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bunny

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    laughing, and loving on my baby boy Levi and husband Dave

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  1. Paula, I'm so sorry for your loss. I knew your dad was going down a road similar to Suki's, but this must seem awfully fast for you. My belief system is such that I believe people who are terminally ill with cancer or another progressive fatal illness have a lot of control over the the circumstances of their death. I believe Suki waited for me, my brother and my father and our respective partners to be with her before she died. So I believe your father wanted to be alone when he died -- not out of any lack of love, but just because that was his preference. This might be hard to hear and it's OK if you think I'm full of baloney, but that's what I believe. Maybe in his heart he thought this was easier for you, maybe he was just very private. Who knows. I do know you have enough of an emotional rollar coaster to ride in the coming days, weeks and months (years?) that you don't need to add second-guessing the details of his death. His suffering is over, which is the great news. I feel for you and the rest of your family whose missing him (yes, suffering, I am really suffering today, especially) has only just begun. Love and peace to all of you. xo amie
  2. I know I come late to this, but I had a LEEP for a carcinoma in situ (from HPV -- it's the "common cold" of STDs) in 1999 and have been clear as a bell every since. The LEEP may or may not have contributed to some of the pre-term labor and short cervix complications I had when I was pregnant with Levi, but otherwise it's been 100% fine since then. The HPV is gone, and I've had normal PAPS (every 3 mos., then every 6, now every year) since 1999. Try not to worry.
  3. "God loves me just the way I am, but He loves me too much to let me stay that way." Ann Lamotte
  4. I am so sorry, Kasey. Your post breaks my heart. And I share your anger, though obviously it's different. You are more than entitled to let us, and others, fight for you for a while. Lord knows you've done enough. I can only offer you this as a glimpse of hope for future fights, should you so choose. You've probably heard it before. The man who is walking along a beach where thousands of starfish have washed up and are dying for lack of water? He pickes one up and throws it back. he picks up another, and throws that one into the ocean, too. As he's about to through a third starfish into the water, another man walks up asn asks "With thousands of starfish dying here on this beach, what possible difference can it make to throw a of them back into the sea?" The man threw the starfish into the waves, turned to the other man, and said "It made a difference to that one." If you never, ever do another moment of advocacy, fundraising, peer counseling or any of the other remarkable contributions you've made to our common fight, Kasey, you've made a difference to this starfish. Love. Amie
  5. I am so grateful I was with mom at the end of her life and saw her die. Otherwise, I don't think I would believe that she was really gone. That's where I am at with this. I miss her and feel lost. I returned her leased car yesterday and have felt queasy ever since. I'm one of those mothers who tries to give my son a substantive answer to every question he asks but his queries of "Where Grammy's car, mommy?" yesterday as we were driven away from the dealer were met with silence. After the 2nd or 3rd time I failed to respond, he said "Mommy, OK?" I replied "I miss Grammy." He said "I miss Grammy, too." I don't know if he really misses her or was just agreeing with me, but it was a moving and devastating thing to hear. Then he said "Big orange truck, mommy" and I remembered that, no matter what, life goes on. Sometimes it seems wrong that it does, but it does. Last week I faxed death certificates to all her creditors. The hardest part of that was going through the medical bills and collection notices, with their dates of service and copays. I have to say that, on the whole, all of the customer service representative and, in a couple cases, collection agencies I spoke with were really gracious. I'll be able to probate her will next week. We have a closing date on her apartment; it's the day before her birthday in August. And then I am flying to my mother in law in Ireland for two weeks to let her love and mother me and I can't wait. I come here and read all the time, I just don't post. Love and prayers to all of you, as always. bunny
  6. I remember Keith, and I remember you, lovely. It's great to read about your happy life.
  7. I keep going back to Tracy's messages and looking at her beautiful family.
  8. This is devastating. I'm so sorry for you and your family, Kasey, and for Tracy.
  9. bunny

    Another June 17

    I love you, I hear you and I will raise my sword to help fight your demons any day, any time. I wish you still had Brian, too. Call any any any time. xoxo Amie
  10. Thanks, ts. No, I am not personally obligated but her estate is -- for medical and consumer debt. I can clear her car lease (eventually) and her student loans, but the rest has to be dealt with creditor by creditor, unfortunately. And my personality is such that I need to clear things now, rather than have loose ends and wonder about a lawsuit years down the road. Also, I'm the executor of the estate so that makes me a fiduciary. I'm an officer of the court b/c of my profession. If I screw up as a fiduciary badly enough I can lose my license. Yadda yadda yadda. I am glad you didn't have to deal with all of this crap. Also, I have to probate her will in order to clear title to her coop. Blech. I will be so happy when all of this is done.
  11. My brother just got mom's death certificates in the mail TODAY. Now I can finally start clearing some things. I get collection calls on mom's accounts every day and no matter how many times I tell them she died, and the tell me that as soon as I send them the death certificate they will take the account out of collections and we can negotiate a settlement, they keep calling. And calling. And calling. And, if anyone is wondering, even death does not get you out of a car lease with Honda Financial Services Corp.
  12. I can't take a breath. I miss her. And I am overwhelmed, emotionally and physically, by the job of liquidating her life. It hurts so much more than I thought it would. I can't take a breath today, much less focus on work. bunny
  13. I don't know how I imagined I'd feel when my mother died, but I keep being surprised. I cried all day and night the day she died, but from the day after until the 1 week mark, I just felt tired. Not quite numb, but not terribly upset, either. Just out of it, busy with 'arrangements' and tired. And sick. I woke up with a head cold the day after Suki died that developed into my first-ever sinus infection. I came back to work on Wed., 10 days after her death, and was happy enough to get back. I like my job and the people here have been an incredible source of support since November when we found out about her mets. And I was happy to go home and be with Levi in the evening, like I used to, rather than going to Calvary and getting home at 9-10, long after he was asleep. Then, over the weekend, I was so ridiculously happy. I spent the whole day Sat. doing fun things with Levi and Dave, I picked up cufflinks I had made for my brother out of one of Suki's rings which gave me great joy, I slept well, I ate healthier, and, above all, I was consumed with happiness that Suki did not have to suffer any more. Levi even talked about her a few times unprompted -- "Grammy. Blue fish. Eggs." All things he associates with her time in hospice. And, yes, I felt relief that we aren't going through it any more, either. I had time alone yesterday and I spent it doing laundry and thinking about her in a very not-sad way. And then today - BAM. I feel like someone is sitting on my chest, it hurts so much. I am posting here because I am afraid if I open my mouth I will melt down to the point that I will not be able to pull it together to finish the workday or get home on the train. Nothing happened. Nothing reminded me of her more today than other days. It's rainy, I'm hormonal, I suppose that could all have something to do with it. I just want to crawl into bed for a month. It's two weeks today. In fact, it's two weeks ago almost to the hour that I kissed her for the last time and left her for Calvary to do whatever they do. We spent 90 minutes packing up and dealing with all the stuff in her room after she stopped breathing. We were laughing that if she hadn't already died, she would have when she saw me cleaning up. She laid there as we did, all of us moving around her, making lots of noise with paper and bags and talking. It sounds crazy when I type it but at the time it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. When we were finished, my brother and I each spent a few moments with her, then we said good bye together. He cried; I didn't. I told him everything was OK, and believed it. So what happened to me today? Is this just how it's going to be? Blind sided by sadness and emptiness with no 'trigger' or anything? I'm not good without a map. Bunny
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