Final Mom Update

Pain, grief, anguish, relief

On the morning of October 22nd, 2007 life was going on as usual. I was at work, talking with co-workers, greeting my students, and getting ready for a fun filled day of first grade learning. Children were going about their morning routine while I was checking their folders, when my phone rang. An eerie intuitiveness came over me and I just knew. I franticly, anxiously went through my things to find my cell phone. I did not reach it in time. I saw the caller id: Mother. I called my step-dad, Lonny, back right away. When he answered he simply said “Your mother passed away at 8:15.” That was it. This was the call that I had been anticipating and dreading for 6 months. While the world was going on as usual, my mother was fighting for her last breath. Just a few minutes earlier my sister had a chance to tell her good bye and after Lonny put her on the bus, he came back to the house to find my mother struggling more than usual. She told him it was getting difficult to breathe. At first he did not know what was going on, but he soon understood the intensity of the moment. He lay in bed with her and held her. He told her that he loved her. She tried to reply, but all she could say was “I….I….I...” and then stopped breathing. Her heart stopped beating. The fight was over. Lonny then wrapped her in her favorite quilt that eventually would hang over her casket. When her body was taken from the house, their two dogs instinctively, protectively, loyally walked one on each side of her to the hearse. Later that afternoon Lonny picked up my sister, Nicole, from school. Lonny, Mr. Alcorn (her teacher) and Jennifer (the hospice social worker) sat her down to convey to her the devastating news. She was initially upset but seemed to handle it the best way she knew how. When I called her later that evening she told me “My mom died. She’s in heaven now.” I don’t exactly remember what I did, said or thought that day. I know my boss wisely, compassionately sent me home. A friend came to stay with me. I drove to Florida the next day to be with my family. The rest of the week was filled with preparing for the service. Neither Lonny nor I ever had to handle funeral arrangements before….Talking to the minister, handling the order of the service, choosing songs and bible verses, picking out what my mom would wear (even though it was a closed casket), choosing the right urn, choosing the casket she will be cremated in, writing an obituary…all things that one would not be contemplating on an ordinary day. There was so much to think about, so many questions. I felt so vulnerable. The service was Saturday, October 27th, at 2:00pm. Lonny had determined to use the hospice minister to conduct the service, as there were so many others who wanted to officiate the funeral. The service was succinct but respectable as it was intended. At the end of the service the minister directed the family to leave first. I had not noticed until that moment that the modest chapel was filled to its capacity, with standing room only. As I stood up and turned around, through tears in my eyes it was only then I realized what my mom’s life meant to so many other people, how many lives she had touched. I cannot begin to tell you all the acts of kindness my family and I have received since her diagnosis to her death. I do not know how to begin to repay people for their benevolence. But I do know this: My mom, Marcia Tucker, was a content, selfless, determined, creative, talented woman who will always remain in the hearts of her family and friends.

Thank you for all your prayers and support through this agonizing journey.

Cheese Boy

Obsession, fascination, fixation, appeal, favorite, partiality, predilection: cheese.

Have you ever loved something so much that you talk about it all the time? Have you ever loved a food so much that you wanted to eat it every day? Well, Brandon does. He loves cheese. He craves cheese. His little face lights up when he thinks about cheese.

Brandon is a small, lively African American boy, with the cutest, most magnetic, toothless grin that just makes me melt. He bounces into class each morning euphoric and eager. His curiosity and character are contagious. His questions and comments are unexpectedly witty. Even though he is only six, his disposition is quite charming.

The day that I realized he had a peculiar, perplexing interest in cheese was the day they served chili in the lunch room. That morning Brandon stood at the lunch choice board and muttered under his breath with a hint of anticipation “Yes! Chili with Cheese!” and then swiftly, yet carefully, moved his name under choice one. Later, as I was lining up the children for lunch, I could hear his whispers “We are having chili with CHEESE today! We are having chili with CHEESE today!” When in the lunch room, Brandon being the competent little line leader that he was, was in line first to acquire his lunch choice. However, when the trays were being passed out he stood back and let the other children go before him. He just stood there against the wall with his shoulders slumped, his chin on his chest, and tears forming in his disappointed eyes. When I questioned him about his unanticipated behavior, he looked up at me dejected and astounded and between snivels mumbled “but there is no cheese on the chili!” and with that he began to cry. I just stood there in the heat of the cafeteria, bewildered, trying to think of a solution to this never-had-before dilemma. Never had I had a child’s world crumble because of cheese. But I felt compassion for little Brandon. I helped him take his classic yellow lunch tray that contained the cheeseless chili and guided him through the line. As I was walking him to his seat I spotted the staff salad bar - that must have cheese on it – I muttered to myself. I then took Brandon over to the salad bar and scooped up a whopping spoon full of cheese. Brandon’s eyes got wide and his smile grew with jubilation as he watched the cheese start to melt on top of his chili. He sprinted to his seat with his meal, then suddenly got up and rushed back to me, giving me the biggest, greatest hug and exclaimed “thank you Ms. Dubois, I love you!”

And from that day forward the two (Brandon and Cheese) became inseparable. I have had countless cheese conversations with Brandon, about which cheese he likes best, what color cheese he does not like, and which lunch choices contain the ingredient. But nonetheless it always puts a little cheer in my heart when I see his face light up at the thought of CHEESE!

Picture Day

In the fall we take pictures. This is a ritual practiced in pretty much every school in the U.S. of A. This is the time parents can buy their precious child’ portrait. This is the picture that will go in the year book. This is the all important photo. This is picture day. Every year I get a little apprehensive on picture day and this year was no different from any other…

As we are all awaiting that imperative call from the front office, I decided to read my students a few stories so that they would not get glue, pencil, crayon, marker or dirt on their clothes before getting their picture taken... As I was reading I looked patiently at my 20 wiggly, jiggly students. Jordan had a pair of scissors and was impetuously cutting a piece of white paper into tiny little triangles which she instantly placed in her shirt pocket. Joshua was spinning senselessly, spontaneously around and around in circles but staying uncontaminated. Addison sat kris-cross-apple sauce and quiet as a mouse hoping the other kids wouldn’t disturb her perfection. Kelsey was sitting proudly in a chair instead of the floor because she was wearing a new dress. Marlon sat still for the first time in days; it must have been the new hair cut. Justin sat away from the group in his brand new jeans. Earlier, Sarah had shown me her new shoes and Logan arrived beaming with delight because his dad put gel in his hair that morning. Now, Sarah was ripping the Velcro on her shoes repeatedly making an irritating reverberation and Logan was gently yet incessantly taping the top of his own blond head with his fingers.

The rule is, when the front office calls the room, the teachers are to line the children up by height. I have yet to figure out why. I understand why in the spring, because they take a class picture and need to stand on the risers but why in September? But I did it anyways. Barley. It all started with Brandon: “I’m the line leader, I need to be first.” “Sorry, not today, Jordan is shorter than you.” “But who’s going to lead the line?” Then the others joined in with happy chorus: “I don’t want to stand next to her,” “Can I go to the bathroom?” “My shoes are untied; can you tie them for me?” “Joshua cutted!” “Why are we going to the gym? It’s not time for PE!” “He’s taller than me, you put him in line wrong,”“she pushed me,” “Are we going to lunch?” “I’m hot!” “Nadia’s crying because she lost her hair bow!”

We finally made it to the hot, scorching gym…late. We immediately got in line behind a kindergarten class. After putting my class back in height order for the second and third time, and chasing Joshua back in line, each child had the opportunity to sit on the stool, back straight with a big smile. By the time it was my turn, I was red, hot and sweaty from the oppressively muggy gym. By the time it was my turn, my hair was going in every direction. By the time it was my turn, my shirt was wrinkled and bedraggled. By the time it was my turn, the photographer had developed a tick. He promptly flashed his camera and sent me on my way with my jumbled, muddled class. Picture day, is always and adventure.

Foil Boy

One of my favorite parts of teaching first grade is the fact that it is never ever boring. Each new year as I embark on a new educational journey I learn to embrace another set of children and undertake all the peculiar and humorous character traits of each of them. This year I have come across a curiously amusing child named Malachi. Malachi is a relatively tall, lanky African American boy whose big brown eyes seem to glimmer with mischief. In the classroom he is a well-behaved, rather quiet child. When I first met Malachi I considered him to be a typical six year old child, until I sat next to him at lunch.

On the first day of school teachers have to sit in the lunch room and eat with their students. This of course, is torture for the teachers, but it has to be done. Once I settled all my squirmy, restless pupils at the table with their square, classic yellow lunch trays I myself sat down to eat. I took my seat at the end, across from two boys and next to Malachi. What possessed me to eat so close to little boys is beyond me. Little boys are not the most well mannered eaters. It’s not their parents fault, they are just boys. As they wiggled, jiggled and convulsed with excitement of the over stimulating cafeteria, their lunches trickled on to the table, floor and their clothes. After reminding the boys to quiet their sharp, penetrating voices and to close their sandwich packed mouths, I settled in to work on my own lunch. But just as I would take a minuscule bite, an eager hand would fly into the air to tell me they needed a fork, or napkin or something painstakingly important that they had to have at that exact, precise moment. As grape jelly was oozing on to the table, and chocolate milk dribbled down shirts, Malachi sat poised on the bench alongside me. As I was choking down my last bite of sandwich, I felt a slight, subtle tug on my shirt. Malachi asked me if I would help him with his yogurt lid. As I carefully tore the foil off, he informed me that he could make anything out of foil. “Really? You can?” I questioned. “Oh yes!” he replied, beaming with pride. Within minutes Malachi had transformed his yogurt lid into a turtle. Each day since, Malachi finds some sort of foil from the lunch table and makes it into an animal. I now have a rather extensive collection of dinosaurs, snakes, elephants, giraffes, alligators and turtles all made of foil that I will, of course, treasure always.

Update on Mom 6

Ελπίδα, надежда, надявам се, hoop, espérer, espérance, espoir, Hoffe, hoffen, Hoffnung, Zuflucht, sperare, esperanza, hope

Webster defines hope as “to cherish a desire with anticipation; expect with confidence.”
Are we mistaken to have the hope, the expectation, the anticipation to live with confidence? Who deserves to live with assurance? Don’t we all? Is life so impossible that we cannot hope for tomorrow? For next month? For next year? When faced with uncertainty or adversity do we still have the privilege to hope? They say that sometimes, the dying, cling to life and defy odds simply by the power of thinking. Can this be true? Think about it. Hope implies a particular amount of believing that a positive result is possible even when there is indication to the contrary. Can hope prolong life?

I receive my church prayer chain via e-mail, and it seems like lately, those that I have been praying for, for months were defying those odds, have now lost their fight for life. Did hope sustain them when they were alive? I really thought my mom would be dead by now. The doctors were not so sure she would make it through the summer. Yet, here it is, 5 months later. Today is her 16th anniversary. Can she hope for 16 more? She told my step dad that she would settle for 4 more. Is that a realistic hope? My mother received a small ray of hope from the doctor this week. Her hemoglobin (red cell) counts were higher than projected and she was offered chemo as a choice of cancer management once again. Should she attempt the unscrupulous suffering of treatments again? Or should she try a non fda approved, all natural, herbal remedy? She is not ready to stop fighting. Right now, she sleeps more than she is awake and has little to no energy. She has to do something. But what? Hope. So many questions go unanswered. But I can tell you that I believe that hope is what is keeping my mother alive.

Open House

The school year began like any other year, with the highly over-rated, dreaded open house. This year was no different and as I looked around I could see the same plastered smiles on each and every teacher, the square tiled floors with a fresh coat of wax, the walls still bare, waiting for another round of carefully written seat work to be taped to their cold, lonely crevasses. The classrooms full of a fresh supply of crayons, glue sticks, scissors and pencils. The desks scrubbed down with a clean, sterile coat of Lysol, awaiting their bright, untarnished name tags. The alphabet neatly glue-gunned above the dry erase boards, vibrantly colored posters of numbers, phonics and classroom rules methodically, strategically placed throughout the rooms to ensure that every child could reference to them. As students and parents began to arrive, I anxiously waited at my door, imagining the year ahead of me, the 10 months I would be liable for a new set of children. I had 17 on the roll, 7 girls and 10 boys. I was pondering what I would say to them, as I recognized how important first impressions are. It was my first chance to gain parental support, create a personal connection with them, to establish ways for continued communication during the school year. Throughout the night it was more of the same superfluous conversation welcoming each parent and child into the, warm, inviting, engaging world of first grade. I chuckled to myself as the majority of the children feigned shyness. I knew that would not last very long. As the evening was winding down the debatable words of the parents were echoing through my mind, “My child loves school”… “My child is well behaved”… “My child likes to draw”… “I would love to volunteer in the classroom.” In all, 12 parents showed up.

I am a first grade teacher

I am a first grade teacher

I give hugs and I give tissues. I give candy and I give time out. I think to look in the toy section for small treasure box toys. I am up on the latest cartoons and movies. I have seen High School Musical.

I write notes home to parents and notes to the tooth fairy. I believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny. I have met the clean desk fairy.

I fix jammed up book bags, crushed up lunch boxes and twisted up shoe laces.

I get excited when I open a new pack of dry erase markers, and I get upset when I lose my favorite grading pen. I’ve been pulled to the side at the airport for trying to take a pair of purple handled fiskar scissors through security.

I am a first grade teacher.

Words such as “blow your nose,” “tie your shoes,” and “please sit down, Joshua” are part of my daily vocabulary. I even find myself talking to kids in the grocery line. Maybe that’s why I don’t take off my name tag until I get home.

When I get home and I empty my pockets, I find erasers, rocks, flowers, quarters, tickets, toys and sometimes lost teeth (theirs; not mine).

I am a first grade teacher.

I can listen to a story about a dead fish while another child tells me he brought his lunch and another child explains to me in detail about how her brother threw up in his bed, all at the same time.

I know the difference between a vowel and a constant, a digraph and a blend, and I can tell the Sprouse twins apart. I know to walk in the third square.

I am a first grade teacher.

I can listen to a story about a dead fish while another child tells me he brought his lunch and another child explains to me in detail about how her brother threw up in his bed, all at the same time.

I call the clock hands big and little, I know “stupid” is a bad word, and I can do the ABC disco.

I have an endless supply of band aids. I forget to use gloves when rushing a child to the nurse with a bloody nose. I think I have head lice.

I own 9 pairs of tennis shoes and no shoes with heels. I wear jeans on jeans day, red on Valentine’s Day and green for St. Patrick’s Day. Once, I forgot to change my clothes before going to the store, on pajama day. Good thing I have a name tag.

I am a first grade teacher.

I pray for my students’ safety. I pray for snow days. I pray that Joshua will sit down. I am thankful there is a vaccine for chicken pox.

I buy books about crazy first graders, talking ducks, and farm animals that can type. I attend soccer and little league games. It never fails, each time I go to the field, I hear a little voice say “hi Ms. Dubois.” I don’t need a name tag there.

I answer to “teacher,” “Miss,” “Mommy,” and even sometimes to “uhhhhhh.”

I am a first grade teacher.

I can add without using my fingers, I can color inside the lines; I can cut a straight line. I am allowed to use the stapler, hole-puncher and the copy machine. I know when to say the magic words.

I get energized for the 100th day, even though I know there is still 80 days left. I dread April 1st.

I have and endless supply of stickers. I am allergic to chalk. I hate glitter.

I know the difference between a noun, verb and adjective. I can make an anchor chart. I always start my sentence with a capital letter and end it with an end mark. I know what an end mark is.

I know when a child does not understand. I know when I am being lied to. I know when a child needs a hug.

I am a first grade teacher.

Update on Mom 5

Anguish… Despair…Anticipation… Apprehension…Weariness…. Tears and Sorrows… Questions for Tomorrow….. Incomprehension….Bewilderment… Abandonment …Wavering Faith …

My only consolation is that trials have only come to make us strong. Cancer is a malicious, merciless disease that not only attacks the body of the sufferer but the psyche of the victim and everyone who cares for and loves them. I have found that there are different levels of dealing with death and dying. This summer my 85 year old grandmother had a heart attack and died. This was a shock to me and my family. Still, 2 months later, we forget that she is gone. We think we can pick up the phone to call and she will answer…We miss her. Yes, it was a shock, but she did not suffer. She did not have the anticipation of dying. Some may think that it would be better for those left behind to have known that their loved one was going to leave this earth, so that they could say good-bye. That may be true, but when your loved one has been given 6 months to live, how do you live those 6 months? How does she live her last 6 months? The uncompromising truth is that every decision that is made in her life now becomes a life and death decision. My mother is at a place with her disease where she has to choose to continue to medically battle her callous condition, or relinquish to living her last few month’s comfortably, without fight. She’s been informed that her chemotherapy treatments have been ineffective and will not prolong her existence. A few weeks ago there was conversation about putting a stint in her distended kidney, but currently that will not happen as it is expected that the cancer will kill her before the kidney would need to be alleviated. Even though the cancer has now extended to her kidneys’ and liver the chemo has relieved several other symptoms associated to her illness. The irony of the past few weeks is that my mother is feeling better than she has for a long time, but the CAT scan says otherwise. As I am sitting here typing, I am periodically glancing over to my mother who is asleep on the couch. When she woke up this morning she got dressed in black, comfortable shorts and a light blue, faded jean shirt with the family business logo opposite her left pocket. Her black, thin, modicum hair was combed to the side. We all went out to the porch after breakfast, as it was still a tolerable temperature at that hour. My mom swung on the porch swing as we talked. We just sat and I talked, she listened. It has been getting progressively harder to engage my mom in conversation. Our dialogue has been mostly one sided these days but I am getting accustomed to this new relationship. I anticipate enlightening her on my life each day that I converse with her. Now, her eyes are closed, with her glasses still delicately resting on her face. Occasionally I can hear a soft, subtle snore coming from her open mouth. My sister is quietly, innocently sitting cross legged on the floor next to her watching SpongeBob Square Pants not recognizing that her mother is so sick that she is going to perish. This family has gone through the imperative, necessary modifications that are required to sanely cope with her last few months. One adaptation is the implementation of the family vacation. Last summer, without trepidation, my parents bought a Time-Share on Englewood Beach. This year, over Labor Day weekend, I will be coming back down here to take my mom, step-dad and sister to their vacation spot for 5 days. This will most likely be my mother’s last vacation, and we want to create enjoyable, unforgettable, treasured memories. This has been a long weary road and we are relentlessly walking beside my mom no matter what undesired twists and turns are in her path. Please keep my mom in your prayers as she continues to grapple with her last months.

Update on Mom 4

My mother is back in the hospital. Her hemoglobin levels were real low so they admitted her to Highlands Regional (closer to her home than Tampa) in Sebring. They said she was very dehydrated, to the point where the doctor was concerned about her Kidneys. She is now all hooked up through her port so she isn't being poked and prodded so much. Even though she is hospitalized she is feeling a lot better. She even ate soup for dinner. Lonny accepted Jesus as his savior yesterday and is very excited about his new found faith. They have already had a stream of visitors today. Her spirits are up.

Update on Mom 3

Devastation, uncertainty, incomprehension, incredulousness, bewilderment....

My mom had port surgically implanted in her shoulder on Friday afternoon. It was late, so, the doctors kept her one more night. We took off in the EZ rental mini-van to Lorida Florida Saturday morning. When we got there – we experienced an awesome act of kindness. Some of my step-dads friends had come in to their house, disabled their waterbed (my mom just can't climb in and out of it anymore) and brought in a twin bed for Lonny and a hospital bed for my mother. They also hired a cleaning crew and sanitized and cleaned (my mom hadn't cleaned the house in 3 months) the whole house from top to bottom, included washing sheets, blankets and towels. They even swept the porch and mowed the lawn, and to top it all off, stocked the freezer, refrigerator and cabinets with food, and brought in flowers for a finishing touch! How cool was that? Mom got right into her new bed and pretty much stayed there the rest of the weekend. Lonny had her up walking around the house yesterday and today. She isn't eating anything, can't keep much down. She eats ice, some juice and just this morning had some Jell-o. She sleeps a lot. She still has a positive attitude and her spirits are up. She feels and is comforted by all your prayers. My step-dad Lonny is devastated. A mess; A wreck; He is losing his soul mate. He is also overwhelmed with the caring of the medical needs of my mother, taking care of his business and the thought of being a single parent to a special needs child. He is not a Christian and doesn't have anywhere to get his strength from. Grams’ is heartbroken too. She lost her husband, her oldest son has dementia, and now her daughter is dying of cancer. Nicole doesn't really understand what is going on. She knows her mom is sick but doesn't understand why she is not getting better. Every day Nicole asks my mom "are you better, mommy?" she just doesn't get it. Me? Well, I am doing ok. I just got back home to Georgia but I have received some really cool acts of prayerfulness this week. God has been speaking to me through people at the right place at the right times. I have had an astounding amount of strength that could only have come from God.....Please continue to pray for my mom and my family as this is an arduous time for all.

Update on Mom 2

As the surgeon walked away my step dad and I were each left alone in our thoughts. A strange stillness encircled us in the mist of the chatter of the busy waiting room. Time stood still. We both looked at each other, holding back emotion. I sat there next to the man I loathed 3 months ago; the man that has never truly accepted me as part of his family. The man that has stood between my mother and me for the past 15 years was now including me in a life and death decision. I think he was looking for reassurance that he himself had not made a mistake. The day was long and taxing on our nerves…While we sat, while we paced, while we waited all I could do was pray. It has been one of those times in life that I can already look back and see one set of foot prints in the sand. I felt an inexplicable strength come from within me while I was making the phone calls to family and friends. It took all that was within me to not break. One of things I dreaded the most was telling my grandmother, my mother's mother, that her daughter could not be cured. But God already went ahead of me and my grandmother already knew, by one look at my face, that it was too late. She took it as well as expected. She is upset and her heart aches for her daughter. My mother stayed in recovery for too many hours. After I went back to the hotel to get my grandmother and sister, Lonny was still in the hall (we had already abandoned the noisy waiting room for a small, quiet in-cove down the hallway). I called into the recovery room and she was awake and waiting for a room to open up. She's awake I asked? Yes. I wondered why in the heck they hadn't come to get her husband. Maybe she just woke up, even though it was 5 hours later. Lonny's friend, Frank, was in the area and was at the hospital when I had come back. He was very calm and supportive. I was glad he was there for Lonny. By this time it was getting dark and my head was throbbing. Finally, around 7:45pm they let us back to see my mother. She looked worse than ever but as I looked around the room I realized that anesthesia is not flattering on anyone. It wasn't till around 9pm, and after I was being kicked out of the hall for not having a visitor’s pass, that my mother was transported to a room. When she got settled all she wanted to do was enjoy the stillness of her private room. The recovery room had been hectic and chaotic, she was glad to be anywhere but there. I left the hospital around 10pm and was back at 6am. The surgeon came in and explained to my mother why he could not do the surgery. She laid there with a bewildered look on her face. I was so drained I could say nothing. My mother approved of any kind of treatment or procedure that needed to be done. She asked and the doctor answered that this could not be cured; yet she agreed, without question, to put a port in her chest to do chemotherapy treatments. I still do not think she fully comprehends the reality of it all. She thinks she can beat this. God help us, if she can. By observing my mom think and react, I don't imagine that my mom is at all ready to die.

Update on Mom 1

Its ironic how when your world stops the rest of the world keeps on going and you are left standing in the vastness of the truth.....the numbness that can suddenly take over your entire body and the fact that you cannot wrap your mind around what you just heard......The surgeon came out after about an hour and said that the cancer is everywhere, all over her body. There is really nothing he can do to save her. If he keeps on going, he runs a much higher risk and she may never leave this hospital. If he stops and closes her back up, she would be able to go home to die. Lonny and I decided that she would much rather be at home, and elected to stop the surgery. We are both torn, hoping we made the right decision. We are going to go meet the surgeon back here at 6am, and he is going to tell mom then. He doesn't want to tell her much of anything while she is still under anesthesia. Please continue to pray for her and that she is comfortable and at peace. Family - we haven't told grams yet. Please pray for her and how she will take the news, as she has been in denial for so long, she will have to face the reality of the situation. Feel free to call if you have any questions and I or Lonny can answer them as best as we can. We will also be making phone calls later.