Filling the Void

My mom passed away about five weeks ago and there are already a few things that seem to be missing in life. Not just for me, but for others that knew her too.

I realized this happens the day that we held my abuelita's funeral and my aunt offered to help fill her shoes in the role she had taken on for each of her 6 children and many grandchildren, great-grandchildren and friends.

My mom's lineage ends with me, there are no successions of youth because she, in fact, was so young, but her impact, her ripples of effect are seen each day. Sometimes I see it as a privelege to take on roles she once served and sometimes it is an unbearable weight.

In the meantime, I follow the simple mantra to "Do what you can, where you are, with what you have". I've organized a 5K team to support the work and research that the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition has coordinated. I've tried to be supportive to family and friends the way my mom would. I've taken care of all the financial and legal matters that come about when someone passes. All in all, there is still this void that is longing to be filled with her passing.

My Mother's Only Child

Growing up, I always wanted a brother or a sister, or two or five...but after my mother passed away a month ago, I soon grew a stronger appreciation for being an only child. Some might say that handling the whole situation might've been easier if I had brothers or sisters to lean on, but I have to disagree. I am sure siblings are fabulous but the relationship that my mom and I shared was unparalleled and especially, during the time that she was suffering from Ovarian Cancer, we grew so close and went through so much together that I'm not sure there would've been room for another person to join in our bond.

Even as time has slowly passed since the day my mom died, I find myself thinking of her everyday. There's certain memories that only she and I share. Certain inside jokes. Certain songs that remind us of each other. It is those types of inner circle memories that remind me of how blessed I was to share those times in a way only I can appreciate.

Lessons Learned from My Mother

Recently one of my friends, who is a relatively new mother, posted a list of lessons for her young 2 year old daughter on her new blog. The idea really stuck with me and I've thought about the lessons that I have learned because of my mother's short time here on Earth. Here is a start to the list, though hardly comprehensive.

1) Be welcoming to everyone. Typically, the people who need you most are those that are not in the spotlight, but rather the ones that are wallflowers rarely getting the recognition they deserve. Another note to this would be the old addage of not judging a book by its cover.

2) Send thoughtful thank you notes and birthday cards. Though people will remember great gifts, being thoughtful can also be found in the power of words. Rather than spending time writing generic thank you notes in a rushed timeline, she always had a way of including a little something in her notes that made you feel special.

3) Sing, whether on stage, in the shower, or even the car, my mother had a way of making things more fun by singing. It always lightened the mood during any moment and her voice was angelic.

4) Learn to laugh at yourself. My mom had a great sense of humor, but always reminded me to not take myself too seriously.

5) Don't underestimate the intelligence of young children. I was always impressed by the way my mom didn't talk down to kids. She spoke to them in a way as if they were just pint-sized versions of adults and gave them the same respect, if not more.

6) Do your best at work and help others along the way. My mom was always loyal to her job and her co-workers. She never tried to climb the corporate ladder past her colleagues, if it meant that it would hurt the team.

7) End conversations making sure that the people you love know you them.

8) Never give up. There is a great quote that a friend once sent me when my mom was first diagnosed with cancer that says, "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow." This quote embodies my mom's courage. She was the strongest woman I knew, her oncologist once told her she had the strength of 1,000 men.

9) It's okay to be emotional. Bottling up your feelings never helps and usually makes things worse. When you have to cry, find a good place to do so and cry. If you have to yell, go for it. As long as it doesn't hurt anyone else, let your feelings go but then learn to be at peace with them.

10) Know when to ask for help. "No man is an island."

A Celebration of Life

When my mom was still alive, towards the end of her life, she wanted to help as much as possible, especially with the arrangements for her own funeral. To some, this must seem a bit morbid, but to her, it was her last way of helping ease some of the burden and add her own special personality to the way she would be remembered.

My mom helped me write her obituary (http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/washingtonpost/obituary.aspx?n=michelle-l-naranjo&pid=155764291&fhid=2190) one day about a week before Christmas. She also planned a Celebration of Life brunch for those closest to her, which was perhaps the most special part of the planning process--unorthodox and a beautiful tradition.

It was a gathering of about 50 people, if she could've, she probably would've included everyone she ever met. She wanted people to share a meal and have time to share happy memories of her after the memorial service and burial. It took place this morning. Kids were invited (a total of 5 kids under 4 attended, which she would've loved). It was such a great way to end this weekend, which to most would've been incredibly difficult.

Life will never be the same but my mom did what she could to prepare us for passing on to a more special place. Glad to have a guardian angel like her in the wings helping me along my own path.

Happy Memories

No one ever expects to bury their mother at my age. Friday it was a reality for me and I wanted to give a glimpse into the life of my mother the way that I knew her.

My mom had a lot of great qualities but perhaps the best was her ability to light up a room with her smile and positive attitude. I think everyone here can agree on that. As a young child, I have some beautiful memories of the time we spent together. She had a way of making everything fun. I have memories of going to the zoo, road trips to the beach and weekends singing karaoke. If you’ve ever heard the song, “Rescue Me” by Aretha Franklin, you’ve only heard the 2nd best version of the song—quite frankly, my mom rocked it. On the ride to school in the mornings, we would sing as loud as we could to the radio and had to whisper the songs really low as we drove onto the school property as to not be embarrassed. Something I only recently realized I picked up from her and do with the girls I babysit to this day.

My mom was always really creative and thoughtful and organized a huge family photo with all of my cousins back in 1990—something that to this day 22 years later is still treasured by different relatives and a great reminder to us all of how fashion trends have changed. She had my cousins and I tape record Christmas Songs one year and give them as presents. She was always the person at my school and at work that organized the donations for families who were in need during Christmas time. She always volunteered at major DC races and made volunteering an integral part of my life. If you can’t give money, give your time.

When I was in high school, I used to have the usual teenage reaction to when people said “Oh you’re so much like your parents.” “You remind me of your mother”. As I’ve gotten older and especially today, I take that as the best compliment I could ever receive.

When my mom got sick in September 2010, I almost didn’t believe it. My mom never even got the flu. My mom was the type of person who was loyal to her job. I think the count of sick and leave days that she had accrued over almost 20 years of working with the hospital system was in the 200’s and that’s not an exaggeration.

Life changed from that point on. Slowly, aside from Ovarian Cancer, it was the other ailments that really made life difficult. We chose the saying on the prayer card for a reason. While a simple prayer or a poem might have also been appropriate, my mom didn’t let cancer take away her spirit. She was still the type of person who could make you laugh and forget about little things that bothered you. She still worried about my aunt and her aunt and other people that might’ve needed her help along the way. She never complained about anything that happened to her—she was a rock through it all.

A few people have mentioned to me that they didn’t think my mom deserved this and they were having trouble with God in understanding why my mom had to go through what she did and die such an untimely death. I can’t explain why this happened but I can tell you that my mom taught me so much during her lifetime and especially the last year or so. She is a symbol of strength and at the very least, a guardian angel for each of us. We owe it to her to keep a little memory of her alive in our everyday lives—whether it’s a song or a joke; a smile or a simple moment to just stop and listen to someone who needs you to—do what my mom would’ve done and do it proudly.

To borrow a quote that she used as her mantra over the years, “I’d rather have 30 minutes of wonderful, then a lifetime of nothing special.” Here’s to all the wonderful moments she shared with each of us.

In Loving Memory

My mother passed away yesterday, January 30th at 12:15pm, peacefully and surrounded by those closest to her.

Food for Thought

I recently read a link from an old friend that was posted on Facebook. It led to a lot of thought of the dying process and what life is truly all about as seen through the eyes of those that are on their deathbed. As my mother is currently in hospice, this was a great resource to read and meditate on: http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2012/01/28/my-faith-what-people-talk-about-before-they-die/

Waiting on a Guardian Angel

Though this blog is a recollection of thoughts since September 2010, you'll note that if I had started this blog, say in September 2011 or before, there would be a different more hopeful tone for recovery. Maybe even in November 2011, when my mom went to the hospital for a second long visit, there would be a glimpse of possibility that my mom, the strong fighter that she is would come out of this better than ever. With all of the complications that she's experienced, it's a medical miracle she's lasted this long and somehow been as resilient as they come--physically and spritually.

In any event, December 2011 was a turn from the hopeful attitude we had all been carrying with us, though diminishing as time passed. December was the month, that after a second debulking surgery and a colostomy (the tumor had spread and surrounding her colon and majorly affected its functioning), the doctors suggested that we stop treatment and she move home with hospice treatment. She had tried 4 different chemicals in chemotherapy and 2 debulking surgeries to no avail. The only other regimen to follow would have been radiation, which had a low chance of making much difference and she was already so weak that the best option was to keep her comfortable and pain-free. Hospice treatment is typically offered to those that will die "soon". Soon is unfortunately a horrible descriptive word to use. I've heard estimates of days and weeks and now we have surpassed almost 2 months to the day.

Not very many people talk about death in such a real way and luckily at 26, I am old enough to not be a helpless child as a bystander and I am young enough to claim just 1 on my taxes, so my focuses can be on all the little things you might not even understand or think of--retirement funds, social security, funeral homes, cemeteries, bank processes, etc.

Most recently, on Tuesday, January 24, my mother was moved from a hospice care team that visited intermittently at home to a hospice in-patient facility due to some major changes in her status. My dad and I were both nervous about how my mother would react to this change but has thus far accepted it and mentioned that she was at peace with the decision and her limited time here on earth--keep in mind, she, herself, is still young in her mid-forties.

As a child, I always envisioned my mom being present for things like my wedding and the birth of my future child prodigies :) but unfortunately those are things that I have come to terms with now. The idea of guardian angels is now more real than ever.

Religion, Spirituality and Devastating News

I am still very hesitant to say that I have become more religious after the devastating news of September 2010 and beyond. In the blink of an eye, life changes drastically for the one person that I think has been the most selfless and caring person to not just me, her only daughter, but to everyone I know. She has given all that she can and sometimes more. What I can say is that I have become more spiritual, more patient and more cognizant of appreciating small precious moments with those that I love.

There comes a time when you think "What did I do to deserve this?" and every now and then, in a moment of desperation, my mom asks this of me in regards to her diagnosis and all the complications that have come of it. A difficult question indeed, even though we both know cancer doesn't choose those who "deserve" it, it just happens.

I have always had an interesting connection to God. Growing up, my mother was a kind, practical and spiritual being and my father was a more devout religious person who was able to utilize the Catholic Church as a tool for spiritual growth. I grew up going to Catholic school my entire life from the formative years of elementary school to the more independent years at a Jesuit college. I have always liked a happy medium of my two parents' views. The news of my mom being sick shook my faith and even more so, required me to depend on the thoughts in my head of whether or not I was strong enough to be a support for my parents and even more so, myself.

With the reality of my mother's diagnosis, my father had a really hard time with this. He had just lost his own mother, with whom he was very close and this was too soon to lose another steadfast and strong woman in his life. As time has gone on, almost 17 months later, he has been able to become more strong in his faith and has raised all expectations of what is needed of him. My mother, on the other hand, has gone through every emotion towards God and the greater structure of a more exact plan in life. I think this is more understandable but somehow she has dealt with all of this with grace and poise. I'll never forget the time I visited my mom in March, when she was at the rehabilitation center after becoming handicapped. She was passing other patients in the hallway and ending conversations with "God Bless You" (no one had sneezed), it was uncharacteristic but was an interesting change to notice. She had been out of work for over six months and this was her way of regaining independence and finding worth in sharing these types of moments with other people. She has always been less concerned with talking about her own sickness and more concerned with hearing about other people's problems and ailments--no matter how much smaller scale they are in comparison. The rehabilitation center was more holistic for her than anything else--whether the staff there was aware or not.

When I was younger, my mom's favorite quote was from a movie starring Julia Roberts, called "Steel Magnolias". In the movie, her character makes a life-changing decision about her health which later leads to her untimely death, but she says "I'd rather have 10 minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special". Here's to 10 minutes plus in a lifetime.

Time Well Spent

The other night at about 10PM, for the first time in a while, my mom had a bout of nausea. It is small moments like these that make both of us a little uneasy and nervous-- just hoping that she will get through this. The nurse's response was adding a new medicine and a "Call us if it persists" but he also mentioned it could be a number of things. Now that she is no longer going through chemotherapy (she went through 4 different drugs for at least 3 months each), and she was ineligible for radiation because her body was too weak, things like this don't happen much anymore. The nurse said it most likely had to do with her cancer spreading and the amount of compression in her stomach when she eats. In short, today, when I came home, she was okay and back to her normal self in a much more stable condition, so who knows? Maybe these types of things are subtle reminders to make the most of the moments that she is healthy when we maybe slip into too much of a routine.

This all brought back memories of the first time that someone had asked me to "gather the family" back in September 2010. It was the worst feeling ever. She was on two breathing machines and was in recovery in the ICU after her emergency surgery. Fortunately, it was a false alarm. About a week later, we had a similar false alarm, except this is when things really started to take a turn for the worst. All of her major organs were failing her and they had tried to use various medicines (the count was about 10 IV bags at one time) to reroute her blood to these central organs. This would later cause her extremeties to become nacrotic-- a black, crumply feel to her hands and feet. As time would go on in the next weeks, they were able to bring bloodflow back to her extremeties slowly, it was then time to make decisions, as they would need to start her first round of chemotherapy sooner rather than later to attack this horrible disease. After much TLC, at the time of the decision making they had decided they would need to do a BKA. Fortunately, at the moment of truth, it was only one leg, rather than both. This was the first reality-check that my mom's independence was slowly being taken from her. It was also an instance when I realized how much I needed to pay attention to everything the nurses, doctors, etc. were doing, what they were saying and not saying. It was a moment where I found out how important it was to be an advocate for my mother. In the moment of the consultation on a rainy early morning, the podiatrist and the surgeon were thinking about a BKA for both legs and as luck would have it, my mom's body threw her a small favor and only one BKA was needed. A sense of relief flooded my body. That is not to say that a BKA in general is something that is easy for anyone to go through, but I can only imagine what two might have meant.

The most recent time that I was nervous for a difficult message was the almost 10 hour wait after my mom's most recent surgery, a colostomy, because her tumor had surrounded her colon and made things extremely difficult for daily life processes. Typically, they don't do a second debluking surgery, it's just not safe and to add to it, a colostomy was hardly a surgery her body was ready for this past November. September & October were months at home that were hard on my mom. The news after her surgery was as good as could be expected. The cancer was so fierce that unfortunately, they weren't able to get it all, it had spread to the entire lining of her abdomen, but the colostomy went well and there was still more time to spend with my mom.

In comparison to how I thought I would react to all these things, something within me has allowed me to handle this all with a sense of grace, mainly to stay strong for my mom. Growing up, even into my early twenties, I fainted or felt dizzy anytime I would have to visit someone I knew in a hospital room. My older cousin had surgery and at age 10, we found this out the hard way. It's interesting how your body adapts. Since my mom first entered the hospital, I have spent at least 365 days in the hospital, some days more than once--so much so that the parking attendants at the hospital have added my mom to their prayer list.

We've been lucky to have more time than any of the doctors would've thought. Everytime a new doctor comes into the mix to help my mom and asks to see her chart or hear a short history, they are truly floored to hear just how much my mom has been through. The greatest testament to my mom is that even though I am sure deep down this is agonizing to her, she keeps a positive outlook and worries about other people over herself. She could've been taken away from us a long time ago but she wasn't. I'm not sure I believe in miracles but I do believe that there was a reason for us to have this time together and I am sure I'll cherish it forever.

The Fight of a Lifetime Begins

Over the past 16 months, there have been certain aspects of the situation that have been almost too coincidental to be true. The night my parents called the ambulance and got my mom to the hospital, a few things happened. First, it was the first time my mom had been to a hospital for herself since she popped out little ole me--how crazy, how lucky to have a solid 25 year track record, how scary to jump right into the ICU. Of course, there is always a plan and though I'm not someone who believes in cliches, like "Everything happens for a reason", someone was watching down on us as a kind acquaintance of mine from high school happened to be the nurse that was assigned to my mom on her day entering the hospital for her lengthy visit. This actually happened three times during her stay. The girl from my high school being her 1st ICU nurse. A parent of a child at the program I ran being the doctor who convinced the medical team at large to hold off on my mom's release for one day, the day that ended up being an emergency surgery. (I had actually helped this parent a year later not knowing it was the same generic name like "John Smith" and only later made the connection.) Finally, on my mom's last entry into the hospital in the ER this past November, my mom's nurse was the daughter of my elementary school art teacher. Somehow the degrees of separation provided a small blanket of comfort for my mother, which at the time meant the world to her and subsequently, to me too. I'm getting ahead of myself in the details.


The day that the team doctors gave us the official diagnosis. They used all these terms, medical jargon and trailed off about medicine, treatment and options. They were of course too smart for their own good. We were lucky in the sense that there was a resident who took note of this and spent the time to explain to us all the complications that had occurred and the proposed options for someone with Stage IV Ovarian Cancer. I highly recommend a notebook diary for each day your loved one is in the hospital to keep it all straight. For those of you who don't know, Stage IV is the worst stage of cancer you can have. My mom is pretty stubborn and when she puts her mind to something, she can overcome it. This was a fact, it wasn't just speculation. In addition, her blood sugars were a little less than 1,000. That's truly unheard of, people always try to correct me when I retell the story and I remind them that there are few things about medicine that I know, but I surely know my mother's medical history now and her blood sugars were in the 900's. It was bad to say the least. Finally, she also had pulmonary emboli-- clots in her lungs.


My mother and I are both logical people by nature and we took all the punches of the difficult news and went on to find out what options there were. Once they had regulated her blood sugars and her breathing, they could focus on the Ovarian Cancer. It was Labor Day Weekend that the most wonderful and truly loving surgeon came in from his family's BBQ and performed an emergency hysterectomy a week earlier than scheduled as the tumor had doubled in size right before my eyes. This is where the "doctor on duty turned parent I helped" came into play and listened to his patient and her daughter and called in the people he needed to. She had moved down to a normal floor the day before and then moved back up to an Intermediate Floor. The fluctuation was unreal. My aunt and dad had just left the hospital only hours before and I stayed behind and I truly wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Her lower abdomen became extremely enlarged and she was in excruciating pain. Again, we were blessed with one of those serendipitous moments. While we were waiting for a major decision to come about, we heard a group of people singing Happy Birthday to her "roommate". When I peeked behind the curtain, there were a group of 5 nuns celebrating the life of a blind nun who just turned 87. If that wasn't a true blessing, I don't know what is. The room was just filled with this incredible positive energy and a calm peacefulness.

After about two weeks of ICU living after a relatively successful surgery, complete with a breathing machine, and on my 25th birthday, September 16, she opened her eyes and without words, told me she was ready to fight this horrible disease that had taken over her life.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

There was something different about the tone in my dad's voice and the way he suggested I come visit my childhood home as soon as possible that day. I had just come back to Virginia from a long weekend at the beach in Delaware with some of my girlfriends and an impromptu visit with my aunt and grandmother, who both live there year-round. My mom spent many summers growing up there with them, so I called her the day before we left to see what restaurant we should go to. She always has the best ideas and suggestions to make an evening just the right amount of special for just the right of money for a twenty-something and her 9 friends.

At 24, I had moved back to the area from Boston after college and again, from Ecuador after a stint of teaching English and traveling for a year. I visited my parents on an every-now-and-then basis and my parents were good about allowing for a certain amount of space, so when my dad had a sense of urgency for me to visit that night, I knew I should come. Once I unloaded the car and dropped off my friends at our apartment, I headed over to see my parents. The twenty minutes in the car at that point were a complete blur, but the conversation that followed and the feelings that were felt afterwards have stayed with me and I'm sure they'll be that way forever.

When I came home, I noticed that my mom wasn't there, which was an important first clue that something unfortunate had happened. I sat down with my dad in the living room and in the clearest terms, my dad tried to explain what had happened in the middle of the night. My mom was taken to the Emergency Room and subsequently the ICU at a local hospital. This was the hospital that she, in fact, had worked at for most of her life.

At that point, all that we knew was that she was having trouble breathing and that she was on a breathing machine to support her lung power. They had identified pulmonary emboli, her blood sugars were at an astronomical level and they had found a tumor in her stomach that would need to be examined more closely. Each of these three items separate was cause for major concern and together, they were a life-threatening mix.

This would be a shock for anyone. There were so many things running through my head. My mom is relatively young, she had me at a young age so the thought of her body failing her like this was incomprehensible. I had just talked to her less than 24 hours before and everything was "normal". How had I ended the conversation? Did we even say "I love you"? I guess the thing that shocked me most was that in my mom's almost 20 years of working at the hospital and for various organizational offices that supported it, she rarely took a sick day or even a vacation day for that matter. She is the type of person who was loyal to her job and was strong enough to never need a sick day. I think I had seen her sick maybe 3 times in my life total, and most of those instances were the common cold that went away in a few days. My mom, like most mothers, was the type of person growing up that was the glue that held the family together.

This was the beginning of a whole new chapter in our family. You don't ever forget the exact details of a night like that. The next morning I would wake up and go to the hospital to see her for myself. Visiting hours had been over and I needed rest for the day ahead.