Dear Mom,



Now is one of those times when I really, really, really wish I could talk to you, to you, the old you, the you that remembers.  I wish so much that I had you to vent to, and cry to, and... and lean on.

I could tell you that the Husbandly One has cancer, that he's been diagnosed with a malignant rectal tumor and that we're trying to schedule a visit with an oncologist to find out what stage he's at...

I could tell you that, and maybe for a moment, you'd understand, and the part of you that watched your husband go through treatment for esophageal cancer, that stayed by his side and encouraged him, talked him through the lows, and celebrated the little successes might peek through the clouds of dementia and offer me encouragement.

Or it might distress and confuse you, and... I can't do that to you.

But I wish you were here.  I wish I could call you and cry about how terrified I am that I'm going to lose him.  About how I fear he's already given up, and won't even try to fight for his life.  He's already said he won't impoverish us with pursuing treatments and surgeries if he's too far gone.

He's lost so much weight, Mom, and he's sunk so fast in the last two weeks... and I'm terrified.  TERRIFIED.

I can't lose him, Mom.  Not so soon.  I'm so scared, and I don't know how to help him.  He's depressed, and I know his mom is weighing heavily on his mind.  I don't want him to just... give up and die on me, and I don't know how to break through his fears and depression enough to give him the kick in the pants he needs.

I miss you so much, Mom.  And I wish I could talk to you about this.  Because I know you'd understand.  I know it.


Love,

Jo