Tuesday, November 19, 2019
Last night my seven-year-old, Mika, started writing her life story. I was a little surprised when she told me, and I was intrigued when I learned her story starts with a nightmare from when she was three. When I asked her why she was writing her life story she replied, “Someone has got to do it. I have a lot of important things to say.”

That idea was similar to what I was thinking when I started this journal last month. I love the written word. I love crafting sentences. My chemotherapy treatments have made recalling spoken words difficult many times, yet I find my writing unaffected. I decided writing my random thoughts each day would be a gift for my family after I am gone. Mika does not know the extent of my illness and we will not tell her until we know the end is near. I hope reading these words as a teenager will give her comfort.

I am a private person, unwilling to live cancer 24-7. I decided to make my journal public so I can politely refuse to answer, “How are you doing?” in casual life. I think approximately ten percent of what I have been writing will touch a stranger’s heart. The rest is too specific to my life to speak to someone’s soul.

Back in the day when many people were trying to convince me to be an inspirational speaker, simply for surviving an automobile accident and dealing with a new reality, I resisted. Then one day I heard a speaker say, “It is not what you bring to the table that matters; it is what people leave with.” I finally understood. I do not need to think I am remarkable in any way. If you find meaning in my words, I am successful.

I will likely start retelling some of my life stories as I continue this journey, both so my family learns more about me and, so my thoughts will speak to more of the public at large. Death is a difficult concept to wrap your head around and if my words help someone deal with a similar situation or give comfort to my family, I have left a small legacy.

I have never been hung up about leaving a legacy or being remembered by lots of people. I do not need to be a famous dying woman; I simply want to be remembered (occasionally fondly) by my family. Since I will probably die without grandchildren, I may be remembered for eighty or ninety years by Mika and then my mark will be erased from the planet.

I am okay with that. I have never tied my self-worth to other people’s opinions. You can tell me what a horrible person you think I am, and I will simply move on. I will not spend a single moment wondering why you do not like me. It does not matter. I learned when I was 18 or 19 that everyone likes a different kind of person. A lot of people like me because I am friendly. Many people do not like me because I can be very condescending. I like me so a stranger’s or person I just met’s opinion of me does not concern me.

I do try to edit myself (a tiny bit) for my family. I am hard to live with and I will admit it. I am working on making living with me a more pleasant experience for my family for my remaining days or years. My family’s opinion of me does matter. There will be a little relief for my older daughter and my significant other when I die. They have been taking care of me for a lot of years. I would like them to be a little sad too.

My piece of advice to you is to ignore the unimportant people. It is probably easier for me because I was bullied excessively as a child and built an amazing shield. I still need to believe I am worthy for my shield to protect me.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Monday, November 18, 2019
I am living in a disaster zone. It is one of my own making and it is extreme. Some of the craziness will soon be leaving my house, but right now… wow. I have boxes and bins as far as the eye can see. On one hand I am doing a happy dance, I have almost finished clearing all my 24-year-old’s, Megan, possessions from her old bedroom. On the other hand, Megan has not started moving the packed boxes of her possessions to her house and they are piling up.

Megan is a responsible adult and I could certainly insist she pack up and move all her stuff. I could set an ultimatum and make her take care of it; however why would I want to stress out my family like that? 

Megan bought a home at the end of August and is currently working three jobs so she can make double payments to pay it off early. She understands the importance of making those extra payments early in the life of her loan to significantly affect the total interest paid during the life of the loan. Megan works 14 hours a day between her three jobs, seven days a week. Time to do chores is in short supply for Megan right now.

The reason Megan wants to pay her house off early is to become a foster mom. She has had the dream of fostering all her adult life. She is not closed to the idea of giving birth to children, but she wants to support children who are already in need. In five years, Megan plans to start the process of becoming a foster parent and she would like the financial stability of owning a mortgage-free home.

Megan wants to pay off her mortgage in five years. Honestly, I do not think the math works. I think it will take her seven to ten years to pay off her mortgage. The housing market went up more than $100,000 last year in Colorado Springs and it is almost impossible to buy a home for less than $250,000 that is large enough for a family. Megan’s total mortgage amount is simply too high, even with roommates kicking in.

I told Megan that when she left to help my client for two weeks on a movie set, she could no longer be in control of packing and moving her stuff out of my house. She had moved very little in the six weeks before she left, and I wanted to declutter my home. That was my ultimatum; if she could not find the time to pack, I would gift her some of mine. It was a stress-free, win-win situation.

As I look at all the boxes and bins piling up across the room, there might be a little stress. However, as I finish each room upstairs there is a sense of accomplishment. I am fairly sure I will finish Megan’s bedroom tomorrow and I can not think of a better birthday present to myself than the look on my seven-year-old’s, Mika, face when I tell her it is officially her bedroom. I am expecting a happy dance.

Of course, now Mika and I need to start sorting and downsizing all her belongings so they can live in her room now. That will be a difficult task with 20-30 boxes of her sister’s stuff filling up our working space. I have a new, stress-free, win-win ultimatum for Megan. Take one box home with you every night after you put me in bed. Any boxes left at my house on Christmas will be moved to your house and placed in the middle of your living room. My Christmas present to myself will be a Megan-free home.

My piece of advice to you is to lower your stress level. I could be mad because Megan is not willing to take the time to pack up her belongings or I can just do it, so it gets done. Megan has thanked me for packing her stuff even though I am not doing it the way she would. I am not pressuring her to get it done, and she does not need to feel guilty for not doing it. Megan really has become a responsible adult.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Sunday, November 17, 2019
I am in a motivational slump. It is probably me coming down from my steroid high. For several days before I resumed chemotherapy treatments last week, I tried to fight off a particularly nasty virus that has been making the rounds here in Colorado Springs. Last Friday, after my chemotherapy treatment, the virus won. I have been coughing so much the past week, I cannot sleep at night. I did not leave the house other than for doctor appointments.

Friday was treatment day and I was especially looking forward to the steroids. Not only because the steroids make me feel strong and hungry, but because steroids reduce inflammation which includes irritation of the lungs. By the time I went to bed Friday night I had completely quit coughing. I slept the whole night. The steroids delivered.

Yesterday I ate a lot of food and had a mostly cough-free day. Last night I slept pretty well, but when I woke up this morning the pressure was back in my chest. This time the chest congestion was accompanied by a sore throat. Here I am feeling physically awful and thinking I am ready to stop this whole chemotherapy treatment thing after only two treatments.

I feel like I have been hit by a bus, and if the new chemotherapy treatments are going to make me feel miserable, I do not want to take them. I know I am being premature; it is simply bad luck that I caught this cold at the same time I started my new treatment. Knowing it is bad luck is not keeping me from thinking I am on a bad chemotherapy treatment regimen.

On Thursday, I went to see my wound-care doctor. I am still attempting to heal the last three skin sores I got last year when my body was being ravaged by the cancer. One of my wounds got a little worse since I saw her last and I told her I was concerned my wounds will never heal again in my lifetime. Chemotherapy drugs impede healing, steroids impede healing. I am getting both. I am destined to have holes in my butt until I die.

On my last chemotherapy treatment regimen, I only had eight treatments spanning eight months. Yes, those drugs were more toxic, but my body had time to recover. I healed seven wounds in those eight months. On this new chemotherapy treatment regimen, I will have 24 treatments in eight months. My body is never going to get a break.

I know it is the foggy head and coughing fits talking, but right now I feel like the cure is worse than the problem and I am ready to get off the train. The best part, this particularly nasty virus runs for four to six weeks. Lucky me! On the bright side, I am not having any wheezing or whistling in my chest. The last thing I need is to develop pneumonia again and spend a week or two in the hospital.

My piece of advice to you is to allow yourself to feel miserable when you need to. My cold will pass, I may heal a wound, my defeatist attitude today will disappear. Today I choose to be unhappy. Even if the cold kicks my butt all week, on Friday I will get another dose of steroids. On Saturday I am going to feel great.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Saturday, November 16, 2019
Today is doughnut day. I will not get a doughnut, yet it is still doughnut day. When I got sick four years ago, the first food type that started to disgust me was grain-based foods. Bread, pasta and the like tasted like paste to me. As my illness progressed, I pretty much got to the point of drinking milk and eating only raw carrots, celery, and tomatoes. I hated pumpkin pie and even milk chocolate.

After I started chemotherapy last year, I started to develop a taste for some foods again. I cannot ever imagine eating a grilled cheese sandwich again, but I discovered I could eat one lightly glazed doughnut a week and enjoy it. We always had to scrape off some of the sugary glaze before I could eat it, but I liked the weekly doughnut.

It became a thing. My significant other, Donald would buy a doughnut for each of us each week when he went grocery shopping. After a while, he quit buying one for himself, yet kept getting one for me and our seven-year-old, Mika. Every Saturday or Sunday, Mika and I would enjoy our doughnuts. Then I stopped chemotherapy and several weeks later… I did not like my doughnut anymore.

My doughnut was too sweet. We scraped off the glaze to no avail. The next two weeks the doughnuts were too sweet. Donald bought me an unglazed cake doughnut. It was not too sweet, but I did not enjoy it because it was heavy and only ate half of it. The next week was the same, so the next week I let Mika eat my doughnut too.

I no longer get a doughnut on doughnut day, only Mika does. The doughnuts were a family bonding experience. Even when Donald quit getting a doughnut for himself, he still purchased them for Mika and me because he knew we enjoyed them. He would bring the little white bakery bag to Mika when he got home, and Mika and I would get excited and wolf down our doughnuts. We were connected.

Today is grocery shopping day. Today is doughnut day. I do not want a doughnut, but I miss the doughnut. Mika still loves seeing the little white bakery bag. I feel like we have lost a bonding point at a time in my life cycle when I want to hold on to each and every connection I have with my family.

Some days I hold everything together and other days (like today), I feel the sadness try to grip my heart. I am sad that I will not likely see my 24-year-old, Megan take in her first foster child and start on her journey of motherhood for those children who need to be loved so much. I am sad my son may never decide to start his own family. I am sad I never worked harder to include Donald in enough of our activities, so he did not feel he was a spectator in our family so many times. I am sad Mika may lose the joy in her heart after I pass. Today is doughnut day and I want to cry into a bowl of ice cream (that I will not like).

My piece of advice to you is to miss the doughnut and wallow for a few minutes when necessary. I am not crying (because I will not let the water fall out of my eyes) since I am not alone, but I am going to sit here a few minutes with my wet eyes and miss that darn doughnut.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Friday, November 15, 2019
We starve our big dog, Anakin. At least Anakin thinks so. He was a little overweight and still healthy according to our veterinarian at his last visit so, we have been feeding him a little less. Anakin has been a food hunter since he came into our home and since he is a big dog, he is good at it. Food can never be left on a table or counter because Anakin will snatch it if you are not in the room. Trash must be behind closed doors or cleanups are required.

One day early this year, I had a sealed (I am beginning to think Anakin can smell through sealed packages) jar of peanuts in a barricaded spot on my workstation table. I was at chemotherapy treatment, and the rest of the family was at work or school. When I returned from chemotherapy (I was the last one home), I was told Anakin had manage to climb onto my workstation and set off my lifeline alert trying to get to that snack.

Not once, but twice the fire department was dispatched to check on my safety because there was no answer when the call center responded to the activation of the help button. I no longer put snacks in that location. I did learn that the life alert company does its job and when my fire department asked if they could keep extra funds that would have been refunded to taxpayers in my last election I, of course, voted yes. I have been keeping my local fire department on their toes this past year, my fire department can have whatever they want.

I have had a cold for the past two weeks. I was doing a pretty good job of holding that cold at bay until I had my first new chemotherapy treatment last Friday. Saturday morning the cold sunk into my chest. By Tuesday I was coughing so much I could not even talk. I ordered some natural remedies I use for chest colds (after clearing them with my doctor) because I was almost out of stock. When I received the order, I checked the contents and left the package on my worktable.

Today Anakin’s hunting nature could have killed him. I came home from my chemotherapy and there was a ripped-up box, a gnawed open plastic bottle, and not a single pill on the floor. Anakin ate a whole bottle of my herbs. 81,000 milligrams of fenugreek. Anakin looked okay and I called the veterinarian’s office. I was told to bring Anakin in to have vomiting induced, so I called my significant other, Donald and told him he needed to come home from work to take Anakin to the veterinarian’s office (dogs are not allowed on buses in Colorado Springs unless they are service animals, which my poorly-trained oaf is not).

This story ends well, and I am happy my chemotherapy treatments are much shorter (although much more frequent) than in the past. This story could have had a tragic ending if the discovery was made four hours later, which would have been the case on my previous chemotherapy treatment. The silver lining, for Anakin, was he got weighed today and the veterinarian said he has lost enough weight that he can have occasional snacks again.

My piece of advice to you is to not freak out when disaster strikes. I had the other bottle of my herb in my hands when I called the veterinarian’s office to give them the best available information. I was not upset and spoke matter of fact to both the veterinarian’s office and Donald. Anakin had already eaten the pills so, I needed to stay calm and direct a solution. If it had been my seven-year-old, Mika, instead of Anakin, I might not have been so calm. I would like to think that I would have been, but I really do like Mika more than Anakin (most days).

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Thursday, November 14, 2019
Do you know one of those people you can never please? They complain if you do a task one way and then when you change the way you do it, they complain that you do not do it the other way. On that same episode of CBS’s Mom, I wrote about yesterday, a side plot was with the Christy character and her impossible boss, whose personality was rubbing off on Christy due to stress.

In one scene Christy and Jill are late to meet the girls from the Alcoholics Anonymous group at a diner because Christy needed to run an errand for her boss. As Christy and Jill arrive at the booth, Christy snaps, “I’ll bet you already ordered, right? Cause god forbid, you wait for us.” Wendy, another member of the group replies, “We haven’t ordered yet.” Christy snaps back, “Yeah, cause we’re late. Just get off my back.”

No matter how you do it, it is wrong. I get it, it drives me crazy when I see someone fold a towel or sheet from the middle, I want to shake them and say, “Fold it by the corners so it lays neat.” It is still, 24 years later, hard for me to have people do tasks for me. My way is right, your way is wrong. However, we all seem to have forgotten that different does not mean wrong, it means not the same.

I am done watching the political recap shows on Sunday mornings. I used to enjoy the back and forth discussions between the opposing opinions and now the shows are usually full of shouting matches in which Republicans complain about how Donald Trump has been constantly attacked since the day he was elected, and the Democrats complain about Donald Trump’s latest obnoxious tweet.

I am not a Donald Trump fan. I can disagree with many of his policies without attacking him or other Republicans. I can agree with a few of his policies without thinking Democrats are scum. My thoughts on Donald Trump as a person are irrelevant. I have never met the man. Perhaps he is a power-mad maniac; perhaps he is simply a man trying to make a change in a system he does not fully understand.

Either way, I am tired of the press trying to shove Donald Trump (god or idiot) down my throat. I do think Donald Trump is a smart man. I think the stupid tweets he posts daily are simply written to fuel a division of hatred and the press keeps fanning the flames. I think at 5:00 a.m. Donald Trump thinks to himself, “What ridiculous statement can I post today that will dominate the news cycle and keep my name on everybody’s tongue?” Then he posts it and the press goes crazy.

I have had enough impeachment coverage and it is only a couple of days in for public hearings. Live coverage of the impeachment process is NOT breaking news and should not interrupt The Price Is Right. If I wanted to watch the grandstanding of the public sessions, let me watch it on your 24-hour news channels. I am pretty sure C-SPAN, CNN, Fox News Channel, CNBC, MSNBC, and CBSN were created so the political junkies could watch every last second. The rest of us want to watch people win prizes and be happy for them.

I am not anti or pro impeachment. I am pro-investigation. If Donald Trump is innocent, the investigation is simply a way to ease the country’s mind. If he tried to use taxpayer money to influence an election, he should be impeached, kicked out of office, and go to jail. If Felicity Huffman went to jail for paying a bribe to get her child into college, the president (if convicted) should go to jail for trying to use taxpayer money as a bribe for possible dirt on a political rival. Simple enough. Feel free to disagree with me; I am wearing my big-girl panties.

My piece of advice to you is shut it off. I know it is hard. The only way the media will stop pushing angry politics down our throat is when we turn the channel or quit clicking the, “Can you believe Donald Trump (or Nancy Pelosi) did this?” links. Different does not mean wrong, it means not the same.

P.S. That post did not go where I had intended when I started writing. I think Angry Susanne may have stepped in.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Wednesday, November 13, 2019
I am still watching television. I find television shows to be relaxing for the most part and usually unwind at the end of the day with a couple of my favorite shows. I watch Mom on CBS, not because I like it, because I do not dislike it. I cannot relate to the characters much and the story lines seem completely random to me, however I usually laugh when I watch the show. The show probably debuted after another show I did like, and I never bothered to change the channel.

In the show, Allison Janney’s character, Bonnie, recently married a paraplegic. Adam was a little bit wild when he was a stuntman and broke his back while attempting a dangerous trick in real life. In a recent episode, Bonnie discovers a video tape of Adam walking before his accident and wants him to open up to her about how difficult it was to lose his ability to walk. The situation is resolved when Adam tells Bonnie he does not like to think about when he could walk because he was a jerk then and he does not like the guy he was.

I do not talk much about my life when I could walk for a completely different reason. I do not live there anymore. I have been very open about my friendship with denial and it would be awesome to say that I have been in denial about my paralysis for two weeks shy of 24 years, however I simply moved on.

My abilities were different after my accident, so my interests changed. Tae-kwon-do was not any fun once I could no longer kick opponents in the head (or anywhere) while sparring. I have two people, other than family, that knew me when I could walk that I still keep in touch with. I moved on.

It was not difficult for me to lose my ability to walk. I did not care about walking. I was happy to still be alive. My non-functioning fingers were a little harder to accept. Do I miss being able to sew on a button? Yes, but I have gotten over it. I can spend my days dreaming about what my life was like or I can move on and live the life I have now. I moved on.

There were patients in the rehabilitation hospital with me that kept saying over and over again, “I am going to walk again.” Not me. I was saying, “I am going to learn how to change my baby’s diaper.” and “I am going to be able to give my baby a bottle by myself.” I was focused on what abilities I still had, not what abilities I lost.

We all think there are situations we could not deal with. Hillary Swank was in some movie about a boxer that became a quadriplegic a few years back. I never saw the movie because I had heard that the character either tries or does die by suicide and I was upset that it was being portrayed that no life is better than a limited life.

I cannot imagine ever recovering from the death of a child. I am so happy that I get to go first and never have to experience that pain. Yet there are mothers who face dealing with the death of a child every day, and they eventually move forward with their lives. We can move on.

My piece of advice to you is let go of the past when it does not serve you. I was bullied hard in fourth grade. I moved on. I could either hate men because I was chased by boys as a child or I can look at bullying as a soul-shaping experience. I have a beautiful soul.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Tuesday, November 12, 2019
The video gods are conspiring against me. I am finally mentally ready to start recording my video messages, but real life keeps interfering. First, I had trouble with my webcam picking up my audio. I solved the webcam issue by deciding to use my video camera on a small tripod and today was the day I was to start recording videos, again. It is not happening.

I have a chest cold and keep having coughing fits when I try to talk. My voice is nearly nonexistent, and I am tired because my coughing is keeping me awake at night. My number one exceptional exit plan task is still not started. I am five weeks in, and I do not have a single video message recorded. I am still writing every day, which is also part of my number one task, but I know the video messages will probably offer more comfort when I am gone than my daily, written thoughts.

I do not think my demise is imminent. Dr. Doom and Gloom did not give me an estimation and he said some patients have lived a few years on the treatment I am using. I am planning to live at least three years, so I have plenty of time to record my video messages. Except real life tends to get in the way. This chest cold could turn into pneumonia (which I have had several times) and this time it could kill me because I am compromised from the chemotherapy drug. I would die without any video messages recorded.

Next week, I do not think I have any days to record and the week after that is a school break so then it will be seven weeks and not a single video message recorded. Video recording has been moved to the first week of December. The video gods are conspiring against me.

Every part of my exceptional exit plan is taking longer than I want it to. I am still packing up all my 24-year-old’s, Megan, stuff for her to move to her new home. Megan has taken exactly one of the ten or so boxes I have had packed for her to transport to her house. I am close to finishing her bedroom and then it will officially become my seven-year-old’s, Mika, bedroom.

Mika is so excited about her new bedroom. I cleared off two, skinny-tower bookcases on Monday so Mika may start moving her books into the bedroom this weekend. Once I take Mika down to buy regular hangers to replace the children’s hangers she currently uses, we will start putting her clothes in the bedroom closet instead of the metal rack downstairs or on a chair in my lower level great room.

Mika has been granted the upstairs bathroom, because that was the first room I de-Meganed, and she has been working to keep it clean. I do still need to have Megan go through the small linen closet in the bathroom to take out any items she wants. It is really nice to have a bathroom with a clean countertop again. I never use that bathroom because I do not fit in the door, so I suppose I will need to have someone tell me what to put in it for guests to use.

My piece of advice to you is to not sweat the schedule. I could be freaking out (I am a little) that I have not recorded any video messages, or I can appreciate the fact that I can make more content notes before I start recording. I could keep looking at all that is left to do before my house is officially de-Meganed, or I can be happy that Mika has her own (shared with guests) bathroom and Megan is starting to get her new house in order. I get to choose how I interpret my surroundings and I see the silver, gold, and platinum linings.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Monday, November 11, 2019
Just when you think you have reached the perfect level of denial; the real world rears its ugly head. I have a television in my bedroom. If I wake up in the middle of the night or early in the morning, I cannot get out of bed to do anything, so I turn on the television. I usually wake up by six on the weekends and many times the rest of the family sleeps until nine.

On Sunday mornings I usually watch Sunday Morning on CBS. Yesterday morning, Sunday Morning ran a clip about grief. The clip, of course, was not general tips about moving on when someone dies. The grief clip was about the one out of ten people who cannot move past their grief. Okay, the clip did mention some support options, but all I heard simply reinforces my biggest fear, one out of ten people cannot move past their grief. I have four people in my life I think could become that one when I pass.

I am sure my parents will be fine. Yes, parents should not outlive their children, but my parents know I have had a happy life and we only talk a few times a year, so my parents are already accustomed to my absence. My brothers and sisters will be fine. We are not a tight-knit family. We all did what was expected of children in the 1980s. We moved out of our parent’s house when we graduated and made our own lives. I love my family and I know they love me, however neither my parents nor my siblings will likely fall into depression after my passing.

My friends will be fine. I am purposely reserved and the few friends I hang out with socially will miss that connection, but it is not a major part of their life. My casual friends will occasionally miss me, however I am a small blip on their life radar, so they will easily move on when I die.

That leaves my significant other, Donald, and my three children, Marcus, Megan, and Mika at risk of becoming that one person who cannot move past their grief. Donald is probably okay. I know he loves me, but a lot of times he does not like me much. I get it; I am self-centered and not very thoughtful. I am not super easy to live with. Donald will miss me, but he will not miss the stress of taking care of me. Donald will be too busy being a single parent to Mika to get stuck grieving after I move on.

Marcus will be fine. He already asks me when I call him, “You’re not dead yet?” I know Marcus loves me, but he moved out when he was 18 and has created and lived his own life for several years. He might miss me when it is time for him to call me to wish me a happy birth giver’s day on his birthday. Perhaps not.

Megan will probably be fine. She has grown a lot in the past few years and I think she has developed the skills to adapt to my passing. Megan and I see each other almost every single day, even since she closed on a house and moved out our family home at the end of August. I am frequently her (inadequate) sounding board when she needs to release work stress. Megan is sensitive, so she will probably miss me often and cry the most.

Mika is seven. Mika seems to be the child who has a personality closest to mine, so I hope she has that invincible, resilient core that will accept my passing as a necessary part of life, and she can move on. Mika still must go through puberty which can completely make over a child’s personality. I hope that Mika will not be that one person that cannot move past grief. My biggest fear about dying is tied to Mika’s ability to accept and move on to a happy life.

My piece of advice to you is to try not to stress out about dying. I am focusing on making my last days (hopefully years) with Mika happy for her so she can wrap herself in the comfort of my love when she feels left behind.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Sunday, November 10, 2019
I am a jerk. My 24-year-old, Megan reminds me of this occasionally (Friday night most recently). Megan thinks I am a jerk because I am not a good listener. Megan is right, I am not a good listener. I have learned to tune out distractions while working and this skill, while making me an excellent worker, has the tendency to spill out into my personal life in a rather jerkish manner.

I am a selectively supportive parent. I can be very attentive if my child’s interests align with mine. If I do not share my child’s interest, my support level will be low. This selective support is most obvious with Megan. Megan and I are on opposite sides of the personality spectrum. Megan is a thoughtful, caring soul, and I am mean to the core. We do have some common entertainment interests, but when she starts talking horror movies or Kardashians (spell check knows the Kardashians, go figure), my eyes glaze over and I check out of the conversation.

Friday night Megan was telling me something which I cannot remember because I quit paying attention and she called me on it. “You are a jerk!” Megan is so right. I am not good at feigning interest. It is obvious when I quit listening. It is hard to love a mother you think never listens to you. I know Megan loves me, but she will probably always feel I was never there for her. She is right. I was only there for her in the way I wanted to be, not the way she needed me to be.

Megan loves participating in beauty pageants. She has been in 20 or so beauty pageants in the past eight years. I have attended two or three. In my defense, her beauty pageants are always out of town and I do not travel well. However, even a reasonable excuse does not comfort a child in another state who is sick and not performing well when all she can see is all the other girls with their supportive mothers. The worst part is, even if I was there, I would not have been much help.

I am not a beauty pageant fan. The few pageants I have attended and the ones I have watched on television make me feel the judges reward obvious fakeness and ignore women with real ideas. It is pretty expensive to compete in pageants and that is one of my biggest sticking points. A national pageant can easily cost at least $5,000 once you cover your travel, clothes, and other expenses. I am proud of the fact that Megan works hard so she can afford to pursue her passion, yet I still think, “There are better ways to spend that money.”

There are better ways in MY mind, not Megan’s. Last year, Megan and I did have the money and pageant conversation. I told her I thought she should use her pageant money toward a down payment on a house because I think she is too real to win a pageant and it saddens me to see her disappointment if she does not place as high as her goal. Megan told me she felt she has grown into a better person by participating in pageants, so I no longer think she is wasting her money even if I still do not like pageants.

I cannot imagine a world where I will ever care about the plot of a horror movie, but I can at least shut off the television and look at Megan when she talks to me. It would be nice for her if she could remember a few conversations in which her mother listened to her.

My piece of advice to you is to try harder to truly connect with your family. Megan will be in Florida for a pageant next July and, if my health (and chemotherapy schedule) holds out, we will make a family trip out of it. I will still not be hanging out at the hotel for every minute with her, but I can arrange to be there for the parts she really wants to experience with me.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.