Not Today

Step One: Denial

The realness fades away after the surgeries are over, the chemo has begun and Mom gets used to her new self. We are home. We are looking ahead. We are all closer than ever and we are in denial. Well, at least I am in denial. Denial is what I do best. Ask anyone. Besides, I am getting married in a few months. I don't have the time or energy to deal with anything deeper than, "What color will your flowers be?" I am busy and about to get busier. I am about to become a wife and there are many things to do to get ready and only three months to do them.

Oh, and did I mention? Three weeks after mom gets home from her surgery I pee on a stick and a big pink plus sign appears. Two days after my finals, one day after I had gone out drinking for my best friend's birthday. Yep. I'm going to be a mom, too. I'm going to be a fat bride who can't have the wine at her own toast.

I am less than thrilled. My husband-to-be is MORE than thrilled, and my mom is in that boat with him. She gets to be a grandma after all which is the only thought that kept me from bursting into tears at the thought of it all. I knew mom wanted to be a grandma more than anything. I remember her talking about "When SHE has grandkids they will come over every Christmas and bake cookies." She had the aprons picked out and everything (and it was before Mike and I were ever engaged, so it was a little weird to me at the time)! So, I start believing that this pregnancy is a good thing. The doctors say Mom might last two or three years. So, maybe this baby will actually remember her a little. I start to cheer up. Mom and I start scourging the neighborhoods every Saturday for yard sales and gender-neutral baby clothes and toys and furniture and carseats and strollers and all the glorious things you buy when you are expecting.

We go on walks, and we take naps together in the afternoon, falling asleep watching Dharma & Greg re-runs. My semester is over and I am at home everyday and making a baby is exhausting. Mom is on a weak form of chemo at the moment and is feeling ok but just tired. I am starting to let myself be happy even though the voices in my head kept creeping in during those quiet moments, "She is going to die. Your mom is going to die." And I would hush them immediately, "Yes...but not today." And that is the secret for a while. That is the mantra that gets me through: Not today. She will be taken way too soon. But not today. Today we are going to go have lunch at TR's and come home and watch Roseanne re-runs and fall asleep--me on the couch and Mom in her recliner. We will wake up and have dinner with the boys and everything will be fine... for today.