So Mary Climb In ....

For some reason, Bruce Springsteen's live version of "Thunder Road" has always held special significance for me. Frankly, all songs with Mary remind me of mom, but his lyric "So Mary climb, it's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win" is particularly poignant. I remember listening to that lyric over and over as I streamed past Kansas farmland towards Denver. I pictured Mom as the hesitant Mary waiting for her moment to drive off into the sunset, and wondering to myself when that would be. Cliché and a tad cheesy -- and I suppose that makes Dad Bruce Springsteen -- but, what can you do. Thoughts are thoughts, and memories are memories. Anyhow, I remember getting a bit teary-eyed singing those lyrics to her while The Boss performed Thunder Road during Tim Russert's funeral. She was laying on her hospital bed crying at the coverage, while I massaged her hands with lotion. It's those memories that sustain me, and, at the same time, seem so far away.

All this jumping from crisis to crisis, confronting and handling each situation as we go, has made my brain and body tired. The past few days have been no exception. Since Mom's passing, we've launched into crisis mode #847 with C's admittance to the hospital to treat anemia. Thankfully, his body has responded well to the three pints of blood, so he was able to return home after spending less than 24 hours at the hospital -- a Lawler record! Though he was discharged today, and seems to be fairing a bit better, we're still not sure why he's losing blood. Most signs suggest he's bleeding out, but just where, we're not sure; he'll undergo further blood tests on Monday to see if his blood counts remain stable. If so, then we'll proceed on as planned. If not, then we'll have to consider other tests/plans.

It goes without saying that returning to the hospital just two days after Mom's passing was a tad emotional for all of us, not to mention physically exhausting, especially for C. To have to go through this so soon after Mom is simply unfair. We haven't had a chance to slow down, decompress, and really consider the pain of losing her. I've been trying to set aside time for myself to remember mom, my last moments with her, and all that has transpired. But, even in those moments, I can feel myself shelving my emotions. My brain and body are telling me "there will be time for grieving, but first, there's Craig." I recognize what's going on, and the effectiveness of defense mechanisms during such times of crisis. But there's something to grieving Mom in the moment.

And as for grief, what it looks like, I'm not exactly sure. We seem to be laughing more than crying, which, for me, feels like a more natural way of grieving. People find ways to cope during traumatic times - my coping strategy seems to be dark humor mixed with tears. Call it macabre, but we've been joking about the silliness of the situation. We've mentioned before that, during her illness, we had to do a few gut checks on what Mom would really want. After the intensity of the last few days, and noting the degree of subjectivity involved in separating someone's wants from ones own interpretation of those wants, we've taken to ending every minor fork in the road with a "Mom would have wanted _____." Mom would have wanted me to have goat cheese instead of feta. Mom would have wanted us to pick paper over plastic. As Erin said, "Mom would have wanted me to wash my clothes on delicate" or like Diane said, "Mom would have wanted me to eat bell peppers."

Humor helps, and honestly, mom would have wanted us to laugh ;). Still, I can't help but feel guilty when I do, like I'm disrespecting our loss, and putting a happy face on the real grief I'm feeling. I'm sad. I'm in shock. I don't know what's going on or what will happen in the next few days/weeks/months. I don't have an easy answer for "how are you?" The best I can muster is a shrug and a "well...." And I surely don't know why our family has been hit so hard with cancer. If laughing can get me through another moment -- another day -- than bring on the jokes, even if they are a tad off-color. At least it's a change from the sorrow ... --J