Please bear with me as this post will be (I am assuming since I am only now starting to type) rather lengthy. I know I will be searching for tissues as I work through my emotions reflecting back upon some pretty significant times within the the past 4 years which brought me to this blog.
My mom, Pam Morris, was larger than life. Her Mega Watt smile lit up any dark room she entered, her boisterous laugh would always make someone else erupt into giggles and her devotion to those she loved was bigger than the Grand Canyon. When she was diagnosed with Breast Cancer in 1997, only 2 weeks after burying both her parents on the same day due to Alzheimer's, My world changed forever. At the age of 22 I suddenly had to grow up and face mortality in a way that was very frightening and very real. For 18 months I was my mother's care taker. Went to every surgery, every chemo treatment, every follow up appointment and held her hand as I shaved off her hair. When she was too ill and weak, I would get in the shower with her and help bathe her and hold her up so she wouldn't slip and hurt herself. I saw things that scared me but I held strong, for her and dealt with the nightmares behind closed doors after she was asleep so that she wouldn't see me cry. That was the first time I was scared. That was a time I reflect back upon now and know that it helped mold me into the person I am today. Strong, understanding and wanting to make the world a better place.
Soon after my mom was given her "all clear" 18 months later, I met someone through mutual friends who lived 3000 miles away from me. I was in Pennsylvania and he was in Southern California. I decided that life really was too short after all I had witnessed and gone through with my own mother that I took a chance on love and moved to California to be with him in 1999. Now, 16 years later we are happily married and have a beautiful and charismatic (almost) 4 year old.
Since 2001 I have participated in some sort of Cancer Awareness Walks. I have walked 960 miles and raised over $35,000 in my efforts over the years to help spread awareness and fund a cure for cancer. I do it for my mom, I do it for friends, I do it for myself and I do it for our children. I am oping that one day the children will only READ about cancer in a textbook at school and know there were countless people who fought, lived, survived and died because of this awful disease. No child should ever have to lose the one they love the most and see them suffer and become a shell of their former selves. It's just heart wrenching.
November 2010 was the most glorious and incredible moments in my entire life. I found out that I was pregnant. And our world had changed for the better! I was smiling from ear to ear and couldn't wait for what the future held for us. I loved being pregnant. All of it, the swollen feet, the morning sickness, the boobs that hurt for days and got bigger it seemed with every breath I took. Life.... it is such a fragile and amazing thing!
Then "Life" was taken away from us. In February 2011 when I was only 3 months pregnant, I got a phone call from my mom who in October sold her home (my childhood home since 1978) and retired to Delaware debt free for the first time and bought herself a nice little ranch style house. She was starting over and was happy. Until that phone call. Cancer. Terminal.... blah blah... was all I heard... like the voice of Charlie Brown's teacher. I couldn't focus. I felt sick. My heart raced over and over at the word "Terminal". One lymph node. That's all it took. At first the Dr's all thought it was breast cancer because the genetic marker showed it to be just that. But we were baffled because in 1997 my mom had a mastectomy. Questions bounced back and fourth. I immediately flew back east to be with my mom for 3 weeks. I drove her back and fourth to oncologists, blood labs, hospitals, specialists... finally before I left we got a definitive answer. Stage 4 terminal Ovarian Cancer. The breast cancer gene had metastasized to her ovaries and there was little they could do.
They did "tummy taps" (where they drain all the cancerous fluids from my moms abdomen) every 11 days. Each time they did this, they would drain 9-11 Liters of cancerous fluid...9-11 LITERS... imagine three large 3 Liter bottles of soda... every 11 days. She would gain and lose about 35 pounds of water weight each time.
My mom was the strongest person I ever knew. She hardly ever complained and NEVER asked for help or told people she was in pain (although I knew she was). Due to my pregnancy and living 3000 miles away from her, I was only able to go back east to help twice. In those uncertain months of treatments and taps and phone calls and nightmares... there was only so much I could do from a distance and the worry was insane.
On Mother's Day 2011 I was woken up to a phone call I will never forget. It was my mom. And she admitted she was scared. Never in my life did I hear my mother say those words. I knew it was important. She said, "I don't think I will make it through the night". I dropped what I was doing and immediately took the first flight back east (a red eye flight hoping I would make it in time). When I arrived at my mom's new home at 7am the next day I hardly recognized her. She was swollen all over. I couldn't tell where her knees were. Her hands were balloons. Her face was puffy and grey. (*sigh*)
In a time where I was to be the most joyous growing a life inside of me, I had to face that my mother may never see her only grandson. She would never hold him, feed him a bottle, smell that incredible baby smell in his hair or hear him cry. Once again I had to dig deep and be strong for her all while trying to not allow the incredible stress to upset my pregnancy or throw me into premature labor 3000 miles away from home.
For 3 weeks I stood by my moms side in the hospital and was there for her the best I could be. The day I left was one of the hardest days I will ever remember. Not knowing if I would ever see my mom again, hold her hand, play cards with her, see her laugh. I raised the shirt from my swollen belly and placed her hand on my tummy allowing her to feel her grandson moving. I told her to fight... fight for him... fight for me... fight for herself. I hugged her for what would be the last time and kissed her cheek and walked out the door. Closing the door behind me I shook viciously. I got in the car where a friend was waiting to drive me back to the Philadelphia area so I could fly home. I got in the car and broke down. Driving away all I wanted to do was scream but couldn't.
My due date was July 30th. I got the call from my brother July 25th at 6am. He told me it was time. He held the phone up to my mom's ear and all I could hear was the ventilator. I told my mom I loved her. I loved her so much. That was all I could repeat over and over and over into the phone. I hung up. 6 minutes later my brother called me back crying telling me she was gone. She was 67 years old. Her 71st Birthday would have been this upcoming Friday, June 19th.
Almost 2 weeks later I sat in a hospital room looking at a picture of my mom on the nightstand next to me as I delivered my son Chase. When he came out and I heard that cry, a tsunami of emotions hit me. I bawled. Everything hit me at once and I was reminded of what "LIFE" is... fragile, fleeting, full of a love so great that it tears at your very soul.
Being thrown into motherhood so quickly after my own mother's passing I focused everything I could on my son. I didn't give myself the proper time or transition to grieve the loss of my mom. I put on a strong face and did everything I could to be happy in the moment with our newborn. There were days of course where I cried because I was scared. I wanted to simply pick up the phone and call my mom with questions but clearly there is no direct phone line to heaven. I needed something to give me the moment needed to properly grieve the loss of my Mom and there was nothing that ever seemed right. Until a few years later I saw an advertisement for an event to be held in the desert of Nevada called RiSE. If you have ever seen the movie, "Tangled" about Rapunzel, where the whole town lights these beautiful lanterns and rise them to the heavens in memory of the lost princess, THIS was what RiSE was similar to.
I immediately sought healing in an event upcoming, knowing that being part of something so epic, so rewarding, so beautiful... I knew that it would help bring me some peace. I just didn't realize what it would do for my soul.
Over the years I have been teaching my son Chase about Grandma Pam. We talk about her all the time. I tell him how strong and funny she was. How inspiring she was. How she for 30 years raised money for a hospital (the one that she had her life saving breast cancer surgeries and treatments at in 1997), how she was kind and generous and how much I loved her. Chase knows who she is. He knows why she is in heaven and even though they never met in person, I fully believe that in the 2 week time period between when she died and he was born, that their souls met and they created a loving relationship to the likes of which I can't even understand. He talks about her a lot and I know they visit in his dreams because he wakes up and tells me all the fun things they have done. It touches my heart to know that this happens. But it also breaks my heart at the same time because he asks when he can see her and kiss her hand like a "gentleman".
Arriving to RiSE and seeing the flat dry cracked lake bed beneath out feet, seeing the large RiSE sign at the entrance and the set up of lanterns along the ground placed aside the torches, I got exceptionally emotional. Looking down at my 3 year old son whose eyes were round with wonder and the smile on his face, I knew that this event would be magical.
We found our Section located in the "family" area outer ring and unfurled our yoga mats. Chase immediately was covered in dry desert dirt and was happy as a clam. As the sun began to set behind the hills in hues of oranges and pinks and purples we were given markers to begin writing our messages on the 3 lanterns we had. Adam wrote a note of thanks to all the military families and those who gave the ultimate sacrifices to our country keeping us safe and "free". Chase (with some parental help) wrote I love you to grandma Pam. While I sat quietly reflecting on motherhood and the loss of the one person I missed more than I could put words to. I peered around at other families near us, some were laughing, some were lighting the own candles at their little site and crying silently hugging as they wrote their messages to their loved ones.
Through my tears, I wrote a message to my mom knowing that she was looking down upon us. Proud, smiling, happy... and no longer in pain. The phone line I wanted to use for years to reach out to her was laid out before me... a large white crisp lantern. I choked back my emotions and wrote what I could at that moment, hoping that in just a short while the message would float up to heaven in the dark sky twinkling back at me letting me know that she received the "call".
When it came time and we heard the announcement that we were to start lighting the first of our lanterns everyone buzzed. Like a beehive you heard and saw everyone together ignite their lanterns. We all held them for minutes waiting for the first "wave" of release so that there was an impressive blanket of twinkling lanterns to ascend up into the dark desert night sky. 1..2..3.. release!!! Oh my god....
There are no words to describe what we witnessed at that moment. Thousands upon thousands upon THOUSANDS of softly glowing gigantic lanterns slowly starting to lift from the ground.... It was beyond magical. It was beyond touching.... Chase, Adam and I held our lantern and slowly released it and watched our messages go up to heaven. My incredible little 3 year old with his heart on his sleeve said, "Goodbye Grandma Pam... I wuv you".... I openly wept. Seeing the innocence of that moment from my son's eyes...
There are deeply moving special times in our lives... the day we fall in love, the day we get married, the day we have a child, the day we find something bigger than us that we can hold onto and remember fondly like RiSE.
I know I was one of the lucky ones. I know that this journey to the desert was worth every penny. I know that in difficult times... people and events such as this will open up our hearts and minds and heal us in ways we could never imagine. I will forever be grateful to RiSE, the staff, the volunteers and the clean up crew afterwards ensuring that our carbon footprint on earth is taken care of. There are so many behind the scenes that made this event possible. The first event ever of its kind in the states. My hat is off to these people for bringing something incredibly special not only into my life, but into my sons life to where he knows that Grandma Pam got his special message. And that his life and love for her is reflected in his memories of a glowing memorial flying high above him flittering into the heavens with special messages of love for her.
A bucket list item for certain. I can't speak highly enough about this event. I can't describe the pieces it put back together in my heart and soul.
We all live, we all die... it is what you do in the middle that counts. I chose to indulge in a memory that I will carry with me forever. One I will one day discuss with my mom when I see her again.
Until that day I will RiSE with hope and love every single moment I have.
To learn more about this incredible event go to... www.risefestival.com and purchase your tickets for their second annual event to be held in the Mojave Desert, NV and again in Phoenix, Arizona.
I promise you, you won't regret it!
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