To the Moon and Back - My Mothering Journey

To be honest, this year has been really tough. We were all travelling along just nicely, a few bumps in the road as usual, then around Christmas time things turned to shit. It's a long story and one I'd rather not get into on this blog (especially being open to the public) so we'll just say there was some family dramas and leave it at that. So Christmas was a rather sad affair, we went camping with my parents (and Duane's joined us Christmas morning) which just happened to be during a strong wind warning of 40km/h winds and to top it all off my middle child Kristin had gastro (which she subsequently passed along to almost everyone on Christmas day). Anyway, so Christmas was a bit of a bust. All good, we got on with the New Year, we were all together again, as a family. Things were travelling well. My dad had been showing signs of being sick for a few weeks when, in early February (the day after my birthday, coincidentally) I got a phone call from my mum to say he was in hospital. It wasn't anything serious, just a bit of pain and bleeding from what he thought was hemorrhoids, but he was to have a colonoscopy to check. This is when things went down hill even further. I was at the hospital when they were told my dad had a 10cm tumor in his colon. Most likely cancer. Suddenly, it felt as if my life (let alone theirs!!) skipped a track and I was suddenly travelling along somewhere I didn't want to be. Everything else seemed quite insignificant compared to the battle we all knew was ahead. My family and I are quite close. They dote on my children, and my brothers children, with a loving manner that I guess only grandparents have. So when Dad was told, on my mums birthday, that he did indeed have cancer, it hit us all really hard. My dad, the one who was strongest of us all, who never showed any weakness, was suddenly a man with cancer. It didn't feel real. So things were put in motion, dad sorted out life insurances and superannuation to make sure if worse came to worse, mum would be sorted out. Everything all seemed so clinical as I watched them sort their lives out, and then sort out what they were going to do about treatment. Nothing seemed real, even when he came home from Perth with a colostomy bag, until I saw him at Easter, hooked up to a chemo bag, looking tired and in pain. It was then I realised that this was really happening. I mean, I knew it was HAPPENING, but it didn't seem real until I saw my dad like that. So vulnerable, no longer trying to hide his pain, falling asleep at the drop of a hat, and getting tired even just talking to his grandkids. So that track I had been following skipped again, and I feel even more lost. To be honest, I feel somewhat selfish writing how *I* feel in all this. I catch myself sometimes and think "but just think what THEY'RE going through, they live this every day and it's happening to THEM". Yes he's my dad, I love him to pieces, but there is no way I am having as bad a time of it as they are. But I know it's okay to be unhappy, to grieve the loss of my dad who was, and try and accept my dad that is now. He's fighting a huge battle, and we're all here to support and love him, but really he's doing all the hard work, and he's doing it alone. It's been so hard trying to explain to the kids what is happening with their beloved Grandad. Kristin, being only 2.5 is the most frank about it. Often I hear here saying "Grandad very sick, sore tummy" and then looks very sad and wistful. She knows, she knows it's serious. Ella is the same. Being 5 she has more of an understanding of death, and what it is that her Grandad may be facing but then she draws her own conclusions sometimes and still needs things to be explained at a level she understands. That is the hard part. Just recently Duane's nan passed away. She was 97 and the girls didnt really have too much to do with her although Ella does remember her. Trying to explain to them both that old Nanna had passed away was very hard. Ella asked whether she could see her again and was told that she couldnt. She just said "okay" but I could see her brain ticking over, processing what it meant. What death means. At with this reality of death being in the air, questions about Grandad have come up. They know he's sick, and the doctors are trying to make him better with special medicine, but they're starting to peice together that Grandad might die. We're remaining optimistic, there is no talk of an amount of time left for him to live, but at the same time I feel it's important to slowly prepare the girls for something unexpected. If it does happen, it cant come out of left field. So there have been some really hard questions lately. And listening to the girls talking about it has been somewhat heartbreaking. Ella was talking to Kristin yesterday about old Nanna, and how she died and Kristin said "no, Grandad die". I don't know what has made her draw that line, and I know she doesn't know what it means to die, but it's just instilled in me just how hard it will be if the time comes to explain to them that Grandad is no longer here. The thought of watching their little faces struggle to understand, or hear them say "okay" like they understand, only to ask to see Grandad at a later date. I don't think I can handle the sadness it would bring, on top of my own grief as well. I know this is getting ahead of things, but I just didn't realise how hard it would be to explain to children about death, about the death of a loved one, and still try and maintain a sense of composure and openness to talk about these things so they understand. Life sucks sometimes, a lot of life will be pain and suffering, and yes the good times will outweigh the bad times in the end, but explaining that to a little child? One that has their whole life ahead of them. A life time of adventure and accomplishments, of heart break and of pain. Something I can't protect them from. I can't protect them. This is what is hardest to accept...my babies, I'd die for them, I'd take their pain if I could but I know that I cant. And facing this year is going to be hard in so many ways. How do I keep them safe?