our visits with Mom at the hospital, I burst into tears. And I don’t mean the gentle roll down your cheek kind of tears. These were the chest rising, sobbing kind. Because I knew. Even though a doctor had not said so yet at this point, I knew something was terribly wrong with Mom. The weight loss over the past year, the decline in her physical abilities, the bone pain, the mysterious things showing up on her lung CT scans, her history as a smoker, her lack of appetite, all of it.

But…
We were just getting to the good, part her and I.
And now there was not going to be enough time.

We finally got the official news approximately two weeks before this past Christmas that Mom was terminal. A failing heart and a mass in her lungs She did not want to pursue any further testing or treatment and Chuck and I support her in that decision. Chuck was devastated by the news and my first priority was, and will continue to be, to support him through this process. This is after all, his mother. The one that gave him life and raised him to be the incredible man that he is today. They have had fifty-five years together. I am so grateful to her for making sure that someone like him exists in this world.

I was struck hard by the news of her limited time left with us. Not to say that I was surprised by the news, but I began to feel an enormous sense of loss. At first, I felt like I didn’t have a right to feel like that. This was not about me after all. This was Chuck’s mother who was dying. At least that is what I told myself. But what I began to realize was that yes, I was very sad for Chuck and his loss but because of the time in which we have been able to connect and bond so much, I realized something more.

I love her.
It was going to be my loss as well.
Certainly not on the same level as Chuck’s, but a great loss all the same.

Mom has since moved to a rehab facility and is waiting for nursing home placement. We continue our visits; oftentimes Chuck and I go together and sometimes I go alone. I treasure every single moment that I am in her presence and I don’t take one minute of it for granted. We still continue to bond although because of her physical state, our visits are much shorter. My only regret, or rather wish, is that I had met Chuck sooner so that I would have had the blessing of spending the time with her that others in his family have had the privilege of having.

I will admit, it is difficult to watch someone you love deteriorate from week to week. It is even harder to watch your partner slowly lose his mother. My marriage to Chuck may still be four months away but I do not have the luxury of time. It is not on my side. I do not have the piece of paper that signifies that I am officially her daughter-in-law. But she will now and forever be to me, my second mother. The one given to me by chance and through love.

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