One year ago, today, my life stopped for months...

19 September, 2002 || 10:38 pm

One year ago, today, my mother went into the hospital. She was diagnosed with satge IV ovarian cancer two days later. There is no stage V. And so, one year ago, September 19, 2001, was the first day of the longest 4 weeks of my life. We drove to the hospital every night - Dad and I did. I remember we hit every single red light from here to Albany Med and, later, St. Peters. Every red light. And we'd sit there, red light shining on our faces, our tired, worried faces, and we'd wait for it to be green. For it to be green, and let us get to the hospital, where I could see my mother. With an IV the size of a quarter going through her neck. With her eyes always red, puffy, bloodshot, her face always tear-stained. My 97 pound mother. She was weighed every day, and every day she weighed a little less. The night I started my diary, here, was the day of her surgury. It was a Jewish holiday, Yom Kippur, I think, and the Doctor had to be done operating by sundown. He's Jewish, and very very Jewish. We went, again, to see her that night, in the ICU, and I thought she was dead. Her pace was purple, almost blue, and she was hooked up to every imaginable machine. I can still see her purple face, and her Doctor's words ringing in my ears, "a lot of cancer..." as he shook his head.

Every day. Every evening, as soon as Dad got home from work, we'd get in the car and drive to the hospital. Hitting every red light. On the way home, I couldn't look at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. All I'd see was sorrow and ugly and electric red stripes where the light hit the trails of water down my face. One year ago, tonight, I sobbed myself to sleep. One year ago, today, I wore my sarong to school. I remember because I had forgotten my lunch, that day, as well as my key, and had to walk to Hamida's house to use the phone. I remember the sarong because it has a black woman on it, and I was afraid of offending Hamida's mother. I doubt she noticed once I started bawling on the telephone.

It all seems so long ago. Every night, driving, back and forth, eating at 9 every night, or not eating at all. Finishing homework at 10, crying until I fell asleep.

And I remember her purple face, and "a lot of cancer..."

And the red lights staring me in the face, waiting for me to lose control.

back || next