Cherry Blossom Candy Leaf

Today, the nurse confirmed what Ben and I have been feeling and thinking for some time. She says that Marilyn is dying (Keith says the nurse told him that last year when she had an infection. He added that she's a good nurse, but negative.) Marilyn is still being fed through an I.V., so she has not stopped fighting. Because of this, we know that the life she is living now can go on for months. Ben is not ready to let her go and he cannot make himself say that it's o.k. if she doesn't want to fight anymore. He doesn't think he will ever be ready to say it. Marilyn is sleeping a lot more and is getting up with some help every hour or so to go to the bathroom. She is wearing a diaper just in case. She is breathing rather rapidly. She is cold because the blood seems to be making its way to her vital organs rather than her limbs. She has sores in and on her mouth. She is gritting her teeth which leads me to think that she is uncomfortable or in pain. Her feet, legs, and belly are really swollen from the cancer and the I.V. Her back gets hard when she's hooked up to the I.V. She throws up anything that she tries to drink. She has not eaten a meal in at least a month.

Today I went over there to spend time with her before Keith came home from work. I layed in bed with her trying to come up with something profound to say, but there isn't anything. I just keep telling her that we all love her so much. I also tell her that I respect her strength and courage. I want to tell her that she will always be the woman that Ben loves first and most, even if I'm a close second, but I can't seem to say it. When I arrived today, Barbara, Keith's mom, was upstairs with Marilyn. She wanted me to go downstairs so Marilyn could rest, but Marilyn wanted me to stay. It made me feel good that she wanted me to stay. I watch her as she sleeps and it is hard to put into words what it is that I'm looking for. I want to see something familiar, but I can barely recognize her. She looks so different and old. When I went to the Annie Liebovitz exhibit, she had some photos taken of a lifelong friend named Susan who battled cancer twice. There were pictures of her as a vibrant woman, traveling the world. The last photos were of her in the casket in her favorite dress. She looked like she was 100 years old. I remember staring at the picture, too, trying to find something recognizable. I couldn't believe this was the same person. It seems like de-ja-vu.

It's strange. Even with Marilyn's diagnosis, I never thought that the disease might kill her. Because I never had to see it with my own grandparents or anyone who I was close to, I still feel like my understanding of sickness and death is like that of a first grader. The possibility that Marilyn won't make it is very real and it makes me feel different. I don't know if Ben will ever be happy again and if he isn't, will I ever be? Will watching this happen change us forever? Is that selfish? I want to be innocent and naive: it's easier. Every day as Marilyn continues to fight, unable to change what her body is doing to her, the further away I get from the way I was. And if I can't be the old me, how can I expect to ever see Ben dance around in his underwear or kiss Bula on the mouth when he thinks I'm not looking?

Below you will find pictures of the Easter tree I made for Marilyn. It was good to have my mind on this project. I blew out the insides of eggs and decoupaged tissue paper stars on them. Then I glued bows on top and hung the eggs from the tree branches. The "tree" part is actual tree branches. I glued tissue paper flowers and berries on the branches. Then I put the branches in a jar with green marbles. I really liked the way it turned out and Marilyn liked it, too.