This blog exists for someone who never even read it. I love my grandmother, but watching her try to navigate the internet was laughable. Our computer time was filled with such gems as "Can you write me step by step instructions on how to work my Ipod?" "But I don't want to download Itunes". "Do you play Farkle?" "Will this give me a virus?" "Will this give me a virus?" "Will THIS give me a virus?". Truthfully, I never showed it to her because I didn't want to have a ten minute conversation on what a blog was, why I have one, and how it won't give my computer a virus. And also, if she read it, I'd have to tone down my use of the word fuck.
But all of the losing weight I'm doing, it was for her. She was diagnosed with cancer in June, had some operations, got some things taken out of her, went through chemo, lost her hair, lost her immune system, got an infection of some sort, and died two weeks ago.
I'll be honest here, I didn't take her cancer seriously enough. We were getting excellent feedback from the doctors, we were reading all about breast cancer, and her prognosis was great. Breast cancer has such a high survival rate. We all figured that she'd get over it, we'd rejoice, and life would go back to being pretty normal. And I guess all that crap about breast cancer being so beatable I can't really find fault with that either. It wasn't the cancer that killed, her, it was the fucking (sorry MM) chemotherapy. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to pull down all of those fucking "pink ribbon for cancer awareness" displays from the shelves every time I see them. And I do fucking see them. It's breast cancer month, didn't you know? They're fucking everywhere.
If I sound angry, it's because I am. I've graduated to the next step in the grief cycle, I guess, because i walk around all day, livid. I'm mad at myself for not being as good a granddaughter as I could be, for not getting married and having kids so she could see them, for not being more involved in her treatment. It scared me, seeing her go through that. And I took the pussy way out and didn't see her as often because I really believed that she would get better. I'm mad at her doctors for not treating her any other way, and I'm mad at her for getting sick. I had a five minute yelling match (one sided) with her in my head yesterday, I was so angry that she's gone. And then I spent the rest of the day feeling guilty.
You know what's not comforting me? People saying things like "She's looking down on you", "She'll watch over you". I would personally like to think that if there is a Heaven, she's got better things to do than watch me. I don't want my grandmother to be a ghost, or someone who can't move on. If there's anywhere else to go from here, I hope she's kicking up her heels and doing whatever the hell she wants. And why would she want to watch me when she's got crosswords and hottubs, and every dog we've ever had that's passed away, and no diabetes, and no cancer. I just can't hear that any more, I'm sorry.
I went to the gym the other day...this IS a weight loss blog after all...and I got through my workout, after which I burst into tears. No, that's not even true. My favorite bike was being cleaned and I couldn't use it, and THEN I burst into tears. And again, after. Because I'm turning my whole life around and she'll never know. She and I were so bad about losing weight together. We went to Weight Watchers once, and got milkshakes after. Apparently that's pretty common. We'd walk the track on Sunday mornings and get breakfast after that, too. And then we'd wonder why the scale was moving in the opposite direction. We had a great time, though, we really did.
My family is doing this walk for cancer at the end of the month. I'll break my hand if I don't get over my desire to punch people in pink. And I don't think I will get over it by then. I don't think losing something you get over, it's just something you adapt to. And that fucking sucks.
Fuck.
Sorry, Mom Mom.
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