A Life Well Lived

The reason why I wanted to call this blog "The Year of Zero Cares" (only to edit it to "The Weeks of Zero Cares") is because Sharon will do whatever she wants, whenever she wants to.

Screw you, Gravity! I do what I want.

When she left her latest oncologist's appointment, he told her that she's going to start feeling constipated as her bowels begin to shut down. He suggested she eat as she used to, with small meals of fruit and vegetables, avoiding processed foods like bread and pasta, and keeping dairy at a minimum.

She sent me this text last night:

There was a glass of wine in one of her good crystal glasses, as well.

To say my mother lives unapologetically implies that a woman must apologize for being a single mother, raising a child in love and comfort while maintaining a fulfilling career, making mistakes as a twenty-something but recovering and reconciling with her children, and doing what makes you goddamn happy in the moment.

My mother doesn't live unapologetically. She's lived the life most of us want, mostly fulfilled in her work life, home life (up until 2013, but even with Ed's illness, there's a sense of uncompromising love and fulfillment), and family life.

When Sharon dies, the devastation of her death will be a testament to how much love she had (has) around her. To quote her best friend, "I never saw this happening to her. She's too good."

Zero fucks: eating a banana in bed with her granddaughter. 

Ed is having more trouble walking. I mean, he's got maybe two percent bodyfat (pay attention, Karl Lagerfeld), so disengaged muscles aren't a shock. I often say that my parents are "racing to the end". My mother will win the race, but Ed will run a close second.

The more I discuss my family with people, less often I find my throat catching and that itchy tingle of tears forming. It becomes less of a reality, and more of a monologue, where I can choose to burn myself with the feelings or disengage, depending on with whom I'm speaking. The only sentence that destroys me, no matter how hard I try to dissociate, is "I just thought we'd have more time."



I have to stop. My mom just called me and said, "How about a road trip?"