In Marilyn's Shoes

Many of you know of my grandmother's death this past summer and all of the heartache that came with that experience.  The past year has been incredibly hard because of our constant anticipation of that.  Last September we found out that my grandmother's back pain that she was having was actually metastasis of her breast cancer to her bone.  It was also in her liver and her lungs, which explained all of the shortness of breath she had been having.  She was going for a monthly thoracentesis (meaning they stuck a long needle into her back to drain fluid that had been accumulating in her lungs), but her PET scan at this time last year confirmed our worst suspicions of metastasis.  

From there, things seem fuzzy.  In September she made the decision not to seek further treatment for her cancer and to begin hospice care.  This was her third recurrence of breast cancer in my lifetime; she had been battling it for almost 20 years.  The last time she underwent treatment, she said that she would never go through it again (the side effects were very hard for her and to her, this wasn't worth it).  She did a brief treatment with oral chemo last year, but when that wasn't working she knew she didn't want to do "the hard stuff" with the intravenous treatments.  

Honestly, I was proud of her for her decision to pursue hospice care.  She seemed so at peace with her decision, and I just thought she was so brave.  I was fortunate to be given time off from work to go visit her with my mom last September, and I'll be forever thankful for that trip.  It was the last time I saw her when things were somewhat normal.  She had started wearing oxygen intermittently, so the noisy oxygen tank was a part of her life now, but otherwise, she looked pretty good and things seemed fairly normal.  

I cried a lot on this trip, though.  While driving down with my mom, I would tear up just thinking about what her journey ahead would look like.  Interestingly, I had a phone interview with my current nurse manager for a position on the floor I work on now while driving down to Florida to visit my grandmother for this trip.  I was certain that this interview was doomed; I was an emotional mess, my brain was all over the place (stressed about my move in November, not having a job, wedding planning, my grandmother's health), and I just knew this wouldn't end well.  But then it did. I wasn't offered the job right then (shortly after my interview the hospital went on a hiring freeze), but my nurse manager told me she would be in touch when she was able to hire again.  It was one of my favorite interviews I had ever had, and I really liked the nurse manager just from talking with her on the phone.  It's amazing how this blessing came in the midst of such heartache in my life, but as I celebrate 6 months working at this job this month, I'm remembering the day in September when I wiped my tears away and dialed the number to St. Vincent for the first of many times.  

Our first night in Florida, my mom went to the grocery store with my grandpa, and I was sitting in their living room watching Ellen with my grandma.  She had her afternoon routine of movies/TV shows she would watch, and Ellen was one she couldn't miss.  I was happy for laughter this afternoon after all of the sadness I felt driving down.  And then, during a commercial, the tears started again.  I hadn't wanted to talk to my grandmother about my April wedding.  No one gave us any indication of how long she was expected to live, so I had decided to avoid the topic.  Over the next few months, every time we talked about the wedding, it felt like I was planning a party she wasn't invited to.  I cried almost every time I got off the phone with her just thinking about how she likely wouldn't be there.  

During the commercials on this September afternoon, my grandma said, "Cristina, I don't know if I'm going to make it to your wedding.  But I hope you know that I'm always with you."  I did my best to hide the pain, but I was ugly crying at this point.  She didn't look over to see my face, but I think she heard me.   It was the first time I had to confront the reality of all of this, that cancer doesn't wait for all of the big important things in your life to transpire.  Her words were like something I would have read in a Nicholas Sparks book as I tearfully turned the next page.  I managed to choke out something like, "I know, Grandma.  It's ok, please don't worry about that." 

She didn't make it to our wedding.  The worst parts of her cancer journey surrounded our wedding.  She took a turn for the worst the week of our wedding, and though my mom tried to hide this from me, I could tell.  I was calling my grandma every chance I could, and I could tell she was hurting.  The week of our wedding was the last time she ever got out of bed.  From that point on, she was in so much pain that she remained in bed at all times.  I called her immediately after our ceremony-- Scott had gone through great trouble to make sure she could watch our wedding through a live video stream.  My heart shattered when she told me she wasn't able to view it online.  Something about the link wasn't working right.  I was heartbroken for this on my wedding day.  And though I smiled for all of the pictures and enjoyed the day as much as I could, it felt incomplete without her there, knowing that we had tried so hard so that she could see our wedding.  It made me sad to think I was enjoying myself while she was at home suffering.  All she wanted that day was to see our wedding, and I can just imagine her and my grandpa trying to get their iPad working so they could watch it, and I can see them getting frustrated and giving up on it.  My heart hurts again thinking about it.  

My mom went to see my grandmother the Monday after our wedding.  From that point on, she essentially lived in Florida until my grandmother passed away on June 10th.  She came home once for my sister's graduation, at which point I went to visit my grandma to see her one last time.  Nothing is worse than driving away from someone you love knowing it's the last time you will ever see them on this side of eternity.  

But I was thankful.  I was thankful because my mom's trip meant my grandmother was finally able to see our wedding video, as well as wedding pictures.  And just a few weeks before she passed away, our videographer that we had hired last-minute for the sole purpose of my grandmother being able to see all parts of the wedding (ceremony and reception) released our official wedding video, and my grandmother was able to watch it with the help of my mom.  

The summer before she passed away, she wanted to go Italy.  My grandpa wasn't a huge fan of Italy, even though they used to love traveling together and would go all over Europe.  My mom wasn't sure she could get time off of work for the trip, so I was going to plan a trip with her.  That summer was when things started getting tough for her again, so travel wasn't an option.  She never got to see Italy like she wanted to before she passed away.

So as my husband and I packed for our honeymoon to Italy, I tossed in a pair of her leather sandals that my grandfather didn't want in the house anymore.  It was hard for him to look at her old clothes and shoes; he couldn't even walk into their bedroom anymore.  He now sleeps in their guest room and uses their old master bedroom as a guest room when we visit.  I really liked the sandals and thought they looked really comfortable, so I asked if I could have them and brought them home with me.  

I like to think that my grandmother traveled every mile of Italy just like we did.  Her shoes saw it all-- from the coast of Cinque Terre to the best meatball I've ever had in Florence.  They went on our bike ride through Portofino and through the streets of Rome while it poured rain.  I took the above photo so that I could document Marilyn's shoes in Italy.  Proof that she had been there.  Maybe she never physically made it there, but her shoes did.  And for a lady who loved shoes, that's a pretty big deal.   

Her life inspires me in many ways.  She was a lover of adventures, and for her last few years on Earth, she did things that made her happy and didn't worry about what other people would say about it.  When I went to visit her before her cancer came back, we spent every day driving around to different beaches, going shopping, going to her favorite restaurants.  She treated herself to dessert and Hardees biscuits every week when she lost a pound at Weight Watchers (something we always made fun of her for-- who eats a 700 calorie biscuit after losing weight??) She and my mom took a trip to Europe a few summers ago to visit Paris and London, and at 75 years old, she walked all over Europe until her feet felt like they would fall off.  Her shoes taught me to do the same things in Italy.  We walked every day until I felt like my feet needed to be cut off.  We stayed up later than we should have, ate gelato 2-3 times a day, climbed incredible hills and mountains to see the most beautiful views we had ever seen.  

Life in Marilyn's shoes is undoubtedly a very full one.  I hope I carry this with me for the rest of my life, though stresses and heartache may come.  I hope I live every day like she did. 

C.