John's thoughts-
Mother’s Day.
It is so sad going through a Mother's Day without Sam. I can
honestly say that this is the first "going forward" milestone that
has hit me. I hadn't been feeling too bad about some of the others, even
Sam's own birthday, but for some reason him not being here for Mother's Day is
getting to me.
I think one reason is that for last Mother's Day, he had woken up
early and made Happy Mother's Day pictures for all of us. At the time, we just thought it was Sam being
"cute", making something for everyone, which was definitely not out
of character for him. But now, looking
back, I think it was a sign of his mental health going downhill. There
was something wrong and he was starting to get a little confused. It was
just a few weeks before we were told he was going to die, and we had just begun
to notice a change in him.
His balance was off, and he was tripping and stumbling a bit more
than he used to when his little rubber clogs would catch on the ground. Sometimes he would seem to not be paying
attention to us, seeming a little aloof and "distant" from
time-to-time. At first, we thought it was just that he had a cold, and
the congestion (combined with the tumors) was just exerting a bit more pressure
than usual, and it would get better. Then it got a little worse, and so
we thought maybe it was the increased keppra (anti-seizure) dosage, which can
make you a little foggy, as your body adjusts. Then we thought maybe it
was "chemo brain", and the latest round of chemo was having a
different or perhaps cumulative effect, which would go away soon after we
halted that round.
But when I expressed my concerns to Dr. Greenfield at Cottage
Hospital, he actually took it very seriously, so much so that I found myself uncharacteristically
"arguing" with him about how it was probably just the
cold. And he said "well, maybe, but maybe not." He
knew. And I was in denial.
After that visit to Cottage we immediately told Dr. Brown at
Children’s Hospital that we wanted his next MRI moved up, and so that's what we
did......and on May 29, 2013 we were told to start planning for Sam’s end of
life, that there was nothing more we could do.
To this day, I still cannot believe what happened. After
that appointment, Sam, Sabrina and I went to the Denny's down the street in
Hollywood—just like always. Sam ordered his mac-n-cheese and grapes and
goldfish—just like always. Sabrina and I ordered soup, and barely touched
it. As he sat there eating I watched him
so intently—wondering exactly what the future held for him, and for us. He was so cute, and innocent. He had always been such a trooper and so
trusting and did everything anyone ever asked him to do to make those tumors go
away. And we couldn’t figure it
out. We couldn’t help him. No one could.
On the drive home I think it finally hit him. He cried and
lashed out: "It just seems like everything's just impossible",
he said. And as he cried—one of the very, very few times he had done so
throughout his entire nightmare of living with cancer—tears just streamed down
my face as we drove down Ventura Highway.
I wanted to rip the steering wheel out of its column; I was so
angry and so sad for him. We had let him down. And there was nothing we could do about it.
It was a day I will of course never forget. And today,
sitting here under his Happy Mother's Day picture that hangs on the bed still,
I now know that when he drew that, he was very sick, and in less than
six months he would be dead. It's
just incredible to me.
I hope my wife can find some joy on this day. She deserves it. She’s still a momma—and a damn good one
too. We all love her and I know Sam’s
looking down on her and just like last year saying: “I hope this day is like 50
birthday’s!!! Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I love you!
Love, Sam”
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| Happy Mother's Day. I love you more than anything. I love you too. I hope this feels like 50 partys. I have a surprise. |
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| Muffins with Mom, 2013 |
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| Mother-Son Dance 2013 |
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