Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Fight like hell

The peeing on sticks has begun. According to the sticks, the ovulating has not. So tonight, I drink. Red wine in honor of Mr. Gallo who died today at the age of 97. I will remember him as the dude whose name was on the cool wine bottles my mom bought in the 80's that had wide mouth, snap on lids, and made great vases afterwards. A toast.

Honey lived to be 97. She was my mother's mother. Maybe I've written about her already, but there is nothing about the woman that doesn't bear repeating.

She had the most beautiful chestnut brown hair with a hint of red. She had this hair until the day she died. I am not even kidding. And no artificial color ever touched her head. Ever. None. Zilch. You wouldn't believe it even if you saw it.

Honey, and that is indeed what we all called her, was not a sweet woman. I have a sneaking suspicion that the name was given to her sarcastically. But she loved me more than I can even describe. And I did nothing to earn it.

My momma was raised by Honey. Alone. Honey was a single parent in the 1940's, and she taught my momma well. Every success my momma had though, Honey clung to hard enough to squeeze the joy out of it for Momma. On the other side of the coin, every pain Momma had, Honey felt to the deepest part of her core. When my momma had cancer the first time, in 1980, Honey took it the hardest. Slowly but surely, I think Honey realized that Momma had learned from her how to fight like hell, and she wasn't going anywhere just yet.

Two more cancer diagnosis later . . .

This month, my momma, who is only 65, will go back to the doctor. The cancer doctor. And they will do tests and scans and let us know if the miraculous disappearance of cancer is still miraculous. When I do pray, it is the first thing for which I pray.

The New Girl is talking about aging parents. The loss of home. She lost her mother before there were grandchildren. The order of life's events is all wrong. I get that.

Daniel is talking about his wife. And in talking about his wife, he has to talk about cancer. While I know that most people read his words and take cancer away, I think that the pregnancy loss is what I ache for. You can fight cancer. I ache for Leanne's loss and then for her fight. In that order. Today there was a miraculous pet scan. I looked at the pictures, and it reminded me to pray. Pray for Leanne, who I don't know, and pray for my mother. Both of these women should have miracles. Both of these women are mothers. Both of these women have much more life to live.

Karaoke Diva is laying out her desires and proclaiming war on whatever gets in her way. I love this. I love reading how she is taking it all on, but strong enough to admit the fear. That is how I want to pursue this next pregnancy.

I read these people's thoughts. I read their words, and sometimes I have to touch the screen as that tear falls down my cheek. I wish that I didn't connect, and that they didn't have this pain in their lives to share.

I think of Honey who fought like hell. Honey, who had no one to talk to, confide in, and no one to relate to, and I wonder just how it was that she made it. All the way to 97. With perfect hair.