In 2003, I had a couple of major things happen that changed everything. First, my mother--who was my best friend--was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at the very young age of 52. She and I had always been close, and though I only lived 45 minutes from her, I would typically spend weekends at her house, taking my then 5-year-old daughter with me, and often my ex-husband, too. It was my home away from home, or really as if I had never left my mom. I know that most mothers and daughters are not this close, but my mother was special. They say that soul mates come in many forms, and I believe that my mother was one for me.
As soon as she told me, I knew she was going to die. Even before I looked up the statistics that tell you only 1% of people diagnosed with pancreatic cancer will live one year past diagnosis, I had that terrible sixth sense that she would not make it, though I prayed every single day that she would. I felt like I had when I lost Jason--like every day my job was to just continue trying to breathe. I had a little one to take care of, a job, a home. I had to put one foot in front of the other as each day I watched my dear momma wasting away.
A few months after her diagnosis, I found out that my ex-husband was cheating on me. In fact, he had been having an affair for about six months when I found out. Him having an affair was painful, but I think what hurt worse than that was that I needed him and his support to get through my mother's illness. I had nobody else to lean on. I hadn't talked to Jason in years, I spent all my free time with my mom, my child and my ex. I found myself in a black hole, all alone. I know the only thing that kept me going through those dark days was the knowledge that I had to be there for my daughter. Facing a future without my mother was so bleak.
In early 2004, I made the decision to leave my ex-husband and got an apartment for myself and my daughter. It was the only thing I could do to help my peace of mind. I wanted to get away from him, and had my mother been healthy, I would have gone to stay with her, but I didn't want to bring any extra stress to her life. She did not need the extra burden. I sent off a letter to Jason to the last known address I had for him (I believe it was the prison where everyone is first sent once they begin their sentence), but I didn't get a response. For a few months things were on an even keel. Mom even seemed like she might be improving, though she had wasted away to 86 pounds. Then I got the call...
She was gone, at the age of 53. I was so happy that she was not suffering anymore, because I knew how terribly she suffered. But the selfish part of me wanted her with me. I functioned the only way I knew how--autopilot and working as much as possible. This was the beginning of a 2-1/2 year period of clinical depression for me.
The following week, I held a memorial service for her. I was literally on my way to the funeral home when I stopped to get my mail. This was no coincidence: There was a letter from Jason. After years of hoping and waiting to get word from him, if only to know that he was okay, I finally heard from him...and on the day I needed it most. It gave me strength immediately. I was no longer alone. I believe with my whole heart that my sweet mother had a hand in this somehow. The timing was just too precise. She was there for me when I lost him, and he was there for me when I lost her.
We sent letters every day, catching up, reminiscing, commiserating, and falling in love all over again. He told me about the craziness that his life had turned into, and I filled him in on mine. I gave him support, and he cheered me up, and we made plans for a future together. It was exactly 10 years ago today that I received that first letter. Hard to believe it's been so long, and yet sometimes it seems like a million years!
p.s. Feel free to post questions or comments if you like.
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