Have you guys seen this movie? It's from the Rankin-Bass collection of stop motion animation, and I remember our family owning a Beta tape of it when I was a kid. My mother eventually took it away and forbade me to watch it come the holiday season because it made me cry, and I'd wail the better part of the afternoon. I was then a child of four, and in the twenty years since forgot what is was about that claymation relic that affected me so.

In December of 2004 I flew back from NC to spend time with Mom...we were approaching it as quite possibly her last Christmas, and we were all about the nostalgia. "Remember the movie about the donkey?" I asked out of the blue within the first week I was home. Her eyes glistened as she singsonged sweetly, "NESTOR!" She tossed some plastic at me from her wallet and directed that I should order it from Amazon.com, and to rush the shipping.

When it arrived, we rushed through the healthy meal I had prepared (a broccoli and mushroom strata—I so dearly miss having a fellow health nut to cook for!), changed into fuzzy nightclothes and warmed water in the kettle for cider and sat in the living room illuminated by only the warm glow of the Christmas tree and the light-strung evergreen garland adorning the door frames. The house was hushed and life at peace as we gathered like giddy school children about to do something truly exciting. It sometimes isn't until you know the end is near that the past becomes so incredibly exhilarating.

And then, we remembered why this movie was so touching, and on a level basic enough that a four-year-old understood. Nestor, a donkey out-casted and unwanted because he was born with over-long ears, is thrown out into one frigid winter's night, to certain death. His mother, with unconditional love for her baby boy, runs out after him. She finds Nestor, and cradles him in her cocoon of warmth during the long night. The morning dawns and baby Nestor wakes to find his mother had been claimed by the cold, having given her life for his.

I think of my mother's sacrifices for me often, and especially with all of my latest medical happenings. You have to realize the bizarre existence I am in—I am seeing her doctors, her nurses...and I'm the patient this time. I told my dad yesterday that it was so weird the morning I had my CT Scan. I sat in the waiting room drinking the contrast and the thought struck, "Now I'm one of them." But it was her illness that shed such a spotlight on mine, and her struggles that have made mine less. The glory of mothers. And what better time to stop and appreciate the absolute love you are given just for being born than at Christmas, the mother of mother-holidays? Call your mom. Tell her you love her. You just never know what tomorrow will bring.

There were times over the past year-ish that I held my breath for the other shoe to drop, peaked in tucked-away closets looking for the skeleton—honestly Nick seemed too good to be true. He wandered into my life at a time when it felt like everyone in my heart was leaving or had already gone. I began our relationship with a very guarded nature, expecting to be disappointed eventually, and not wanting my heart too invested.

But, he keeps sticking around, even with all of the trouble I've been this year. He's always at my elbow, hand resting on the small of my back, offering me his strength when I have reached the end of mine.

Yesterday at work, my phone rang constantly, and it seemed to be a symphony between my clinic, a surgery scheduler, and my surgeon's assistant. Last Friday, I was told that I needed a pretty big surgery to remove the rest of my infection, and now I have two of the top UW surgeons scheduled to fix me up. Wednesday, they called to suggest more imaging and an outpatient surgery to see if they could do the big surgery with just one incision from the back (instead of having to do one from the front as well), and avoid having to to slice through bone and colon to get to the infection site.

In a period of about 2 hours yesterday, I was scheduled for an MRI (today), surgery work-up (yesterday), outpatient surgery (Tuesday), the next surgery work-up (12/18) and the next surgery (01/18). It was a stressful day and I never seem to lose this tired feeling lately. I called Nick around 10:00 and told him I had a 2:00 surgical work-up at the hospital. I didn't ask him to come with me, but there he was, wanting to be by my side and help me through. He left work early (it was my half-day) and showed up at my company to pick me up.

He's my transport for next Tuesday's procedure, he's the guy tasked out as bringing me a strong cuppajoe once they bring me to, and the one they instructed to let me sleep it off once I was home. Even though he jokes about it being a good time to go to a basketball game without me being fussy for being left behind, I know he won't do that...the Badgers don't play that day. ;-)



But more than that, he's the guy that had a lovely bouquet of flowers waiting for me when we got home yesterday afternoon, he's the guy that tucked my über-soft bouclé throw around me where I curled up on the couch while he did tasks around the house, and he's the guy who seems to wince as often as me when I'm feeling sore.

I guess now is the time to step back on trembling legs and admit that Nick is just that...good. My whole family seems to be going through bouts with poor health—in fact, three of us will be in hospitals next Tuesday—and just because I am how I am (and I'm gonna get yipped at for saying this), I won't take my problems to them when they have so much on their plates already...and I was only too prepared to tackle this solo...somehow. Turns out I don't have to...Nick wants to take care of me. I don't know why I should be so lucky, but I most certainly am.

The subdued ricochet of ascending steps roused me from my reverie, and I drew my gaze from the screen. He sighed deeply, seeing the object of my attention partnered with the sadness etched on my face. I was reading about my mother, the things we were doing in another life, the joy we were inhaling and the evil we were ignoring. "Why are you reading your entries from a year ago?"

I took a moment to answer before stating quietly, plainly, "It's all that I have."

"You have ME."



She picked me up from the airport in Milwaukee. I was eager to see her, eager to spend another Christmas, Christmas 2004, with my mommy. My eyes feverishly sought her in the crowd waiting at the gate in General Mitchell International...and when I came up empty, I decided instead to collect my luggage. Then, she stepped forth from the crush and I swallowed my heart: the face that I cherish stared back at me, and my pace quickened to cover the distance necessary to surround myself in her embrace. She wouldn't let go. That's what I remember most...Mom never wanted to let go. She gave end-stage Cancer a run for it's money, Boy...



We were giggling mischievously as we left the house that morning. Moments ago, we had told a little white lie—a giddy rush for two goody-two-shoes. "Rog, we have some errands to run this afternoon...!" and we were off. We chattered incessantly all the way there, as we always did. We weren't the wildly exhilarating sort, but as a terminal Cancer patient and a recently-deserted spouse, we knew to find excitement in the smaller nuances, too. We were going to see our second—third?—showing of Pride and Prejudice...my father wouldn't have approved. Mom and I finished our pot of peppermint coffee—okay, okay...so I finished a pot and a half and she choked down a cup or two—and made our plans in front of Dad, his selective hearing erroneously ignoring us completely. Tsk, tsk...naughtiness was afoot, Man!



The Stone Temple Pilots once sang, "If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend." My brother and I both wanted to go with her, our relationships with our father having never reached anywhere near the same level of warmth. We both were orphaned on January 26, 2006...in our twenties and feeling orphaned...I know that seems silly. My mother had a friend from high school, Diane, who lost her parents some years ago. Diane had end-stage Cancer as well...and as her and my mother reconnected during the last Summer of her life, they met for lunches at the bowling alley in sleepy old De Forest. "Why the bowling alley?" I'd ask often. It was so smokey, the food so greasy, the atmosphere so drear. My mother would reply that it had been Diane's pick, that her parents went there often, that she figured that being there reminded Diane of them. She would move her gaze to the left or to the right...forward or back...anywhere to avoid looking at me as she said the most painful truth she had: When you lose a parent, you lose your last bit of security and the purest love you'll ever know. Mom didn't want to leave, she didn't want her world to go on without her. Her pastor counselled that Heaven wasn't like that, Heaven did not know the dimension of time. She'll arrive, turn around, and her loved ones will be there with her. Stupid Earth. Stupid, stupid.



"You pop the popcorn and I'll bring the cranberries," she instructed over the phone. We sat in a sun drenched kitchen stringing homemade garland and humming carols. It was a Sunday, and I had been home from church only a few hours—that's when I was attending weekly...before the church, my church, the church where I formally said goodbye to my mother, seemed to suffocate me whenever I crossed the threshold. She put down her needle briefly and looked to me hopefully. "I think I bought everything you need to make your Eggplant Parmesan...do you want to come over to the house and help me decorate?" There, the spicy scented candles burned and we celebrated the season. Oh, and I made my mother's favorite dish. She used to request the eggplant, Miles my sweet and sour pork...I don't feel like cooking much these days. I hope that changes. I'm sure Nick does too.



I feel like I killed her. She didn't die until I was over my now ex-husband, ready to move on. If only I had remained depressed, if only I had continued to need her with the same urgency as I had there in the beginning...if only. And I'm a pompous ass to believe I have sway in such decisions. God's shaking his head and rolling his eyes..."You think you know, but you have no idea," he's thinking...loving me all the while. That doesn't make the feeling any less real, any less painful. My good friend in North Carolina's, Janice's, grandmother told her that a feeling is never wrong...acting on them can be, but you cannot direct your feelings...they are what they are. Real? Yes. Logical? No.

I see my surgeon today. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I feel like all of my plans are hinged on what she has to say about the mass that showed up on my CT scan. More frightening yet, what can I use as my scapegoat to delay living if this one falls through?